3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Floyd

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, and Floyd couldn't sleep. For hours, he had been listening to Josephine's soft snores beside him, occasionally checking to see if Effie had woken up, too, either from the snoring or something else. But she hadn't even stirred. Not that he wanted her to sleep poorly or nothing, but he would have liked the company. Five more minutes passed before Floyd couldn't take lying awake no more. He walked out of the backroom to waste some time on the couch. He crept over to the faded-brown sofa—its long cushion saggy in the middle—and sat.

Once he was settled, he lit a candle and took out a stack of playing cards. He was close to finishing the setup for solitaire when Effie crept out into the living room, her slippers shuffling against the floorboards with each step.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Nope," Floyd said, placing the final card on the table.

She placed a hand on his forehead. "Are you feeling sick?"

"Nah," he said, a smile pulling at his lips as she smoothed back his brown locks. "I can't switch my brain off tonight."

She took a seat next to him. "What are you thinking about?"

Floyd only shrugged. Effie probably thought that Floyd was thinking 'bout the same thing—the same person —he ought to have been thinking 'bout, the man with the reddish-brown hair who he had lost all those years ago. After all, Floyd had spent many other sleepless nights thinking of him over the years. But tonight, Floyd hadn't been able to stop thinking 'bout Oliver instead.

After a moment, Effie wrapped her arms around Floyd's shoulders and pulled him in for a sideways hug. They rested their heads together.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine."

"What'd you think of Oliver?"

Floyd nearly heaved a sigh but kept it in. Effie was only trying to be nice. She had no way of knowing that Oliver was what was bothering him, thoughts of his soft yellow hair and handsome face rolling around inside Floyd's head and messing up his brain.

"He's nice enough."

"I think so, too," she said. "Do you think you'll spend a lot of time with him?"

"Probably. He's new. Miners need someone to work with."

"What happened to Billy?"

"Billy needs to wait a year or two, in my opinion. He'll stay a spragger for now."

"Well, I hope you like working with Oliver. He's welcome for supper anytime."

"Thanks," Floyd said before realizing he wasn't sounding too thankful. "Appreciate that."

As Effie rubbed Floyd's shoulder, pieces of the evening started replaying in his head like a movie picture, and when watching it back, Floyd couldn't help but see how much fun he'd had with Oliver, whose stories and comments had been making him laugh.

Guilt coiled in his stomach like a copperhead, causing him to shift uncomfortably on the couch. Why couldn't he stop fixating on this city boy who owned too many hats?

Effie stood and said, "I think I'll try to catch some more sleep. Unless you need me to stay?"

"Naw," Floyd said. "I'll be fine. I'll be here beating myself at cards."

"Alright. Night, then."

"Night."

After that, Effie left for the bedroom and Floyd continued to think about how much fun he'd had with Mister Frozen Strawberry.

***

After spending most of the night wide awake, except for the two hours of shut-eye he had caught on the couch, Floyd woke up feeling both sore and irritable. And, frustratingly enough, as soon as he opened his eyes, he started thinking of Oliver—of his nice laugh and his nice head of pretty blond hair and that nice beige suit he was wearing when they had first met. Nice. Jeez, why was the only word his tired brain could come up with such a plain and boring one? Oliver was far from either plain or boring. Especially with that sense of humor he had. It had been nice to laugh with him. Dang, there was that word again. Nice this. Nice that. What Floyd really needed was a nice night of sleep.

While Floyd rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his stomach tightened from unease. Guilt was not an uncommon feeling for Floyd Bennett, but experiencing it because some random man was invading his thoughts every waking moment? Now that was another story.

On his way to work, Floyd made up his mind that even though he had promised to let Oliver shadow him, it would be best for Mister Frozen Strawberry to learn from someone else. Floyd wanted to be alone. Or, well, as alone as he could be in the mines. He considered staying by the brass board to tell Oliver this his own self, but the thought of talking to him while his insides were still knotted together was only making him feel worse, and so, Floyd took his tab and left to find Billy. He had to hope that Oliver would figure out on his own that Floyd had changed his mind.

