Page 16 of On Fire

“I didn't take you for a Californian. Really?”

“You can't tell by my accent,” he asks, but he’s so exhausted he doesn’t bother making the question sound like a question.

“What do you mean your accent?”

“I hate to tell you, but you got quite a Mainer thing going on yourself.”

“Really?”

“And Boston?” He shakes his head. “All I know is when I first came to the East Coast, I asked for salsa at a convenience store and they showed me seltzer water.”

“I can see that.” My head bobs in support of my fellow East Coasters. “Salsa. Seltzer. Makes sense. So yeah, it's tough. I definitely have an accent,” I soldier on. “Mainer though? I like chips. But I’d rather make my own. It's also kind of a go-to snack thing, isn't it?”

“What?” If possible, he looks even more bleary-eyed.

“Chips and salsa,” I explain. How lame. Yet, I keep at it. “You know, go-to snacks.” And next thing, I'm prattling on for fifteen minutes about snacks. Jesus, I wish I could shut the fuck up. Finally, I come three sixty on the question. “So how did you know him? California is a long way. Did you guys come out here together?”

Something about the question or the way it's phrased makes him shift his weight. “No, Henry was a California thing. Then I went into the service first. I met Finn, moved out here and then Henry came. I didn't know he was even here until a few years ago.” He nods as if telling himself a story.

Nic tips his head back and closes his eyes. “Sorry, Keller, I’m wiped. I don’t know how long I’m going to last.”

“You want to nap? I got this,” I say, reaching over to the back and salvaging a large, rolled blanket I use in the winter in emergencies. I gave it a couple of big shakes and then handed it to him. I make some scrunchy movement with my hands, “You can just tuck it under you head.”

“I think I'm good,” he says. “I don't need to sleep. I just need to close my eyes.”

I glance at him. “Okay, well. You don't need to keep me company. That's beautiful. Look at that sunset. Have you been to that new pub? McNamara’s?” I’m like a dog in a field of squirrels.

I never get tired of looking at the ocean, though. That's one thing that people who live near the sea have in common. Doesn't really matter where you're from or what your political views are or anything. You look at that sunset and you're all united.

“Everybody can agree that sunset is beautiful.” I realize I’m talking out loud again.

“Do I make you nervous?”

“Me?” I pause and decide to come clean. Especially if we are going to be working together on this—thing. “I’m just not good with silences. I feel like I have to fill in. Like I’ll leave everyone hanging.”

“You don't need to feel that way with me. I'm used to being quiet. I don't mean to make you nervous.”

I can’t help but notice he’s trying to bunch the blanket up and turn it into a pillow.

“It's not your fault,” I say. I'd never really articulated why I tend to talk so much. My dad was a good guy but just never listened, and I always felt I had to explain everything three times. I tap danced all through conversations, trying to keep him entertained so he wouldn’t think I was boring. I could also hide in those conversations—I never had to talk about myself.

And now I’m saying this all out loud. To Nic.

He smiles but it stops with his eyes. I’m pretty sure he just wishes I’d shut up.

“We're good. We're good. Sorry about your parents. I heard your mother died last year.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she was a great woman. Raised two rowdy boys with two absent fathers. Are you close to your parents? Are your parents alive?”

There’s a recoil, slight, almost imperceptive, and then something dark comes across his eyes, a veil and I know I’ve crossed some line. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, it vanishes.

“I'm sorry,” I say gripping the wheel. “I didn't mean to intrude. You know, I put my nose in places it doesn’t belong and—.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “That's a whole other story I don't usually tell very often.” There's something about the light on his hair. The peachy cast of sunset through that short, thick hair.

I want to run my hands through it.

“I’m sorry, Keller, but maybe I will take a short nap. I’m not going to be much company.” My hands are instantly sweaty as he tries to get comfortable. But I see what he’s saying. Even with his olive complexion, the skin around his eyes looks bruised.