Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, and I make no profit from them.

AN: Thanks to everyone who helped me make this chapter what it is. First my betas, oral and written: Marakeshsparrow!Jess, Melissa, and Max. I also want to thank Kumari for looking over a page of this, and lending me a little bit of the concept of TWaTT Jack in this chapter.

Chapter 5: White Oak Tree

It had always been a long drive, but the drive home was usually 'bout three times longer than the drive up, whether that violated some natural laws, or what. Jack didn't ever look forward to the trip home. He'd a liked to close his eyes an' just be wherever he wanted a be, or even where he didn't want a be, 'long as he could not be in transition no more. He didn't mind drivin' too much, feelin' like his own nervous, sour energy drained out a him, even on the bad trips like this one was, by the natural feelin' a the wind whistlin' past his hat brim. Wind used a whistle like that out on Brokeback. The hat was new. Lureen had bought it for him in July. It was solid black, which he fancied best, and had a nice ivory-and-black beaded hat band. Tucked firmly under that, the old eagle feather. If he was bein' real truthful, he had shot that eagle, after he come up it, injured from some asshole who did shoot it down out a the sky but never found the sufferin' bird. Jack flew down the road southeast, hopin' that eagle went with him.

He stopped at a little gas station ta fill up and buy some smokehouse almonds and some good, dark coffee. He balanced the almonds on one knee and fiddled with the radio, hittin' some station that was playin' the Kingston Trio.

Hang down your head Tom Dooley. Hang down your head and cry. Hang down your head Tom Dooley. Poor boy, you're bound to die.

Jack punched the seek button, but not fast enough, not fast enough ta block out the source of private, righteous anger boilin' up in him. If I'm gonna die like Tom Dooley, sure do wish I had the privilege of committin' some murder first. Jack's first thought was of his old man, but Jack was such a pathetic fuck. He could barely kill a dyin' horse, let alone a livin' person. He felt like shit, like he never done a thing wrong in his life, but he still got all the punishin'. 'Cept Jack had done a thing or two wrong. His ma said it was Jesus who was punished for Jack's sins. If that were the case, Jack sure could a used with a little less punishin' himself.

He stopped 'bout six hours later ta finally release that coffee, this time at a real truck stop. Jack saw a pretty sexy lookin' youth leanin' over into a truck cab occupied by a man who reminded Jack of a rabbit somehow, lean an' jumpy. While Jack was feulin' at a pump, the boy accepted some cash, and walked on over to him. Maybe Jack's blue, sad eyes leaned a moment too long on the boy, or maybe it was somethin' else, but the kid leered a flashy smile and asked, "Help you mister?" before he scratched his groin suggestively. Something like excitement leapt up from Jack's stomach. Had been a while since he'd paid for sex. But then his face transfixed on the boy's cool gaze. The boy repeated, "Somethin' I can do ya for mister?" He couldn't have been even a year older than Bobby.

Jack found himself sauntering over to the boy, eyes fixed on the boy's, a bright blue too, an' something 'bout that youth reminded him a himself. A sudden hiss, hot breath on pale skin, as Jack leaned close to talk to the boy. "Sure as hell can." The boy grinned, but Jack continued. "You get your scrawny ass out a here and back to your folks."

"Well shit. Just askin.'" The boy skulked away, visibly annoyed.

Jack sweared and spit on the ground. Knew that boy wadn't goin' a head home nor nowheres else. Probably had a old man like Jack's, but without rodeoin' know how like Jack'd had at that boy's age. Even so, both Jack and the boy had gapped their legs wide open like a two dollar suitcase ta get away from their daddies. "Shit," Jack cursed again and lit a smoke.

This time tomorrow, reckon where I'll be. Down in some lonesome valley, hangin' from a white oak tree.

He leaned against the truck, maybe even a minute after she stopped takin' on fuel. Jack was watchin' the sky, gray and tight, not giving away a single secret. He felt he ought a be mad at Ennis, but he couldn't muster it. Nothing Ennis had done had been a total surprise. Jack picked up a small bottle a brandy at the truck stop, and tried to forget everythin'.