All morning, Floyd continued to feel off. Guilt came in waves. If Floyd wasn't feeling bad for having this fixation with Oliver, he was feeling bad for turning his back on him, with little reprieve in between. Floyd supposed he ought to have seen it coming. Exhaustion had never once failed to make his upset even worse. Hopefully, Oliver had found someone to work with.

By lunchtime, Floyd was plum tired. Carrying his lunch to his usual spot underneath the sugar maple, Floyd expected to spot Oliver nearby eating, too. But Oliver wasn't there. Floyd took his time munching on his sandwich, thinking he'd see Oliver eventually, but Oliver never came out of the mine.

At the end of Floyd's shift, he headed over to the company store, hoping to splurge on some Tootsie Rolls or Hershey's Kisses or, heck, whatever else might sweeten his sour mood, only to see Oliver browsing one of the men's clothing aisles. As soon as Floyd caught sight of him, a little shudder of excitement rolled through his body, causing his heart to race.

One aisle over from Oliver, Floyd crouched low so that he could pretend to study the items on the bottom shelf—pairs of work boots and bundles of cotton socks. Gosh, what was wrong with him? He had never let someone rile him up like this before.

Floyd took a breath. Oliver was nothing more than a talkative man with an odd sense of humor and a nice head of hair. Nothing special. Just a handsome man from the city.

Determined to overcome this odd pull toward a man who was more or less a stranger, Floyd stood back up to leave. And locked eyes with Oliver.

Suddenly flustered, Floyd whirled around and walked right into a hat rack, knocking the fedoras and flat caps to the floor.

"Dogonit," he muttered, heat blooming on his cheeks.

While Floyd picked up the hats, every single muscle in his body tensed, bracing for Oliver's presence. Seconds passed without Oliver pitching a verbal lashing over Floyd's abandonment, and so, Floyd forced himself to look up. Oliver was no longer there. Confused, Floyd stood to look around the store and spotted Oliver heading outside empty-handed. Floyd realized, then, that Oliver was probably avoiding him, and that realization settled heavily on his chest, momentarily making it hard to breathe.

Floyd hurried to catch him.

"Ain't you buying something?" Floyd asked.

"No?" Oliver responded, his voice hitching up as though he was confused as to why Floyd was asking. Or, heck, why Floyd was even talking to him, considering the fact that he had broken his promise and left him to find someone else to help him in the mine.

Oliver continued out of the store. Floyd found himself following. He wondered why in the world he was bothering to. Wouldn't life be easier if he let Oliver walk away?

After two painfully awkward minutes of this, Oliver stopped and turned to face him, his eyebrows lowered and knitted together, lips pressed into a thin line.

He took a breath and asked, "Where were you today?"

Floyd fumbled for a response. "Work."

Which, he knew, was a right stupid answer.

"Yes, I know that," Oliver said. "You're covered in coal dust. But, I mean, what happened?"

Oliver said this a little loudly, which had a few people staring. Oliver, though, wasn't embarrassed. While Floyd stayed silent, Oliver plowed on, clearly too mad to care.

"Did I upset you or something? I mean, I thought we had a nice meal together yesterday. Two meals! And I thought you said I could be your work shadow. I still have no idea what I'm supposed to do in there. I wandered around the mine like a chicken without its head for over three hours before I went home. At this rate, I'll bleed through every penny I have by the end of summer."

Once Oliver finally stopped ranting, Floyd couldn't seem to make himself do anything except stare. What was he supposed to say? "I slept bad because I felt like I had snakes strangling my insides" ? Of course not. "I kept thinking 'bout you, and it bothered me a lot, so I thought I'd ignore you for the rest of my life" ? He couldn't say that neither.

As Floyd was racking his brain for some kind of response, Oliver crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head in a way that said, "Ain't you fixing to apologize?" or however the heck someone like him would phrase it, and Floyd knew he needed to say something, even if that something wasn't the truth.

