Page 19 of Resilience on Canvas

Chapter Ten

Robert

On Wednesday, Robert was in the kitchen staring at the pile of freshly picked carrots, his heart hammering in his chest. Why the hell had he invited Henry over?

Son of a bitch, he had promised himself that he wouldn’t give in to these romantic feelings.

He had shown up to that shift at the store with every intention of resisting the pull he felt toward Henry Sherwood.

But then Henry had really thrown him for a loop by looking so Goddamn strong carrying those sacks of flour, and Robert had needed to pour nearly every bit of strength he had into keeping his pants from becoming too tight.

And then Henry had been so kind when trying to teach Robert that math trick later, too.

What a sweetheart he was. Robert had known then and there that he couldn’t resist Henry no more.

At least, he couldn’t resist spending time with him.

He couldn’t resist the powerful urge to be close to the man.

Hell, he had only barely managed to resist the urge to pull Henry in for a kiss.

He’d come this close to kissing Henry Sherwood.

Right there. In the middle of the store.

In public. What a mess that would have been.

God, the two of them could have been seen by somebody . And yet...

Robert had come so close kissing him. Even still .

Then, even though Robert had barely escaped social exile, he had still surrendered to that burning want he felt and invited the son-of-a-bitch puppy-man over to make marmalade.

Henry Sherwood would be the end of Robert Davis. He’d be the end of life as Robert knew it. He’d ruin the pitiful life that Robert had worked so hard for. Make him a pariah in the hellish wasteland that was left of their little town. Henry would be the end of everything.

And, oh, Robert was ready for the reckoning.

Robert was still lost in thought when Clara came up behind him.

“Kids’ll be home soon,” she said. “I thought maybe I could meet them over by the schoolhouse and take them into town for a little while instead? Just, you know, so you and Henry can have the kitchen to yerselves.”

Robert pressed his lips together, trying not to look too pleased about this idea, though now his hammering heart was beating even more ferociously from the sudden rush of excitement. Alone with Henry. Holy hell.

“Thanks, Clara,” he said. “Wouldn’t want one of us losin’ a finger if the kids start makin’ a ruckus and wind up startlin’ us when we’re wielding one of them knives.”

“Right. Exactly.”

Clara tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She was smiling shyly. Almost like she knew something. Again. Not wanting to even entertain the possibility, Robert looked back at the carrots.

He cleared his throat and said, “Better leave soon or you’ll be late.”

“Alright, well, we won’t be out for too long,” she said.

Robert’s face flushed. God, was Clara trying to imply something?

“I took some money from our savings. Just enough for some popcorn. I hope that’ll keep us busy in town for a little while.

But I’m not sure if we’ll have enough food for everyone.

Other than the marmalade. We’re, uhm, we’re running low, Robert. ”

“Yeah... I know,” he said, the bashfulness he was feeling earlier turning to shame, keeping his cheeks warm. “I saw two cans of vegetables left, though. Pork and beans, too. Just the one can. I’ll be fine with the marmalade and some carrots myself.”

“Dippin’ carrots in carrot marmalade?” Clara asked.

“Why not? It’s somethin’.”

“Don’t tell me yer plannin’ on skippin’ supper otherwise.”

“I have to, Clara.”

“What if I—”

“ No ,” he said sternly, his eyes snapping up to meet hers.

“ I’m the one who’s supposed to be takin’ care of us.

It’s my responsibility to find food for everyone.

Bob Sherwood won’t be payin’ me ’til tomorrow.

Once I receive my money, we’ll have enough for more food.

Until then, I’ll have to go without. Which is fine , Clara.

I’m the provider. It falls to me to sacrifice in times like this.

” Clara’s eyes were becoming misty, her bottom lip trembling.

Robert came closer and took her face in his hands.

“Henry said I could take a couple of extra cans tomorrow, too. Dented ones. We’ll have enough for the next week.

And I’ll keep workin’ so we’ll have enough for the followin’ week, too.

And on and on. I swear on my life I will get us through this.

I will keep us afloat ’til the rains come back.

” He forced a smile. “Afloat. How funny is that? Afloat on this Goddamn parched soil. Not a splash of water to be found.” Clara’s mouth twitched to form a half smile, but the sadness and worry never left her eyes.

“I can’t have you cryin’, Clara Marie. Not over me missin’ out on eatin’ some mediocre beans and mushy vegetables. ”

After a moment, she nodded, and Robert dropped his hands from her face .

“Thank you,” she said softly, turning to leave. “I’ll be back soon.”

