2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Gary

February 1985

W hen Thursday’s Introduction to Calculus course came to an end, Gary Graham flicked on the light switch, re-illuminating the lecture hall and startling the handful of students who had fallen asleep.

“Come find me if you have trouble with the homework,” Gary said before turning off the overhead projector. “Office hours exist for a reason, you know. No reason to be embarrassed if you need help. See, as a math teacher, I have plenty of problems myself.”

Groans of exasperation echoed throughout the fast-emptying classroom, and Gary chuckled, partially tickled by his own humor and partially amused by the way he could still elicit such a strong reaction with a well-placed pun or otherwise corny comment. He was still chuckling to himself seconds later as he packed up his lesson plans, scooping up the papers he had left scattered over the desk. After stuffing everything into his well-loved brown leather backpack, he turned and nearly crashed into one of his students—a conventionally attractive, blonde-haired woman named Lisa. She was one of the only students who consistently seemed to pay attention to the material he was presenting, though Gary had begun to sense that her interests might lie with something other than numbers .

“Any plans for the weekend, Professor Graham?” Lisa asked, smacking her lips a few times as she chewed a wad of what was essentially spearmint-flavored plastic. And for a moment, Gary was too mentally preoccupied with trying to remember the gum manufacturing process (perhaps his brain trying to protect itself from focusing on the constant click, click, click of her chewing) to answer. After a couple more seconds, she tilted her head and said, “Hm?”

By this point, Gary could no longer feign a neutral expression and was wrinkling his nose instead. Geez, how could some people constantly chew like that? Didn’t their mouths get tired?

“Did you know that gum used to be made from the latex of sapodilla trees?” he asked, eager to both maneuver around her question and focus on something other than the incessant sound of mastication. “Until the 1960s. Or thereabouts. Now we make it with resin and wax and elastomers and all sorts of crud like that.” He paused and faked a shudder. “Yuck.”

She simply blew a bubble in response.

“You’re chewing on plastic,” he deadpanned.

Lisa nodded a couple of times like maybe she was reconsidering her habit, but then she smiled and said, “You’re so smart, Professor Graham.”

Unease rolled through his body, nearly making him shudder for real. “Uhm, thanks.”

“I like a smart man.”

Blowing out a breath, Gary fumbled for a response. “Uh...well... lucky for you, there are plenty of intelligent students to choose from here at Kent State.”

“Do you have—”

A girlfriend? A wife? Someone special? No way was he letting her finish that thought .

“—somewhere to be?” he interrupted, throwing on his parka. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have a very important matter to attend to, so...”

“Okay,” she said with a shrug of her shoulder. “See you Tuesday, then.”

He flashed an overly exaggerated smile. “Yup, Tuesday!”

Eager to be just about anywhere else, Gary spun around and rushed toward the emergency exit to the classroom. When he pushed it open, a cold wind blew past, sending some of his wavy brown hair into his face. He raked a hand through it to push it back, a feeble attempt to fix what Mother Nature had mussed up. Wrapping himself up in a hug, he walked to the bike rack, and then, with fingers that were already half-frozen, he fought to unlock his bike.

Thankfully, the subsequent forty-five-minute ride back to his home in Niles provided plenty of time to try to push the conversation with Lisa from his mind. He needed to be in the right headspace to run his radio show, which was supposed to start in less than an hour.

Forty minutes before he was scheduled to be on the air, Gary zoomed up the driveway to his one-story home and parked his bike in the garage. Once inside, his frozen hands began to thaw, enabling him to throw together his favorite meal—a pre-prepared vegetable burger with a side of peas. He practically inhaled it as he scanned the Tribune Chronicle for potential news.

After he’d finished, Gary walked into the studio room and was just about to get settled at his desk when he heard someone honk their horn out front. He headed over to the window and glanced outside to see Jenny Lane, one of his loyal listeners who lived a few houses away, idling outside in her beige sedan. Grinning, he threw open the window.

“Heya, Jenny!” he called out .

“Hi, Gare! Just on my way into town, and I wanted to make a request!”

“Yeah! Sure!”

Gary’s chest warmed, happiness bubbling up inside of him. Gosh, what a treat it was to run the local station in a little city like Niles, where people could shout out requests from the roadside!

“Any chance you could play some Pink Floyd?”

“Yeah! Of course! I’ll throw on a couple of songs when I’m finished with the news! How’s that?”