"Yeah, I know I ought to have kept my word. But I felt kind of sick this morning."

"Sick?" Oliver scoffed. "Clearly you still went to work."

"Not too sick to work. Just too sick to... to talk to you."

Oliver's face fell, the fire he seemed to have had inside of him becoming extinguished instantly.

"Oh, I see," Oliver said, his voice was so much softer now. "Oliver's too strange. Oliver's too irritating. I've heard it plenty of times before. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'll try to work with someone else."

"What?" Floyd sputtered. "No, that ain't what I meant."

"Alright, so, what is it, then?"

Floyd's heart sank. He couldn't stand how upset poor Oliver looked now. Floyd liked him. He hadn't meant to make Oliver sad. It wasn't Oliver's fault that he had been feeling too bothered by his own feelings to keep his promise.

"I felt like I needed some time to myself, is all. I can't really figure out how to explain it." Oliver turned to walk away, but Floyd caught his arm. "But it won't happen tomorrow. I promise."

"Tomorrow?"

"I still want to work with you. I... well... Billy's too young and you need someone to help you with everything. I been a miner for 'bout twenty years, if you count the time when I was a kid. I reckon you could use a teacher with a lot of experience. And I'd like to be the one to learn you. If you want, that is."

Oliver started chewing on his bottom lip, and then he narrowed his eyes a bit like he was studying Floyd's face, maybe for insincerity. Oliver was probably having a hard time believing him, which made Floyd's chest feel even heavier, especially when Oliver's earlier words flitted into his mind. Oliver's too strange. Oliver's too irritating. Gosh, maybe Oliver had been rejected for them kinds of things in the past. Before Floyd could try to make sure that Oliver knew that it wasn't that he had messed up or nothing, Oliver spoke.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really." Floyd tried to smile through his lingering upset. Gosh, he still felt so bad. He hoped he could let Oliver know how much he really had been enjoying his company. "Besides, no one else ever tells me strange stories about frozen fruit. Stories like that, I reckon they'll make the time pass faster while we work."

Oliver's face relaxed a little as he let out a long breath, one that seemed to blow away some of Floyd's upset over how horrible he had behaved.

"Alright," Oliver said. "I'll still work with you."

After a moment, Floyd nodded back toward the store and said, "Do you want to buy whatever it is you wanted to buy before you tried to run away from me?"

"Not really. I was upset about you avoiding me, so I thought maybe I'd buy myself a shirt or a hat or something."

"I thought you said you were worried about bleeding through your money."

"Don't throw logic in my face," Oliver said with a fake-sounding scoff. "Besides, I was exaggerating about that. I have too much money, really. Or, uhm, sorry, I'm not trying to boast. Oh God, I really can't blame you for avoiding me."

Oliver insulting himself made Floyd realize that he still hadn't mended things enough.

"I wasn't avoiding you," Floyd said. "I promise."

But Floyd knew it still wasn't enough. Chewing on his bottom lip, Floyd wondered if maybe he ought to invite Oliver out for some fun. His stomach rumbled a bit, like there was a part of him that wasn't too happy with that idea, but the feeling would probably fade with time. Or, if not, Floyd supposed he'd better learn how to live with it, especially since he'd be spending time with Oliver every day in the mine.

"How about you come with me to the pool hall later?" Floyd offered. "I've never been, but I been told it's nice there."

"Wait, you're telling me there's no telephone in this town, but there's a pool hall?"

"Why's that odd?"

"Never mind," Oliver said with a slight shake of his head. "Yes, I'll play pool with you. What time?"

"Seven?"

"Sure, seven. Uh, where is it?"

Floyd pointed down the road a bit.

"Over yonder—that big brick building. Before 1913 or thereabouts, it was a saloon, too. Or so I heard."

Oliver tilted his head, looking puzzled. "1913?"

"Prohibition?"