Even so, as he drove, Ennis settled under his skin. Jack thought over an' over what Ennis done-- not just the crap he done in Riverton, but also all them things Ennis did up on that mountain last week. 'Bout how Ennis reacted to his illness. Wantin' a do for Jack, wantin' a protect Jack. Pulling over that mounting block, makin' sure Jack could ride.

Fuck. Makin' sure Jack could ride. It hit Jack like a ton a bricks, and almost forty-eight hours too late, that maybe Ennis had fixed his truck as a gift and not a punishment. There was no way for Jack to know for sure just now, but the more he thought on it as he drove those long, flat highways, the more he felt sure. He'd a been too quick to assume Ennis had the worst out for him. Still, there was that note. But Christ, if Ennis had fixed his truck...

Jack felt the urge to kiss that man rise up so strong it stung in eyes. Before he knew it, he was hard with missing an' loneliness, in a way he couldn't stand, needin' it like he hadn't never needed nothin' before. He had ta pull off onto a secluded highway frontage road, parking in the shadows, even in the failing light, under a big white oak. He put both hands to work, until that white hot velvet steam rose up to fill his veins-- a soft, sweet, sated place that Ennis had first taken him to so many years before. Shakin' like a run-out horse, jaw trembling, left shoulder cramped from its unnatural reach, tears caught up in his mustache, Jack fell asleep, fly still undone, on the side of that road.

Jack felt about a hundred percent better in the morning, and resumed his trip ta Texas. Still, the need to kiss Ennis, to kiss Ennis's gift of fixin' his truck (the one he was in now! Goddamn.), to kiss Ennis's insecurities an' how he cleaned his place while Jack was there, to kiss Ennis's fear an' how he sat in that chair shiverin' 'cause Jack hadn't yet invited him ta bed like it was someplace new, the need to kiss Ennis still burned on his lips, right there on top of the last kiss Ennis had given him, all the kisses Ennis had ever given' him. Jack imagined he could store up them kisses, let them soak in, and maybe once the need got deep 'nough under his skin, it would find all those kisses stored up and be settled. Either way, Jack still felt the ghost of Ennis's lips on his own when he pulled up to his fancy Childress home on Friday evening.

Jack swung open the door, closing it with his suitcase. The first sight that greeted him was a puff of crimped blond hair on the sofa. He could only see from the back, but Jack certainly wasn't expecting to get home to find a stranger in his house. "Uh, hello?"

The pile of hair and hairspray turned to look at him, disdain and annoyance leaking from her green eyes. "Lo," she answered, turning back to the TV. Jack could see that Bobby's favorite cable station was on-- MTV-- so this little gal must be a friend of Bobby's. Jack didn't approve of MTV and all those half-naked women shakin' their asses on the TV screen, but Lureen let Bobby watch it, and Lureen was the final rules 'round here.

Givin' one last confused look to the strange girl who seemed to occupy the house alone with him, Jack headed on down the hallway to dump his stuff on the bed. Headin' back, he ran into Bobby comin' out a the bathroom.

"Hey." Jack was happy to see his son, though it looked like the boy had probably grown another inch in the two weeks Jack'd been gone. Bobby was already six foot, without a generous ruler. He had matte brown hair in a nest on his head, dull blue eyes more like Jack's ma's, and despite his height, he looked frail. The boy had not yet filled out widthwise, skinny-ish, despite being on the football team. Still, he was fast, and made a hell of a wide receiver already, only in his junior year and a starter. Bobby was a quiet boy, unless he was sellin', 'cause he had that knack like his daddy. His oval chin was capped off with a dusting of teenage stubble and a sprinkle of teenage acne.

"Hey," Bobby answered, and ducked away down the hallway towards the living room.

Jack pursued. "How that truck work out?"

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

"Got a flat out on Emcey Road. Ed McGrady come upon me, changed it for me. Got the donut on now."

Ed McGrady. Ed McGrady who'd hissed vile words in Jack's ear. Jack shivered to think what would a happened if it'd been Jack out on Emcey Road and not Bobby, but as it was McGrady was a high school football fan, and probably more than thrilled to give Bobby the business end of a tire iron. Probably would a given Jack the pleasure end.