“Perfect! See ya, Gare!”

“Bye!”

Gary closed the window, his heart full and happy. Sitting in front of the control board, he rubbed his hands together and took a couple of breaths to clear his head and ready himself for the show. After fiddling with the knobs, Gary cleared his throat.

And then, he was live.

“Goooood afternoon, folks! Gary Graham here with WKbr, the station that seeks to be the perfect start and end for each and every one of your days here in Niles, Ohio. Now, we’ll begin our evening program, Tell Me S’more , with our conversation topic, and then we’ll move on to news and weather, and of course, we’ll play some of your favorite tunes. So, tell me, what’s everyone’s favorite flavor of chewing gum? I have to say, I’ve never cared for the stuff, but I’d love to hear your thoughts. Call the station at 555-YUMM with two M’s for your chance to tell the world your personal preference. Once again, that’s 555-9866...”

Hours later, Gary signed off for the evening. Stretching to work out the knots and kinks that had formed from sitting for so long, Gary let out a mixture of a yawn and a groan. Boy, was he tired. Tired enough that he could barely resist the urge to rethink his crazy schedule. But luckily, there wasn’t enough time to rethink it, really, because in only six hours, he’d have to wake up and pop on the radio for his morning program, Graham’s Flour Hour (which was three hours long, incidentally), and then he’d be off to the college for a while, only to have to race back home for the evening program. And so on and so forth. Again and again and— yup —again. On weekdays, anyway.

Barely time to breathe. Barely time to think.

Which was pretty perfect for trying to stave off the loneliness.

***

On Saturday, Gary was munching on some fries in the food court of the Eastwood Mall while he waited for his best friend, Mel, to shop for a new jean jacket. Dunking a fry into the ketchup he had previously loaded into a paper condiment cup, Gary tried to focus on the exams in front of him, which were woefully overdue for scoring. But he kept being interrupted by the constant noises of the other mall patrons—sounds of lively chatter, laughter, and the people closest to him slurping the last bits of their Orange Julius. After a few more minutes of trying to concentrate, Gary gave up and pushed the exams toward the center of the table. Might as well take a break from scrutinizing his students’ hastily scribbled equations and just enjoy the salty snack he’d bought from the food court’s burger place.

Surveying the rest of the food court, Gary’s eyes kept finding seemingly happy couples—they were everywhere —and each time he let himself watch them for more than a few seconds, there was a twinge in his chest, heartache and longing in one terrible tug. He’d have loved to be sharing his life with someone by now, but he hadn’t managed to find “the one,” not even when he’d really been trying, though it had been years since that time.

And, besides, it was probably for the best that he had thrown in the relationship towel. He wasn’t exactly made for courtship. Each time Gary had tried to be with someone, he had, without fail, become way too invested way too early, before even really knowing the man he was kinda, sorta with. One two-hour movie with someone coupled with a bit of hand-holding or, heck, a kiss and that was it—he’d spend the whole night tossing and turning, envisioning a future with the person.

How would he ever manage to correctly assess his compatibility with someone if his heart’s response to even the slightest bit of affection was to latch on so tight it was impossible to be even a little objective?

After a few more minutes of self-reflection, Gary rubbed his salt-and-oil-coated fingers on his pants, fighting back a defeated sigh at the knowledge that he had pretty much wasted his “free” time lost in thought rather than catching up on work. Gathering up his papers, Gary looked up, only for his eyes to find the most handsome man he had probably ever seen in person, one who was nice looking enough to make even the muddy-brown custodial jumpsuit he was sporting look incredibly alluring. Or, more likely, Gary was simply so sex-starved that he had lost touch with reality. Still, he continued to admire the man for another couple of seconds. With his short scruffy beard, brown eyes, strong jawline, and clearly fit physique, the unfairly handsome custodial worker ought to have been the star of some sort of Hollywood film, not mopping up spilled pop in a mediocre food court.

While Gary was busy staring, the beautiful man stopped mopping to throw a threatening scowl at some rowdy teenagers, and boy, his facial expression provided an entirely new meaning to the phrase “if looks could kill.” Yeah, this particular custodian was handsome enough to be the star of a movie alright, though the film might have to be a slasher.

Gary startled when a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Yum,” Mel said, setting her shopping bag on the tile floor and sitting beside him. “Dark and handsome.”

