Old Town New

1

The rental agent was his fifth grade teacher’s cousin. She didn’t remember him, and Harlan Quinn was grateful for small favors. He’d endured enough wide-eyed amazement, turned-up noses, and slanted looks to last him a lifetime.

The house sat on a small cul-de-sac that hadn’t been there when Quinn left Hotchkiss, Colorado, and it looked clean and quiet and just the ticket to keep him away from most of the folks who were related to him. That was good enough for him. He turned to face the frosted-haired lady. What was her name? Miz Harris.

I’ll take it.

Oh, but don’t you want to see the backyard or the—

I’ll take it, he cut her off. Can we go sign the papers?

Oh, well, yes. Back at the office. She flushed and pursed her mouth all up, and Quinn almost laughed. She was pissy at him for not playing by the polite rules, and she looked like her cousin the teacher, who used to get the same look when she caught him in the bathroom smoking a cigarette.

Good.

He motioned for her to precede him, and they went out, Miz Harris simply shutting the door behind her. Quinn shook his head and carefully made sure it was locked. The world wasn’t that fucking safe anymore.

They’d just gotten out to the curb when a car pulled into the drive of the house across the street, and Miz Harris clapped her hands. Oh, excellent. You can come meet one of your neighbors.

She stood on tiptoe, waving wildly as a man got out of the car. Oh, Danny! Danny! Wait for us. I want you to meet your new neighbor.

Yes, ma’am. She got a nod, and the man moved to open his trunk, so Quinn only caught a glimpse of thin legs in jeans, ball cap pulled down to shade the man’s face.

Quinn rolled his eyes, figuring this was his punishment for being in a hurry, but he waited as patiently as he could, shifting from foot to foot.

Miz Harris drew the guy over, his hands full of grocery bags. Danny, this is our new sheriff and your new neighbor. Sheriff Quinn, this is one of our middle school teachers, Danny Avers.

The eyes behind the wire-framed glasses went wide, searching his face. I…. Good afternoon, Sheriff. Welcome to the neighborhood.

Like a kick in the gut, it took him back some eighteen years to his senior year in high school. That face had barely changed at all, was a little thinner with a few more lines. He didn’t want to do this in front of Miz Harris, though. Not one bit. So he simply held out his hand. Pleased, Mr. Avers.

Dan juggled the bags for a second before taking his hand. Dan’s hand was smooth, warm, the shake firm.

Quinn felt his own hand start to sweat and pulled back as casually as he could, then wiped it on his jeans, where they wouldn’t see. I’ll look forward to seeing you around. Miz Harris, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to the office, ASAP.

Dan nodded, already turned away, moving toward a little, plain, neat house.

His gait was a little off, a little odd, and Miz Harris nodded toward Dan as he disappeared. He’s a dear, sweet man. Was in a wicked-evil car wreck oh… sixteen-seventeen years ago. He was the only one of a bunch of kids that made it, though. Careflighted him into Grand Junction, and six years later? He’s applying to teach at the school and taking care of his sick daddy.

Well, there you go. That summed up a life in a hundred words or less. Only, if you knew Dan, you knew that surviving your friends in an accident and your dad getting sick would both be devastating events. Crushing. Quinn watched him go, then resolutely turned to the car to head back and sign papers so he could get to doing his job. Dan wasn’t his business anymore. The sheriff’s department was, and it was time he got down to it.

Apples in the fruit bowl. Lettuce in the crisper. Turkey. Provolone. Milk. Orange juice.

Popcorn and ramen and Cheerios and coffee in the pantry. Paper towels in the laundry room.

Fold up the plastic sacks and put them under the sink and look outside at the little house with the For Rent sign.

Christ.

Harlan Quinn.

Coming home a cop.

Dan chuckled out loud, shook his head. Who’da thunk it? Hell, they’d been in more trouble together in nine months than most guys had their whole lives. Had to have taken something to turn him around. Quinn was probably straight now too.

Wife.

Four kids.

Dog named Sparky.

He started laughing, and if the sound was a little wild, a little skewed, no one could hear it.

What were the odds?

Half his life he’d fought to erase the person he’d been, make up for the shit he’d done. Then who shows up?

Shit.

Of course, he hadn’t seen any recognition in those gray eyes, so maybe Quinn didn’t remember, maybe he’d been forgettable, just another warm body.