Oliver's eyes widened. "Oh my God, I completely forgot about that! While we were all still getting zozzled up in New York, alcohol was already illegal here, wasn't it?"

"New York, huh?"

"Shit, I let that slip, didn't I? Yeah, I'm from New York."

"Is that what that accent is?"

"Not really. It's how I was taught to speak in school. Elocution classes." Floyd raised both of his eyebrows. He hadn't never heard of something like that. "As far as where I'm from, well, I was raised in Ohio, mostly, in Cleveland, and then my parents moved to New York when I was in secondary school. Which is how I eventually ended up at Princeton."

"So, you're from everywhere."

"Guess you can say that."

"Hm."

Oliver was becoming more and more interesting by the minute. Maybe friendship wouldn't be so bad.

"Seven, then?" Oliver asked.

"Yup. Seven."

Not long thereafter, Floyd arrived home. After he finished washing up, he came out to the living room area to relax in his favorite armchair. Effie was cooking supper while Josephine was out back with one of the neighbor boys.

Floyd chewed on his fingernails, trying to work out how to tell Effie that for the first time in more than eight years, he had the urge to make a friend. It wasn't that Floyd was worried that she would mind or nothing, but Effie would probably look at him funny. Maybe ask a bunch of stuff, too. Even though Floyd had played pool back in their hometown, he hadn't never been to the pool hall since moving to Rock Creek. Everybody in town probably thought it was because Floyd was simply a family man—someone who wanted to spend his spare time with his wife and kid. Which, he supposed, was true enough, though the real reason for him not caring to be close with the other miners wasn't one he'd ever let on about. Effie knew the reason, of course. But she knew him better than anyone.

"Effie?"

She kept on stirring the beans on the stovetop. "Hm?"

"I reckon I might head to the pool hall tonight."

Effie stopped stirring. When Floyd heard the sound of the metal spoon clanging against the metal stovetop, near every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation of her reaction.

"Really?" Effie asked, leaning back against the counter to face him. "Why?"

"I wasn't very nice to Oliver today. Left him to fend for himself in the mine."

"So you invited him to play pool with you?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Ain't nothing wrong with it, Floyd. I'm surprised, that's all. You know I been wanting you to make friends ever since we moved here."

"I know."

"What's so special about Oliver?"

"Nothing. I like him."

"Ah, I thought so."

The teasing edge in Effie's voice made Floyd's ears turn hot.

"Not like that , Effie."

Floyd might have found Oliver interesting, but that was the extent of it. Acknowledging that a person was funny or attractive or such was a normal thing to do. Even though Oliver had been taking up space in his head and making him feel strange, it wasn't like that. Not like Effie was implying. Floyd only wanted to be Oliver's friend, which was unsettling enough without complicating it even more. He had only been thinking about Oliver so much because the man was so unusual. What kind of man has blond hair?

"I wouldn't fault you," she said in a sing-song voice, turning back to tend to the beans. "Oliver is a handsome man."

"He ain't bad," Floyd said, knowing that Effie would likely poke him even more if he tried to pretend that he hadn't noticed Oliver's looks. "But you know that I try not to think about that sort of thing no more."

"Whatever you say."

"It's the truth."

"Alright, so, what makes Oliver special, then? Roy and John and plenty of other folks are nice. You like them, too, but you never want to spend time with them outside of work."

"Oliver is new in town. Seems like he could use a friend, is all."

"Well, that's true. And you could use one, too," she said before turning off the stove. "Supper's ready. Mind fetching Josephine?"

"I'll call her in," Floyd said. He stood up and placed a hand on the small of Effie's back. "I already have a friend, you know."

"I'm your wife."

"We been friends since we were six."

Effie smirked. "Go call our daughter in for supper, Floyd."

***

Floyd arrived at the pool hall fifteen minutes early. It was smaller than he'd imagined—with three pool tables lined up in a row in the center, cues stacked up in the corner, and a line of chairs from one end of the room to the other. On the far end, there was a bar, but of course, that hadn't been in use for years. No one else was there except for a man with a long mustache, probably someone employed by Fred Donohue to watch over the place.