"Your mama takin' care a that?"

"She said you gotta show me how ta change a tire, an' take me ta get the new one patched."

"Sure thing." Jack pulled out a beer when they got to the kitchen. Bobby grabbed two sodas and was heading for the living room already. Jack continued to pursue.

"Say, Bobby, you wanna introduce me to yer lady friend?"

"Dad, can I get cable in my room?" The girl was givin' more annoyed looks at Jack.

"No, son, ya can't. Now, you wanna introduce me to yer lady friend, or should I introduce myself."

Bobby heaved a teenage boy-sized sigh, and mumbled. "Dad, Dawn, Dawn, this is my dad." He plunked himself down on the couch to watch the music videos with her.

Jack rolled his eyes, and wandered back into the kitchen. The clock read five thirty six. Lureen was usually home at six o'clock. Bobby got home from school around four o'clock. Jack had arrived smack dab in the middle a no man's land, not wanted in Childress, not needed by Bobby. Tomorrow was Saturday and he could go work out tire stuff with Bobby, but tonight was Friday night, and mark his words, Bobby would go off with some friends, to a video arcade or a pizza place. Lureen would lock herself up in an office and negotiate and plot business deals 'til her phone stuck to her ear with sweat. Jack wasn't needed or wanted here, so, barely home long enough to pop open the one bottle of beer, Jack was back in his truck. He knew where he was going, and he didn't have ta put in a phone call, because this was prearranged.

The truck seemed to know it's own way to Roy Taylor's little cabin on Lake Kemp, though it wasn't a short drive, 'specially after two days a drivin'. It was on a sort of brushy land, with one big, softwood cedar tree shading the cabin. The lake was well-stocked in the spring. Randall wasn't supposed to use it as much as he did. Roy Taylor once voiced suspicions that Randall was takin' a gal there, an' knowin' LaShawn, he'd more or less blessed Randall's affair, puffin' a "Hell, I don't use it anyway." Or at least, that's how Randall tol' the story.

Randall's large black Ford was already in the gravel driveway. Jack pulled on up besides it, and sunk out of his truck, carryin' his beer bottle. Randall was comin' outside now. "Hello! You have a good trip?," the man boomed across the small space.

Jack stopped, feeling sad and distant and like he shouldn't a been there, and pondered how to answer Randall's question.

Well, Ennis said he loved me, and told me he wants to try an' do better, but then he kicked me out a his place by fixin' my clutch, my clutch that's in my truck right here and worn hard with the fingerprints a Ennis, sittin' next to Randall's truck, but then I thought maybe he wasn't tryin' a kick me out, but just fixin' my truck, and the thought made me so hopelessly gone I had to pull off the side a the road an deal with it, but also so furious I thought about havin' sex with a boy about Bobby's age, but I didn't 'cause I knew I was just mad at my daddy for makin' me shoot a horse, but it's all alright 'cause Ennis said he loved me.

But all that came out was, "Best as can be expected, I guess."

Randall held the door open, and Jack slid inside the small, two-room cabin. It had concrete floors, red plaid and pine furniture, a small bar-like kitchen, a homey fireplace, and a tiny bed and bath just off a short hallway by the kitchen. The place was lit with impossibly many lights, all with homey yellow glows and antlers glued to them somewheres. One corner of the small room had a bumper pool table that could be covered up ta turn into a card table. Randall already had the cover on, an' whiskey and tumbler out. Bless his soul. Jack spotted this unwary quarry and flew at it post-haste.

Only one tumbler into the whiskey, leanin' against the paneled walls, Randall was already movin' towards Jack. It had been two weeks for Randall, less for Jack. God, less. Not even a week.

Randall ran a rough, rancher's thumb along Jack's cheekbone. Feeling vaguely like he was wanted an' cared for, Jack leaned into it. Randall's soft voice started then, "It was a hard week on you, huh?" Jack turned to mush at the tenor.

"Shit. I... my goddamn clutch went on the side of a road. My asshole daddy made me shoot his horse. And I ain't too glad ta be home." Jack rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"But you're glad to be here, at least." Concern laced Randall's voice-- and his eyes, Jack found, as he looked up into the pine cone color. "Jack, I wish I could make this all better for you. You don't deserve it."