Dan shook his head and closed the blinds. He poured water into the coffeepot and stretched.

There must be a storm coming in. He ached.

2

The diner was still there, and so was the Chocolate Cow Dairy Shop. Quinn wondered idly if it still had the best ice cream in town. He didn’t go there, passing both of them by in favor of the new Arby’s on the outskirts of town before heading home.

Fuck, he was tired.

Give him a full fucking caseload back in Denver any day. He grabbed his bag of five for five-ninety-five roast beefs and got out of the car, frowning at the sagging privacy fence that forced him to keep the dog in the house until he could get it fixed.

Quinn snorted. That was what he got for not looking at the backyard.

Some movement caught his eye, and Quinn turned in time to see Dan across the way, turning on the sprinklers to water the yard. Before he could even analyze what he was thinking, Quinn was off, heading over to meet Dan at his front door.

Dan. Hi.

Dan blinked and looked up, eyes losing their green behind the tinted lenses. Hey. You… you settled in?

Getting there. Still don’t have too much furniture. God, this was excruciating. Why had he gone over? I just… I wanted to say hi, now old Miz Harris isn’t around. Tell you I was sorry for the way I acted the other day. She just didn’t remember me, and I didn’t want her to.

No big deal. Dan chuckled, shook his head. You look a lot different. I’m not surprised she didn’t recognize you.

You look the same. More streamlined. He stood there, feeling awkward as heck, which was not a feeling he was used to these days. You eaten? I got plenty.

I made a salad. There’s enough to share, if you want to put yours with mine. Dan opened the front door, tilted his head. Come on in.

Yeah. That would be great. He’d come home and let Rags out at lunchtime, so the mutt could wait. Quinn wandered in, looking around curiously as Dan closed the door behind them.

The place was neat as a pin, done in greens and tans, full bookshelves lining the walls. Our houses are set up all the same way. The kitchen’s in here. I don’t have a formal dining.

That was the truth; where he’d have a table, Dan had more shelves, more books, and a desk with school papers on it.

The coffee table will work. He could understand it. He didn’t entertain much himself back home and didn’t imagine he would here. You living alone?

There’s a little breakfast table in here. Sure enough, there was a tall glass table, one stool at it, the other in the corner. Yeah, there’s just me. Have a seat.

The kitchen was cream and reds, clean and peaceful. I have ranch and italian dressing.

Italian is good. He set the sandwiches and fries on the table and got the other stool, wondering at the unreality of it. He sat, watching Dan move, marking the tiny hitch in his walk.

Cool. Two plates, two forks, two napkins, one bottle of dressing. I have tea and Coke and milk. Oh, and orange juice.

Tea is good. Coke at this time of the day kept him awake at night, and these days he had enough to do that. So you’re a teacher?

Yeah. American history up until the Civil War. Eighth grade. Dan gave him a half smile. If you hear the name Mr. Avers, you’ll hear someone bitching about a history project right after.

Cool. The five-hundred-and-one questions he wanted to ask teetered on his tongue, and he swallowed them down with the tea before pulling out the sandwiches and handing over one, along with half the curly fries.

Dan ate quietly, eyes on his plate. Are you enjoying your job?

Well, I’m just starting. And it’s…. Well. I’m not the most popular of folks. Hell, yesterday his car had had a flat tire when he left the office. And not a natural one.

Oh. Yeah, some of these folks have long memories. Give them time. They’ll come around.

You think? He finally gave up on picking at his salad and put his elbows on the table. You look good.

I look like what I am, a middle-aged teacher. Dan chuckled, went to get more tea. And yeah, they forgave me, and you didn’t kill any of their kin.

I’d wager you didn’t either. Miz Harris told me it was an accident. Whatever had happened, it had put starch in Dan’s back and lines around his mouth. And it put a ball of worry in Quinn’s gut. Still cared after all these years, it looked like.

Ancient history. His glass was filled, then Dan’s was. So did you end up having grand adventures? I always wondered.

He snorted. Suddenly the food was way more interesting. Depends on what you mean by adventure, I guess. I sure did do a lot of stupid stuff.

Didn’t we all? Looks like you fixed shit, though.