Floyd walked over to the bar counter wringing his hands—both because he had some worriment that the other men might wonder why he had come out for the first time and because the thought of spending time with Oliver was making his heart race. Effie's comment about Oliver's handsomeness kept coming back into his head, hovering like some kind of specter.

Watching the minutes tick by on the wall clock, Floyd tried to remind himself that there were plenty of other handsome men around—men he had noticed over the years in a passive sort of way. He had always been strong enough and smart enough to resist the kinds of thoughts that came with noticing such a thing. Oliver's handsomeness was neither here nor there.

Neither was Oliver's unique sense of humor or the funny way he peppered in swear words from time to time or the fact that he liked to freeze strawberries before eating them. Neither here nor there.

Finally, at 7:05 p.m., Oliver strolled into the pool hall wearing a fancy plaid suit and a matching gray fedora, looking every bit as stylish as the men in the pictures. For those first few seconds, Floyd could think of nothing else except how doggone nice looking he was. Darn. He really did like Oliver, huh? He stood there, staring wordlessly, imagining Effie rolling her eyes as though to say, "I knew it," and Floyd had to take a moment to reorient himself.

"Hi," Oliver said, smiling an uneasy smile as he approached. "I'm overdressed, aren't I?"

"Just a smidge."

"I thought... oh, hell, I'm not sure what I thought. I wanted to look nice."

Oliver took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. Golly, it looked soft. So, so soft. Floyd had to curl his hands into fists to resist the urge to touch it. Gosh-darn-it, Effie!

"Why are you staring like that?" Oliver asked. "Does my hair look funny?"

Unsure how to respond, Floyd snatched Oliver's hat and placed it on his own head.

"Now I can look nice, too."

"Oh, well, I've never seen you not look nice," Oliver said. He cleared his throat and shifted his stance. "Not that I've known you for very long."

Time seemed to stop, like projector film suddenly becoming caught in the reel. Floyd's brain stalled, and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. Oliver's face flushed, too, which made Floyd's heart pitter-patter a little.

Finally, Oliver said, "Wow, that was odd of me, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Floyd said because what else was he supposed to say?

Floyd's face was still on fire when Oliver asked, "Can we play pool now?"

"Uh-huh."

And Effie was laughing it up inside his head.

Floyd and Oliver chose the closest table and set up the balls. Floyd broke. He sank the blue number two, which meant that he was solids, and then shot for the six but missed.

Oliver proceeded to sink six balls in a row.

"Shit!" Oliver exclaimed upon missing the seventh.

Which was when Floyd realized that his mouth had fallen open, probably some time ago.

"What in the heck was that?" Floyd asked.

"What?"

"You sank six in a row."

"Oh, well, I had a pool table in New York."

Oliver said this like it was completely normal. Completely uninteresting. But it was interesting. Worse, it was infuriating. Embarrassment and irritation flooded Floyd's veins, making his blood run hot. Now Floyd felt silly for inviting Oliver to play pool. He hadn't played in years. Even when he'd played as a kid, he hadn't been very good at it. Pool was one of the few things Floyd couldn't seem to pick up too easily.

"I ain't in the mood to play no more," Floyd said, placing his cue on the table. Not only was he not impressing Oliver, but he was practically making a fool of himself, too.

"Don't be like that," Oliver protested. "Lucky shots. That's all."

"Lucky? I know luck, and that ain't it."

"Come on, keep playing with me. Or are you a chicken?"

"Just not in the mood," Floyd said curtly. "Like I said."

Oliver made a couple of chicken noises—sputtering a bunch of fast bok-bok-boks —and started to flap his pretend wings. Floyd clenched his teeth in response. When Oliver continued teasing him—making a few more sounds that were even louder—Floyd couldn't hold back anymore.