And just like that-- too quick-- Randall was ducking his head for a kiss. Jack moaned, knowing where this was goin' and feelin' the need of it shiver inta his groin, when suddenly he remembered his roadside release of the day before. And with it, the burning blaze of Ennis upon his lips. He turned his face at the last second, and Randall's hairy kiss grazed his cheek. Jack almost flinched from that as well. He realized, with pain, how this was all goin' a go down.

"Somethin' wrong?" Randall didn't sound too happy any more.

"I... this just... this ain't what I need right now, alright." You ain't who I need.

"What do you need then? Want some food?"

No. God. Fuck. How could Jack possibly say what he was feeling? He could barely voice the whisper of his agony in his own brain. Putting into words what he craved made it hurt more, made it more real, when what he goddamn needed right now was Ennis del Mar. That dimwit had sent the man he loved, he fuckin' said so himself out a his own two lips, drive on back ta Texas alone an' dyin'. Texas with a wife that didn't give a crap, and a son who didn't hardly give a crap, and a boyfriend who cared too much. A boyfriend Jack couldn't kiss, Jack couldn't fuck, because of a yellow-bellied coward a thousand miles away, and the way somethin' cracked in Jack's chest at the idea of erasing those Ennis kisses too soon. Jack felt weak and hopeless, but he felt something else. He felt strong. Strong and loved. And not by Randall. It was a bitch of a unsatisfactory situation, just like he told Ennis earlier that spring, but that situation had just got bitchier and less satisfactory, and here he was in Roy Taylor's cabin, Randall Malone tryin' like hell to smooch with him and that bruise on his wrist-- the bruise from Ennis choosin' ta lie in the mud with Jack-- were still yellow, too. Jack bet he had other bruises, bruises Randall could a seen on his body. Instead he decided to show Randall a bruise on his soul.

"Randall, look. I can't do this no more."

"Ssh, it's alright. Everything will go fine, Jack."

"Not that. I ain't... this ain't 'bout cancer."

Randall's brow pinched in confusion as Jack stepped away to rub his weary face.

"This fishin' buddy a mine, up in Wyomin'? He needs me."

"Fuck him, Jack. I need you. In fact, I think right now, you need me."

"Fuckit. It ain't about that, Randall. Jesus. Look--"

"Look, Jack, I know you have some sort of unhealthy attachment to him--"

Yeah, it's called love.

"--but he's not here, right? So, I am here." Randall's voice was low and slow.

"That's not what I'm talkin' 'bout."

"Jack, not followin'." Randall was gettin' exasperated but quick here, an' Jack saw that comin', and felt it, too.

"Christ. Randall. You an' me are close, but there ain't never gonna be more here." Jack's face was red and he'd turned slow to pin Randall with sincere eyes. "Ennis wants me to give you up. I don't know that I can do that, but I ain't about to stop hopin' on him. He needs me ta have some kind a faith in him." Even if it kills me? What the hell is wrong with me?

"Faith in him. Faith in what, Jack? What is he? He's nothin'. Just someone you fucked too long and ain't good at givin' up. He never done nothin' for you." Randall's storm of angry was low an' quiet, kind a like Ennis, kind a like threats. Though Randall didn't never follow through with those deep tones.

"Not true."

"Yeah? name somethin'."

"Randall, you aren't gonna win 'gainst Ennis!"

"Name one thing he ever done for you when you was needin' it!"

Jack thought Randall had a point. Ennis wasn't ever there ta give him what he needed when he needed it. Hearin' the truths in Randall's words made Jack's blood boil. The sky had turned night black outside, but Jack could see-- out the Western facing slidin' doors on this end a the cabin-- a waxing crescent moon slidin' toward the horizon. He thought he might a just burst into tears of joy then.

"You can't name one thing." Randall's voice was thick. Jack though maybe Randall pitied him.

"I sure can." Jack smiled to himself. It didn't reach his lips, but Jack hoped Randall saw it in his eyes. "My problem is I can't pick just one."

Randall's jaw clenched.