Had he? I guess. I sure never did expect to go into police work. God, being with Dan brought back all sorts of memories. Dan had been the one bright spot in a rotten upbringing.

It isn’t the career path I’d have put my money on for you, no. Dan stood again. I have ice cream. You want?

Sure. Ice cream was always good. Made things better just by being cold and creamy. He stood and helped put the salad plates away, wrapped up the remaining two sandwiches.

There’s chocolate chip and strawberry.

He grinned. You got any cookies to make sandwiches? They’d always loved making ice cream sandwiches.

Dan pinked and smiled, chuckling. Only if you have twenty minutes for the cookies in a tube to bake.

I wouldn’t want to keep you, Dan. He wanted to stay and talk, but he had no idea what to say. In case you have papers or something.

Dan nodded. I’m planning on reading, really. Let me get you your ice cream.

I got no plans but to take the monster for a walk and feed him eventually. Rags was good company. Not too demanding, never asked questions. Quinn sighed.

This is awkward, huh? Dan grabbed two bowls, two spoons.

It is. I’m sorry, Dan. I didn’t even think. I saw you and came on over. He’d thought about Dan a lot over the years. Especially when he got lonely.

It’s okay. We’re neighbors, yeah? Dan pulled out the ice cream, scooped some out. So, tell me about yourself, what you’ve been doing.

Well, I’ve been working in Denver these last few years. Was in LA for a bit, but it’s harsh there. And when this job came up, someone convinced me to take it.

Pushed him into it, more like. Damn Sam anyway.

LA? Wow. I’ve never been. Is the ocean pretty?

It is. It’s vast. He grinned, remembering how he’d missed the mountains. And the sheer number of people had intimidated him. It’s a hard row to hoe, though, so I moved back this way.

I bet. Dan handed over his bowl. It sounds like you’ve been busy. That’s cool.

Yeah. Strawberry. Dan remembered. Sit with me, will you? You’re fluttering.

Fluttering? I don’t…. Dan sort of pinked, brought the second bowl over and sat. At least not much.

Sorry. You don’t. It makes me nervous to think you hate looking at me. He wanted to see those eyes. Wanted to take in every detail of Dan’s face, just in case the man decided this was too hard to ever do again. So, you obviously went to college?

Hate looking at you? Dan blinked, shook his head. You haven’t looked in a mirror lately, huh? And yeah, I went to Western State after I got done at the hospital.

Quinn hadn’t looked in the mirror a lot, no. Vanity had gotten him in enough trouble, thank you. The hospital? Sounds like you spent a good bit of time. I noticed you limp some.

Eighteen months, all in all. I got tore up pretty good. Dan looked down, mouth twisting. The limp’s only bad-bad in the winter, if it gets toward damp.

Sorry. Fuck, that was an expression he didn’t want to see. Sorry, I didn’t know.

Oh. Well. You’ll hear. Katy Edwards, Bobby Sherridan, Enrique Garcia, Liz Farr, Little Ricky McDougal, and Sammy Vaughn—all of them died, and you’ll hear about it. There’s even a big-assed memorial out there where it happened.

Holy fuck. He wanted to ask, but he knew what it was like to dredge up the past; heaven knew, he’d had enough of it the last few days. Impulsively he reached out and touched Dan’s hand. I’m sorry.

Dan nodded, hand turning over, touching him back. Yeah. I am too, but like I said, ancient history.

Yeah. There was a lot of that around these days. Dan’s fingers felt good on his hand, their palms sliding together. It almost gave him hope.

They sat there a little while, ice cream melting, quiet and still in a way they’d never been before, ever.

Finally he squeezed Dan’s hand and got up to take his dish to the sink. I need to go feed Rags. Do you want help with the washing up?

No. I got it. Thanks for sharing your dinner, Quinn. It was good to catch up. Real good.

Thanks for sharing the ice cream. He grinned, shaking his head at how formal they were. I… maybe we can do it again.

Anytime, just knock. I’ll be here. Dan took off his glasses, cleaned them.

He nodded, clapped Dan on the shoulder after the glasses went back on. I’ll see you around, neighbor.

Yeah. Have a good one.

Yeah. He left the house and tried hard not to look back. Wouldn’t do any good. Dan had closed the door behind him, and the click sounded awfully final.

He could only hope he was wrong.

Dan finished the Sunday paper