"Oliver, you're a—" Floyd started to say but caught himself before he might have said something he'd likely regret.

Oliver wiggled his eyebrows up and down. "I'm a what?"

"Never mind."

"I nearly upset you enough to make you finally utter some profanity, didn't I?" Oliver asked with a smirk. Gosh, he was so fun. Floyd couldn't even manage to be mad no more. "Honestly, Floyd, I had no idea you'd be so bad at pool."

Floyd reached out and lightly shoved Oliver back a step.

"I ain't bad," Floyd said defensively, now unable to keep himself from smiling, too. "I'm rusty, is all."

"Alright, then, practice," Oliver said. "We won't play a real game. Just take a few shots. I'll take some, too."

Floyd hesitated before ultimately relenting. Over the next half hour, the two of them went back and forth with their shots, with Oliver making nearly all of his, no matter how hard they looked to be. Floyd wanted to be more irritated than he was. Truthfully, he liked watching Oliver play. It was pretty dang impressive. While they were practicing, Oliver offered up a constant stream of funny commentary, too. Floyd sure was enjoying spending time together. He hoped they'd come back to the pool hall again sometime.

When Floyd had finally had enough practice to make three shots in a row immediately after poor Oliver had somehow only made one, Oliver sputtered something like, "you Goddamned lucky lunkhead!" with such seriousness that Floyd burst out laughing.

By the time Floyd composed himself, he realized that Oliver was staring, wearing a lopsided grin.

"What?" Floyd asked.

"Nothing." Oliver shrugged. "I'm having fun."

"Yeah. Me, too."

Their conversation was interrupted when Roy and John came into the pool hall.

"Hey, Floyd. We ain't seen you in here before," Roy said, sounding pleased rather than accusatory, which made Floyd realize that his work buddies probably wouldn't prod him about his seemingly inexplicable outing too much; they were simply happy to see him. "Who won?"

"We only took some practice shots," Floyd answered.

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Oliver's too good a pool player."

Oliver cut in with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I'm only so-so."

Roy smiled wolfishly. "How about we play each other then?"

"Yeah, sure," Oliver said.

Floyd had half a mind to cut in and say that Oliver was being too modest, but he sort of liked the thought of Oliver wiping the smug smile off Roy's face for some reason.

Over the next half hour, Oliver and Roy played each other, and even though Floyd had been upset about Oliver's talent earlier in the evening, he now felt a sense of pride watching Oliver make Roy look like he'd never even played pool before.

After some time, John tapped Floyd on the shoulder.

"Did you hear the latest from Mingo County?"

John wasn't the type to talk for the sake of talking. He wasn't someone who liked to spread rumors neither. But John had been real interested in the talk of unionizing lately, probably because he thought the trouble might bring him a better life. He was struggling to make enough to provide for his family—four kids, three of them girls. His boy, Richard, was only seven, like Josephine. Not yet old enough to help earn more money.

"No, what?"

John answered in a hushed voice. "Some sort of skirmish between the union and non-union miners. And the sheriff deputies and members of the National Guard, too."

Floyd's heart started beating faster. He hated these stories. Because it was a struggle to keep his emotions hidden well enough whenever he caught wind of them. What if that sort of violence came to Rock Creek someday? Thinking of the possibility of being forced to leave—either to flee from the fighting or to simply look for new work—was making his palms sweat.

"Was anybody hurt?" Floyd asked, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the evidence of his upset.

"I reckon so."

"Mmm..." Floyd hummed, trying to choose his next words carefully. Even though he was none too happy about the prospect of potential fighting in Logan someday, he never wanted to let the other miners know his opinion, especially John, who he knew would welcome the change the United Mine Workers of America might bring. Even if that change wouldn't come easy. "Do you think we'll see some issues over here?"

"What, the fighting?"

"Yeah."

"Probably not. Not so long as Chafin's men are watching our trains. Ain't no way the UMWA will ever take hold here." John nodded toward Oliver. "I'm surprised they even let him come here looking like that. He looks like one of them union fellas, like one of their leaders."