Jack sighed and picked his jacket back up. "This was a mistake. How 'bout we talk about this again when we both cooled down some." Swinging into the same warm parka that had held Ennis against his heart, shielding Ennis from the world, Jack walked out under the star-studded, moon-strung sky with a confidence he didn't quite know the source of.

Slidin' into his truck, poppin' the clutch as he pulled out, Jack realized Ennis had been here all the time, always with him, in his lips, his bruise, his parka, his clutch, his heart. It didn't quite matter that Ennis was miles and miles away, because he was right here, too.

He might a shifted gears one too many times on the way home.

As Jack drove, the last a the anger bled from himself onto the blinking yellow lines, and he felt pretty bad 'bout how he'd treated Randall. It was one thing ta be spittin' mad at Ennis, to want to insult him and scream at him all day long. But that didn't give Randall the right ta do the same. Jack was allowed, because he wouldn't ever stay in that angry place. Randall, though? Hearin' Randall voice angry words 'bout Ennis, even if they might a been true, had near 'bouts turned Jack's stomach over. He would have ta have a calmer talk with Randall about it 'ventually, he knew. No one could talk 'bout Ennis like that but Jack. Jack wouldn't abide it.

Jack arrived home too soon, and found things was just as he 'spected. Lureen was punching away on an addin' machine, Bobby long gone w'Danielle, or whatever her name was.

"Jack, that you?"

Jack plopped his jacket down over a kitchen chair an' headed back to Lureen's office.

"Jack? How was your trip?," she asked.

"Alright." he went over and hugged her shoulders best he could, getting' a nose full of hairspray that made him want ta cough. She didn't even stop punchin'.

"That's good. Bobby tell ya 'bout the tire?"

"Yeah, he sure did."

The conversation floundered completely at that point, and Jack shrugged and waved his way on out a the room. Feelin' mighty low maybe 'bout not bein' more stubborn and stickin' 'round ta be seen off by Ennis, maybe 'bout givin' Randall such a cold and ornery shoulder, and even maybe a little bit 'bout not sleepin' with Randall as a big, major fuck you to Ennis, Jack went to the kitchen to fetch some drink. Bottle of whiskey in hand (and this was Lureen's expensive VSOP shit 'cause he were plum out a cheap shit, but Lureen wouldn't get too angry after somethin' a little money could replace. Hell, she was always on Jack to improve his taste in drink anyway.), Jack was thinkin' way too clearly when he dragged his suitcase with him inta the spare bedroom. It was his place to drink these days since Bobby had gotten older n' wiser, and Jack's drinkin' hours had gotten longer and more desperate. Jack felt he were comin' ta some kind a end, like maybe he shouldn't really still be alive, like maybe he really weren't.

I met her on the mountain. There I took her life. Met her on the mountain. Stabbed her with my knife.

He spent that evenin' the best was he knew how, just drinkin' n' thinkin, jerking off once or twice. He remembered stumbling to his bag for something, when he was nearly too drunk to make the trip. At the time, the trip across his bedroom to his suitcase, an' fumblin' with the zipper, seemed somehow the most important task of his life, an' he nearly hadn't had the remainin' strength ta do it. But he had, alright. And in the mornin', when Lureen found him passed out across the guest room bed, whiskey bottle on the nightstand, and holdin' a couple a old shirts so tight 'gainst his face he might a been makin' a death shroud, he sure knew what the hell had been so important to him in the whiskey haze a the night before.

"Jack? You gotta take Bobby ta get the tire fixed."

Jack raised his head, at first hearin' Lureen muffled and distant, seein' only denim an'... oh. Denim an' country plaid. Jack pulled the shirts down over his face. He didn't even have much of a hangover like he would a liked. Just a little one. The pain would a taken his mind off things, but Jack reckoned he was gettin' too used to alcohol.

"Hnnh?"

"Gotta take Bobby. 'Member, the flat tire?"

Jack said something. He alone knew it was meant ta be an 'oh yeah,' but it came out sort a like "ooornheah."

"Jack." Exasperation was plain in her voice. 'parently she meant now.

"Time's it?"

"Ten thirty six." She was starring at the bedside clock when he focused on her.