“Mel,” Gary started with a playful scoff, “as a beloved local radio star and adjunct mathematics professor, I have little time to woo dark and handsome men, especially surly-looking custodians who are probably very straight.”

“Nothing wrong with enjoying some eye candy.” Mel propped her elbow up on the table and rested her cheek on her fist, her mass of light-brown curls barely even budging from the motion. Geez Louise, Mel sure used a lot of hair spray. When the scent of her Aqua Net hit Gary’s nostrils, he wrinkled his nose to stifle a burgeoning sneeze. “Besides, graham crackers are kind of boring without the chocolate and marshmallow.”

Gary let out an amused huff. “Are you suggesting I find a blond man too?”

“Oh no, of course not, Gare. General Grump over there is the chocolate, but you two would need to make your own white, sticky—”

Before she could finish, Gary pelted her with a fry, which in turn had her erupting with laughter, and so, he proceeded to throw a couple more. When he moved to throw an entire handful, he caught sight of General Grump, whose brown eyes were now shooting invisible laser beams in his direction. Gary’s smile fell away.

“Uh-oh,” Mel teased. “He’s mad now.”

Heat rushed to Gary’s cheeks, and he tossed the fries back into the red-and-white cardboard boat.

“Shoot,” he muttered .

Even though Gary was no longer a threat to the mall’s cleanliness, General Grump started stalking over.

“Shit.”

Mel elbowed him in the bicep. “Wow, threat level elevated from ‘shoot’ to ‘shit,’ huh?”

“Mel!” Gary scolded.

When the sexy potential-slasher-slash-custodian stopped next to the table and leveled a menacing look—furrowing his brows and tilting his head a bit—Gary knew he needed to ease the tension somehow.

“Had I been a bit messier, you’d have caught me red-handed,” he said with a nervous laugh. General Grump’s face softened, and he cocked an eyebrow but otherwise stayed silent. “Ketchup?” Gary tried. Nothing. “Or maybe you prefer to call it catsup ?”

Mel sighed and said, “Don’t mind him, sir, he thinks he’s funny.”

General Grump had yet to break eye contact.

Very pointedly, the handsome custodial worker said, “Don’t. Throw. Food.”

Despite the irritation in the man’s tone, Gary’s stomach fluttered a little, the sound of his slightly gravelly voice sending little ripples of want washing over Gary’s skin, making his face burn even hotter. Gosh, this man was something .

“Come on,” Mel said, standing up and tugging on the sleeve of Gary’s coat. “We better head back. It’s nearly four.”

One hour ’til showtime.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Gary said, finally looking away so that he could scoop up the rest of his students’ exams. He tucked them under his arm as he pushed himself to stand. “If you had heard her terrible comments, I’m sure you’d have supported the as sault .” Assault. Salt. General Grump had to have understood that one.

“Gary, hurry up!” Mel picked her bag up off the floor. “I can’t be late for the movies. Ken will think I stood him up.”

“Have a fantastic evening Mister...” Gary’s eyes fell to patch on General Grump’s chest. “... Eastwood.”

Mel snorted. “Eastwood’s the name of the mall, weirdo.”

After a moment, the man wet his lips and said, “Billy McCoy.”

Gary couldn’t stop himself from breaking into what had to have been the most pathetically happy smile ever. “Gary Graham.”

“Radio man.”

“Gary Graham, Radio Man,” Gary repeated. “And yet all I could come up with was Graham Cracker. Where were you four years ago?”

After a beat, Billy McCoy said, “I was a shoe salesman in New Jersey.”

Was that the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the man’s lips? So much for General Grump. Though Gary had the strange sense that this Billy bloke was poking fun at him somehow. He kind of wanted to ask about that faintest tease of a smile, but instead, he found himself saying, “Oh, wow, what brought you to Ohio, then?”

Mel tugged the sleeve of his coat once more. “Gary!”

Gary sputtered, “Right, well, feel free to listen in tonight, Billy. WKbr. I’d be curious to hear your opinion on the topic of the evening. Do you think French fries taste better with ketchup or malt vinegar?” He started following Mel toward the exit before whirling around and shouting, “Discussions at five and ten!”

As soon as they were out of earshot of Billy McCoy, Mel caught Gary’s eye and started cackling.

“Maybe there’s a man for you here in Niles after all.”