While Clara was putting on her shoes, Robert saw Henry pass by the window, and his heart leapt up into his throat. Clara opened the door before Henry could knock. Henry had a rag over the lower half of his face.

“Hi, Henry,” she said. “I’m leavin’ to pick up the little ones from school.”

“Hey, Clara,” he replied. “Be careful out there. Wind is blowin’.”

“Oh!” She turned to snatch a scarf from the back of a chair and then wrapped it around her face, securing it behind her head with a simple knot. “There.”

Henry pulled down his mask and smiled. “Take care.”

“You too,” she said, her voice muffled by the fabric. “Have fun makin’ marmalade.”

Clara waved goodbye to Robert as Henry started toward the kitchen. He tossed his rag over to the couch on the way. The moment Robert and Henry locked eyes, it was like a watch stopping. Robert’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, the sound so loud he barely even heard the door shutting.

“H-hey, Robert,” Henry said, rubbing his neck. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Robert replied right away, though his voice wavered. “Ready to cook?”

“Yeah, uhm, yeah,” Henry said, shuffling closer. “Are you sure you can spare the carrots?”

“Everyone likes marmalade. The kids will eat it. Maybe with pancakes or such.”

Robert turned and placed his palms flat on the counter, letting out a breath.

What was he supposed to do now? Him and Henry were by themselves.

And they liked each other, right? Henry came up beside him, and Robert chewed on his lip, wondering what was the right thing here.

He could kiss him. He, Robert Davis, could take Henry Sherwood by the collar and kiss the hell out of him.

But could he really sacrifice himself like that?

Not only himself but his family, too? Christ, not fifteen minutes before, Robert had been ready to meet his maker, socially speaking, but then Clara had come into the kitchen, her big brown eyes filled with worry, reminding Robert how much they needed him to survive.

Son of a bitch, Robert had a whole family to think of! He couldn’t kiss Henry now.

“Alright, Hen,” he said, fighting to keep his voice strong. “First, we’ll peel the carrots, and then, we’ll shred ’em, and then, we’ll boil ’em. Think you can handle that?”

“Yeah, I can peel carrots. And shred ’em.”

“But boilin’, that’ll be a problem,” Robert teased, handing Henry a knife.

“Oh, no, I can boil vegetables, too.”

“Good,” Robert replied with a snort. He swiped the blade of his own knife over a carrot, flaying off some skin. “Try to keep up.”

Over the next few minutes, the two men worked to peel a whole pile of carrots, though Henry was real slow with it. Slow enough that Robert had to concentrate on suppressing a chuckle. Somehow, Henry seemed to be becoming even slower with time, too.

Finally, Robert said, “We’re peelin’ carrots, Hen, not makin’ a sculpture.”

“Hm?”

“Yer bein’ so careful, it’s like yer carvin’ somethin’ for a museum.”

“Oh.” Henry set his knife on the counter. “Well, that’s because my finger hurts. ”

He held out his hand. Henry’s index finger was red, the tip slightly swollen. Robert’s eyes widened.

“Christ, Hen!” He snatched Henry’s hand. “I thought I warned you to keep this clean!”

“I did! I swear I did!” Henry exclaimed. “But, uhm, I think maybe we aggravated it when we were wrestlin’ in the store.”

“Dammit.” Robert’s scowl deepened when he spotted the little son-of-a-bitch piece of wood still stuck in Henry’s skin. “I can’t believe you left the splinter in there.”

“I tried to work it out on my own, but I couldn’t find my tweezers.”

“Doesn’t yer mom have tweezers?”

“Maybe?”

With a roll of his eyes, Robert began pulling Henry toward the bedroom, though he had to try not to fixate on the where of it as they neared the end of the hall.

“Wait on my bed,” he said as he shoved Henry inside. Blood rushed to his cheeks, and he prayed that Henry hadn’t noticed. “I’ll fetch the tweezers from Clara’s room.”

Robert tried to banish the impure thoughts from his mind and, therefore, extinguish the fire of want heating up his face, but he couldn’t manage to push them out completely. Because for the second time that week, he had held Henry Sherwood’s hand. And he was about to hold it again.

When Robert returned with the tweezers, Henry was sitting on the bed, bouncing his leg.

It was surprisingly endearing to see him like that—nervous and bashful—though Robert had liked seeing the fiery side of Henry, too.

Wordlessly, Robert sat beside him and held out his hand.

Henry placed his on top of it with his palm toward the ceiling.

“It’ll probably hurt,” Robert said. “Because of the swellin’.”

“Are you sure we got to—”

“Do you want a teeny tiny splinter to be the thing that cuts yer life short?”

“No?”