"Yeah, ok. Yeah." He stumbled to his feet, feelin' awkward and comical, though Lureen weren't laughin'.

"You know your doc don't think you should be drinkin' so much."

Jack knew. He thought it was pretty funny that now he had cancer all of a sudden everyone 'spected him ta give up alcohol. He'd always drank ta make the outside world an' its pain fade away, and now there was more of it. "Like a see him get cancer an' quit drinkin' in the same month."

The side of Lureen's mouth even creased up a bit at that. She wasn't going ta press him on the drink, on account of his condition, he knew, but there was some worry 'bout her eyes.

He'd finally found his feet, and he threw the denim-n'-plaid over his right shoulder as he squeezed past her and inta the hallway.

A warm shower later, an' Jack was grabbin' a couple pieces of cheese and shepherding his only child out the door. They piled into the new truck, Bobby drivin', an' went to the store. They managed to accomplish the day's tasks-- patched one tire, went ahead and bought a full-size spare from a used tire, and taught Bobby how ta change a tire (How come he'd forgotten 'bout doin' that before? Wasn't everyone just born with that knowledge?). All day they didn't hardly exchange more'n ten words between them. The silence was comfortable, but Bobby was a teenage boy, and no doubt his thoughts were elsewhere. Like way on up inside a Dawn or Danielle or whoever that blond had been. Jack hoped Lureen'd talked ta Bobby 'bout usin' protection, doubted it, had a brief thought he ought to, but let it slide. Kids got that kind a stuff in sex ed these days anyway, didn't they? Jack wasn't really sure 'cause he hadn't been in school long enough ta go through sex ed himself. He'd sure done alright at figurin' out the jist, though.

Evenin' was cool an' calm, partly cloudy with the clouds stringin' int'resting patterns from the South to North, jagged blue breaks here in there in clouds that otherwise mirrored the long strings a highways Jack knew so well. Jack took a beer out on his South-facin' little back deck ta contemplate that stretch a cool November sky.

No one could a been more surprised than Jack when Lureen joined him out back in a matchin', though unused, wooden Adirondack. She was holdin' what looked ta be brandy in a snifter, though not much, and Jack knew it was a harder drink that Lureen preferred. He wondered what that signified, but didn't think long on it. There was somethin' he'd been meanin' ta say to Lureen, and now was gonna be the best time.

"Lureen, don't wanna be no imposition. Why don't you let Randall Malone take me ta the hospital Monday?"

Lureen froze mid-sip, and dropped her snifter back to the the ready. Her eyes likewise froze on the horizon, and her mouth twitched in the way it got when Jack did somethin' truly contrary to her plans.

"Just don't want ya ta miss more work'n you already have to."

"Yeah."

"It's fine, he's a good friend. It don't impose on him too much. He got some vacation saved up."

"Jack..." he could a noticed an angry edge sneakin' into her voice from a mile away, but she weren't more than four feet right now, so he steeled himself for it. "I got the impression we weren't goin' a talk about this."

"About whut?" His heart began to race.

She put down the brandy with calculated moves, her head cocking a little bit, but then straightening, eyes back to the horizon, then sliding down to the middle-distance of the deck floor.

"'Bout Randall. I thought that's why you didn' want me and Bobby ta go."

Jack spent a few moments spinnin' in some sort a free fall of confusion. What in hell was she talkin' about? "Whut in hell you talkin' 'bout?" He had hoped ta come up with somethin' more intelligent ta say on the subject, but there's sometimes you gotta just speak yer mind.

"Jack, I know 'bout you... I thought maybe you wanted some time-- alone, so I was gonna," her voice caught, head cocked, uncocked, which he knew by now was her sign for the struggle to hide her emotions.

"Wait, you were volunteerin' ta leave on account of--"

"I didn't know that you wanted ta go inta all that. Thought we weren't goin' a speak on it. And with Bobby..."

"Christ, Lureen, I thought you just didn't wanna be bothered with the time an' energy."

"Jack, I weren't expectin' you would ask me ta stick around, then ask me ta... ta..."

"I wadn't askin' that, Lureen. Just thought you might need ta be at work on Monday."

