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Part 3 Chapter 17: Sorrow and Loss
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Deep in the Closet
Ben let himself in with the spare key. Matt gave it to him last year, somewhere between a busted water heater and a patch job on the porch railing. Tossed it across the kitchen counter and said “you might as well.”
“Back here,” Matt called from down the hall.
“You better not have started without me.”
“Hurry up.”
He followed the voice to the small guest room at the back of the house. Matt was on one knee pulling nails out of a baseboard.
“Took you long enough,” Matt said without looking up.
“Traffic.”
“You live thirty minutes away.”
“Bad traffic.”
Matt pulled another nail. “You want to stand there, or you want to work?”
Ben grabbed the toolbox from beside the door. “What’s the plan?”
“Clear the closet, strip the baseboard, pull the carpet. If we get that far.”
“Ambitious for a Sunday.”
“Start with the shelves. I’ll finish the baseboard.”
They worked. The room was tight enough that they had to take turns moving through it. Ben pulled down shelving brackets while Matt worked along the baseboard with the claw hammer.
“You eat?” Matt said after a while.
“No.”
“There’s food in the kitchen.”
“You always make extra.”
“Because you never eat before you show up.”
“Why would I? You cook for free.”
“It’s not free. You’re pulling carpet later.”
“So it’s a transaction.”
“It’s an economy,” Matt said. “Go eat. I need to sort the closet anyway.”
Ben came back with half a sandwich. Matt was crouched in front of the closet, pulling boxes out and stacking them against the wall.
He held something up. A chess board, folded shut. The cheap plastic kind. Ben’s family also had one like that.
“I forgot we still had this,” he said, brushing the dust off. “My dad taught me on this board.”
Matt wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t sad either.
“I don’t remember much else about it. Just… sitting at the table. Him moving the pieces real slow, walking me through it. I must’ve been five. Maybe six.”
He set the board aside and stood.
“Anyway. Rest of this is garbage. Hand me that bag.”
Ben handed him the bag.
No. Not this.
“You just going to stand there?” Matt said.
“Carpet next?” Ben said.
“Carpet next.”
“Should’ve brought a halligan.”
They pulled in sync, the old carpet tearing away from the tack strips with a sound like ripping cloth. Ben put everything into it.
His apartment was dark when he got home. The couch sank under him, lights still off. Bare walls. They’d been bare since he moved in.
“My dad taught me on this board.”
No one got that version of Matt. Not even Matt knew he was showing it.
But Ben was right there.
You don’t look at straight men like that. Not when you’re the only one at the station keeping that kind of secret.
The rules were never hard to follow.
Matt was his best friend. His partner on the rig.
The one person he couldn’t afford to lose.
Ben sat for a long time.
Then he got up, put his boots away, plugged in his phone. Stored Matt’s leftovers in the fridge. Left it open longer than he should.
The fridge beeped.
He closed the door.
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