Floyd huffed a laugh as though the notion was silly, but he'd had the same thought back when he had first seen Oliver in the company store. He had to wonder whether Oliver had been properly checked by Chafin's people or not.

Turning back toward the pool table, Floyd tried to pay attention to the balls moving across the felt but kept thinking back on John's comments instead. If the United Mine Workers of America—the UMWA—ever tried to recruit folks from Rock Creek, Floyd knew he'd feel a lot of pressure to support them. But if Fred Donohue ever threw him and his family out of their home, Floyd knew, too, that he couldn't let them stay holed up in some tent colony. He reckoned he'd have to come up with the money they'd need to move somewhere else—to another coal company, probably, but one that was far, far away. Or, heck, what if he'd have to leave the coal industry completely? Unease continued to claw at Floyd's insides, making it harder and harder to breathe.

All of a sudden, Roy tossed his cue onto the table.

"God dang it!" Roy shouted. "He beat me!"

"Sorry, Roy," Oliver said with a simpering smile. "Just luck."

Roy turned to Floyd with his hands on hips. "You ought to have warned me!"

"I told you he was good," Floyd said, some of his earlier upset falling away. He was thankful that this silly squabble had interrupted his nervous thoughts. "What more do you want?"

After that, John and Oliver played for a bit, while Roy and Floyd talked about their families. Roy's wife was pregnant with their third. Floyd wondered if folks ever questioned why Effie had never fallen pregnant after Josephine. No one ever said nothing to him, though. Throughout their conversation, Roy never brought up the problems over in Mingo County either, which was a relief.

Not much time passed before Oliver and John were finished playing. Oliver had won. Again.

Afterward, Floyd and Oliver started toward home. They walked side by side through the town as the sun started to set, passing the company store and coming to the first houses—the smallest ones in town, more like shacks than houses, all lined up in a row. Soon, they came to the larger houses, ones like the home that Floyd lived in, homes that had both a combined living room and kitchen area as well as a back room or two. When they came to the bottom of the road, Floyd ought to have veered right while Oliver turned left, but instead, Floyd took the left road, too. He wanted to spend some more time with Oliver.

"You really won't mind me shadowing you tomorrow?" Oliver asked. "I promise I'll try not to be annoying."

"Don't talk like that. You ain't never been annoying."

"Good." Oliver started wandering a little closer. Floyd pretended not to notice. "I had a lot of fun tonight. It's nice to have a friend. I sometimes had trouble making friends back in New York. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm a little odd."

Before Floyd could catch himself, he said, "Odd can be nice."

"Yeah?" Oliver's eyes brightened. He seemed to like that comment a whole lot. "Do you want to come over sometime? I can try to cook us something." He asked this in a heartbreakingly sweet way, one that sent Floyd's heart a-flutter.

"I, uh, I eat with my family, typically," Floyd said, hating his response a bit as he said it. "But you can come back to my house sometime. I'm sure Effie and Jo would love it."

"Really? I'd like that."

And suddenly, Floyd couldn't fathom waiting longer than he absolutely had to.

"Tomorrow?"

"Oh, well, you see, I'll have to check my very busy schedule. Didn't you watch me shoot pool back there? Roy and John will probably spread the word. Why, I'm practically famous. Everyone will be lining up to watch me play soon enough."

"Be careful with that head of yours. Pretty soon you'll float away like one of them hot air balloons."

Oliver chuckled. "Ah, if only I really had that kind of confidence."

Even though Oliver was laughing, the fact that he was poking fun of himself again reminded Floyd of the comments Oliver had made earlier outside the company store. He couldn't have Oliver continuing to feel bad about himself.

"I reckon you ought to," Floyd said. "Really, I ain't never seen someone shoot pool like that before."

Oliver's expression softened, his eyes becoming hopeful.

"Thanks, Floyd."

