26. Davis

Davis had spent Monday morning alternating between tuning up Alex’s bike (Jeremy had really fucked it up, though he would never tell him that), taking Mary Anne through miles and miles of the forest, and doing anything he could imagine to get his mind off how fucking awkward that had been. Even the baseball game in the background and replaying of his favorite level in Halo hadn’t provided a distraction. He had shown his hand, and god knew he was a horrible poker player at the end of the day.

They had struck up a friendship. Davis wouldn’t have thought twice about inviting any other guy to go mountain biking with him. But he had to admit to himself that there was something different about inviting Jeremy. Maybe it was that selfish part of him that craved some hit of dopamine, but he wanted to show Jeremy something he liked. And something he was good at.

Which had backfired in his face.

He had gotten Jeremy injured, something he would never get over and. If he was fifteen again, he would go to church with his gram and complete upward of twenty-five Hail Marys to try to make it right, even though he always lost count and felt bad because he couldn’t even get through confession and penance right.

As if on command, Mary Anne released a giant snore from the couch next to him, and Davis smiled. He was reminded of the awed smile on Jeremy’s face when Mary Anne had sniffed his hand, the way he had sounded wistful at his want for a dog. How Mary Anne had stayed by Jeremy’s side, leaning her brick of a head on his legs as the two men talked about nothing and certainly didn’t address the elephant in the room, how Davis’s thumbs had swiped over Jeremy’s wrists as a definite prelude to something more.

Dogs had always been constants in his childhood. Davis didn’t know one family back home that didn’t have some type of mutt roaming around their property or trotting out in the woods throughout the summer. Jeremy spoke fondly of his parents, in the distant, detached way that Davis knew meant he still grieved their loss in his life, so he knew Jeremy had had an amazing childhood, one that was full of subways, museums, and probably eating sushi or whatever kids who grew up in a city ate. The things that would have terrified Davis had brought joy to Jeremy, and Davis suppressed a laugh as he imagined how a younger Jeremy would have looked on his pap’s farm, or his long legs dangling off a bar seat. He wondered if he would have tried to sneak sips of the beer foam like Davis did as a kid. He wondered if a young Jeremy would have loved the dog that Davis had adored as a child— a horrible-smelling, stubborn hound mix named Boomer that followed Davis as he tramped around the woods, a version of Shiloh without the backstory that made Davis cry in fourth grade.

“I should call him, right, Mary Anne?” Davis asked the dog, setting down his controller and looking at her. She had previously been curled up in a donut, apparently trying to make her sausage-like body as small as possible, and lifted her head when she heard Davis’s voice.

“Or maybe a call is too intimate. A text?” Mary Anne cocked her head. “You’re right, texting is too intimate. An email?” Davis took the fact that Mary Anne laid her head back down as encouragement that he was on the right path.

Davis crossed over to his desk and opened up his personal computer and typed an email from his personal account to Jeremy’s email. Tapping the tiny microphone, he spoke to his computer, never quite comfortable with the way he had to slow down his speech for the machine to understand it.

“Dear Jeremy comma I want to apologize for how you got hurt yesterday period I feel very horrible and will understand if you do not want to work with me and the forest again period Also comma how are your wrists and you knee question mark Make sure that you are changing out the bandages and let the wound breathe but wash it after any exercise and keep it clean because you do not want an infection period Someone told me that they are an artist and need their hands period Enter Mary Anne says hello period Let me know if you would like to refer the forest to another designer period We will still pay your contract period Enter Have a good week comma Enter Davis”

He clicked the microphone and scanned the email, making small corrections to words that had been misunderstood and turning the do nots into don’ts” to make it sound more natural. With one more look back at Mary Anne, he clicked send, and Davis imagined that the whoosh that emanated from his computer was the physical manifestation of the email zooming across cyberspace or the information superhighway or the cloud. Whatever the young kids were calling it these days.

Nearly five minutes later, as Davis was trying to rapidly click through a cutscene between Master Chief and Cortana, a soft ding from Davis’s computer drew his attention to a new email.

D—

You have nothing to apologize for. If anyone understands that accidents happen and life is random chance, it’s me. If you hire another exhibit designer, there will be hell to pay (not from me, but I have friends who are much stronger than me).

My wrists are healing nicely, thanks to you. My knee was a bit bruised, but I think it’s okay. Will I still see you next week for our meeting?

J.

Pulling his computer onto his lap, Davis tapped out a quick response.

Good! I am glad to know that your friends have your back. That is important.

Ice your knee today and then use a heat pad to help it move better.

The meeting time is still good.

D.

He had just picked up his controller again when his computer dinged.

I think my friends would like you. I don’t think any of them know as much about trees as you do, and it’s always good to put them in their place when someone is smarter than them.

Davis read the email about seven times. Smarter than them. Davis had looked at the people that Jeremy worked with at the museum, read their bios on the website. There were PhDs and other degrees that Davis had never heard of, a list of alphabet soup titles after their names.

Before Davis had a chance to respond, another email appeared, nested under the previous from Jeremy.

My friend Foster has a birthday party next weekend. It’s a costume party, which is absolutely ridiculous, but it makes him happy. You should come down and meet everyone.

Davis looked at his seltzer. Took a sip. Swished it around in his mouth like he used to do with whiskey. The one downside to sobriety was that all stupid decisions were his and his alone. He wouldn’t be able to blame what he sent back on alcohol or the social pressure of a group of people at the bar egging each other on in the way that felt like the only socially acceptable way for Davis to find community with other men back in Morgantown. Mary Anne, who really should take up a second career as a therapist, uncurled herself from her tiny dog ball and delicately stepped on Davis’s lap (as delicate as a dog who weighed as much as a wheelbarrow of bricks could, that is). She gave a tender lick to Davis’s chin, then sprawled across his lap, looking pointedly at Davis as if saying you know you want to go.

“You’re too smart for a dog,” Davis said, reaching over her to get his laptop. “Imma send you back and get some dumb hound instead.” Davis swore she rolled her eyes, and he chuckled, setting the computer on her back and typed:

Sounds fun. Send me the address. I’ll get a hotel room for the evening. I’ll even dress up.

Davis’s phone lit up just then, Jeremy having texted an address in Vanberg along with a message.

Jeremy: You don’t have to dress up if you don’t want to. Or you can, like, be a lumberjack. Or a forest ranger.

Davis: Are you saying that I dress like a lumberjack every day?

Jeremy: Am I wrong?

Davis: I’m dressing up.

Jeremy: As what?

And Davis, who felt a tingle in his spine that reminded him of when he took his at-bat to hit a homer during the WVSSAC Regional Championship, the closest he ever got to winning a big game in his not-so-illustrious career as a backup varsity catcher, typed it’s a surprise.