“Oh, yes, me and the broody custodian. We’re a perfect match,” Gary said with a snort, tucking his papers tighter under his left arm. “Really, Mel, I’m not sure if I’m cool enough for a man like that.”

“You’re not sure if you’re cool enough for a mall janitor?”

“He has that whole edgy shtick happening. He oozes cool.” Gary shoved her with his right elbow. “I mean, he’s John Bender, the bad boy. I’m Brian, the brain.”

“Enough with The Breakfast Club ! Ever since we saw it last week, you’ve been sticking it into way too many of our conversations.”

“Are you telling me you prefer my math puns to pop culture references?”

Mel threw Gary a smirk as they neared the exit. “I prefer normal human conversation.”

“Oh, not all math puns are terrible. Just sum . You know—S-U-M?”

“Oh, God,” she said, shoving Gary sideways with a rough push.

“Aren’t I clever?” Gary said, recovering easily.

“I’m surprised you even have listeners sometimes.”

“Well, when I’m on the air, I leave out the math-related commentary in favor of useless trivia. Sometimes food related. You know, what with the names of my programs and everything.”

“How fun,” Mel said with a sarcastic glance his direction.

They stepped out into the parking lot in tandem, and the rush of winter air had Gary tensing his muscles.

“Poo-poo it all you want,” he said, awkwardly hurrying to zip up his coat, “but I make enough to keep the electricity on.”

“Ah, yes, the local business advertisements.”

“Hey, I have plenty of listeners. The fine folks of Niles simply will not start their mornings without listening to me read the obits.”

“I thought you were switching those to the evening program. ”

Gary shook his head. “I really can’t bring myself to list out the local tragedies right before bedtime.”

“Maybe scrap it altogether, then.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

When they reached Mel’s midnight-blue Buick Skyhawk, she unlocked the passenger door before circling over to the driver’s side. Gary slipped inside, and as soon as he’d buckled in, he began rubbing his hands together to warm them. Once Mel was in her seat, she tossed her shopping bag over her shoulder into the back. When she moved to start the engine, Gary leaned over and tapped the wheel with two fingers.

“Hey, now, safety first,” he chided. “Seat belt.”

“God, Gary, you need to chill,” she said, though she still reached for her seat belt.

Gary clicked his tongue. “I’m chilly enough in this pathetic parka.” He blew on his hands to make a point. “Where’d you find this thing?”

“In the basement. It was probably my uncle Mark’s.”

“I think its efficiency is waning with age.” Gary frowned. “Olive green. Makes me look like I served in the military.”

“Maybe Billy Boy liked that,” Mel teased. “Mmm...a man in uniform.”

“Well, then he’ll be crushed to learn that I’m a conscientious objector,” he shot back, a playful hitch in his voice.

As Mel pulled out of the parking space, Gary started strumming his fingers on the seat. Thirty minutes until showtime. No time to study the newspapers or even sift through the various pamphlets and flyers that he had found in his mailbox this morning. He’d have to wing the news portion of the program. Which wouldn’t be a problem, necessarily, since everyone in Niles who listened to his programs was plenty chill , as Mel liked to say. His regular listeners seemed happy enough to have a local radio personality, even if he flubbed it from time to time.

After Mel dropped him off, Gary went inside to prepare for the show. In the studio room, he took out a couple of records he’d play, balanced the stack of mail on the edge of the table where he kept his notes, and then thumbed through the encyclopedia for some ketchup-related trivia he could share with listeners.

Almost time.

Once everything was situated, Gary relaxed back in his chair, letting out a long breath to steady his nerves. Somehow, even though he’d been a radio personality for four years now, he still felt nervous before starting a show.

Three minutes left.

Gary spent the entirety of it thinking back on the chat he’d had with Billy in the food court, his mind lingering on Billy’s barely-smile—the one that had seemed to say Billy had been messing with him in some way, though Gary couldn’t figure out how. What on earth was funny about selling shoes in New Jersey? Was Billy trying to razz him about the shoes he had been wearing? Gary looked over toward the shoe rack and studied his beat-up pair of high-top sneakers. Fairly standard—white with a couple of red stripes. Was there something funny there? If so, he couldn’t figure it out.

Dismissing the thought, Gary pulled the microphone closer and proceeded to start Tell Me S’more . He found himself wondering whether Billy would call in. He really hoped so.