And Floyd's heart suddenly felt so full. It was nice to make Oliver feel better about himself, if only for a moment.

"So, supper?" Floyd asked.

"Right, yes, sorry. I'd love to come to supper tomorrow."

"I'd like it, too," Floyd said with a nod.

"Oh, that's a relief. I thought only Effie and Jo would be happy to see me."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"No, tell me."

Oliver scrunched up his nose and said, "I'm nitpicking because I like teasing people, which is probably one of the many reasons for me never holding onto friends for very long." Floyd kept looking at Oliver, hoping he'd say some more. Floyd was still feeling confused. Oliver sighed. "Earlier, you invited me and you said that your wife and daughter would love my company, but you didn't say that you'd love my company, so I was poking at you for the hell of it. And, selfishly enough, I needed to hear you say that you wanted to spend time with me, too. Because even though we spent the entire evening together shooting pool, I'm still stupidly mad about you abandoning me today."

"I never really apologized for it, huh?" Floyd looked at his shoes, his face reddening with shame over how much he had hurt his new friend. "It was wrong of me to abandon you today, Ollie. I'm sorry about that."

"Ollie? Do I have a nickname now?"

Floyd reached up to scratch the side of head so that he could hide his face, which was only becoming hotter by the second. Though he had no idea whether Oliver could see the color of his cheeks in the low light of the moon, he still felt vulnerable enough that his first instinct was to try to hide a bit.

"If you want one," he said.

"Yeah, I like it. I'll have to think of one for you, too. You seemed to like lunkhead earlier. How about that?"

Floyd bellowed a laugh. "You're real strange, Ollie." He realized Oliver might take that the wrong way. Before he could think better of it, he said, "I like that about you."

As soon as the words left Floyd's mouth, his heart started fluttering like mad. But luckily, Oliver held himself back from commenting on the bluntness of that statement.

Floyd and Oliver continued their walk, though neither of them said much else for a while. Seemed like Floyd could make Oliver stop talking if he sputtered something awkward enough. He tried not to beat himself up for how risky it had been to say that he liked Ollie's strangeness. Who knew what Oliver thought of him now.

After a while, Floyd heard a night bird calling in the distance. Its familiar high-pitched woop-woo-woo comforted him, even though he wasn't exactly sure what type of bird it was. He kind of liked not knowing, though, because it meant that his little old coal town still had some mystery for him. He might not have been well-traveled like Oliver, but that was fine. There was still plenty to discover in the mountains of West Virginia.

Sometime later, Oliver stopped walking and Floyd realized that they had probably reached his house.

"Well, this is me," Oliver said. "It looks like your house from the outside, but it's way more depressing on the inside. No newspaper on the walls or children running about. I haven't even bought any books yet. Speaking of which, where could I find some?"

"We got a few over at the company store."

"I must have missed them. I'll look harder next time."

Floyd wondered what kinds of books Oliver would buy.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Oliver said with a half-smile. "Bright and early."

"Bright and early," Floyd confirmed.

As Floyd walked home, he couldn't stop thinking 'bout Oliver. His entire body was burning with a new kind of energy, one that was making him feel like running and jumping and maybe even skipping, as ridiculous as that was. It had been eight long years since Floyd had felt anything even close. He reminded himself that nothing could come of these feelings he was having for Oliver because Oliver surely wasn't like him. Not many men were.

Instead of that reminder making him sad, it somehow had the opposite effect. If Oliver wasn't likely to feel a romantic kind of way in return, Floyd felt like he could be free to enjoy his crush. Suddenly, the strange swirl of energy was less terrifying, and the copperhead in his stomach stopped writhing. Floyd carried the happy Oliver-energy with him the entire way home, holding onto it with care, pleased that he could enjoy the sensation for a while.

When Floyd reached home, he found Effie rocking back and forth in the rocking chair, mending a hole in one of Josephine's skirts. She looked up at Floyd with a little knowing smile. And he realized, then, that he was still wearing Oliver's hat.