"Whell... I already cleared my schedule." her voice was strong and firm again, and he was nearly proud a the way she was takin' this conversation. "I thought maybe you were turnin' around on me."

"Aw, shit, Lureen."

"You ain't been seein' much a Randall lately, I guess."

"This ain't never been about Randall—"

"I know that." Her voice was snappish.

He didn't have any idea of where to take this conversation from there, this not bein' a conversation he would a ever planned on havin' with his wife. Turning to her with a heart full of ache and sympathy, even seein' that somehow he'd given her a false hope that probably she didn't need nor care 'bout, but had a carry around any way, all he could think of ta say was, "Lureen, honey, you wanna take me to the hospital on Monday, I sure would like that a lot."

She looked up at him then for the first time. Her eyes were dark and firm-- cold dry earth, but fertile still. "Don't need your pity."

"An' I wasn't aimin' ta give you any." He met her eyes beat for beat, those young, perky eyes he been lookin' at a lot over the years. Those eyes had seen him leave on more campin' trip, those eyes had seen him bore holes inta the back a L.D. An' just this very morning, those eyes had watched him cradle a couple a shirts like they was gold, an' she didn't never pass no judgment on any a those things. Her judgment was reserved for things that effected her-- for what time he took Bobby where, for what kind a prep work he was doin' on the current model, for whether or not he replaced a toilet paper roll when he'd been the one ta run out. All these years he'd been startin' ta resent her for all those judgments, and only now did he see that she could a cared less 'bout most a the secrets he was keepin', 'cause in reality they didn't effect her, an' one place Lureen liked ta live was reality.

"Alright, then. If you think that's what you want."

"I know it is."

"Ok, Jack."

"Alright." He nodded. It was set.

Lureen seemed a think so too, 'cause she rose to leave. The slidin' glass door closed behind her, and Jack thought maybe he wasn't so alone. He had a lot of people cared 'bout him in some way, least more people than, say, maybe that boy at the truck stop. Lot a people could a been worse off, and even though Jack had made a mess in his life, he made a couple friends alone the way.

Jack slept in the same bed with Lureen that night. They didn't say anything, and there was a cold silence between them, but Jack knew it meant somethin' that he was sleepin' back to back with his wife again.

Sunday morning, Lureen and Bobby went ta church with Fayette and L.D. L.D.'d survived a heart attack this past year, an' was goin' at the Good Book with renewed fervor. Jack slept through most of the church service. He probably would a slept through it either way, but he slept through it from the comfort of his own bed, which was nice.

When he finally got up an' showered, Jack bummed around the house. He had a need ta feel useful, but was pretty tired already, so he fixed odds an' ends-- a loose doorknob, a broken window screen, stuff like that. His mind was still runnin' over the fight he'd had with Randall. It'd tried for a moment ta land on Ennis instead, but right now that was feelin' too painful, Jack feelin' like he'd put him n' Ennis ta bed, for the time being, two nights before in a haze a whiskey. He'd confront that one again when he was more able. Though he did find himself starrin' inta Lureen's jewelry case just once. But it made him feel like a pretty big fool, so he left that alone.

Sunday night, Lureen'd invited her parents over for a roast, the unspoken reason bein' that Jack might be dead in forty eight hours, which made for a meal that wasn't quite as somber as maybe it should a been. It wasn't like Jack really thought he'd die on the surgeon's table. Lots a people had surgery all the time. But his doctor had had a talk with him an' Lureen on all the risks a surgery, and there was still something disconcertin' 'bout bein' cut open an' havin' organs, organs you'd used an' had just fine yer whole life, taken' out and thrown in a trash bin.

After dinner, after L.D. (with whom Jack had managed to exchange not ten words) and Fayette (who gave Jack a hug and told him to mind his health, now, in the politest sense, because if there was one thing Fayette was, it was a lady) had gone home, after Bobby had gone to his room ta talk to that girl (Dan... Dawn, that's it), after Lureen headed off to her office, Jack grabbed a beer and headed for the spare bedroom again. He didn't intend ta sleep there, but he had a phone call ta conduct.

It was 'bout nine o'clock when Randall picked up the phone from not six miles away.

"'Lo?"

"Hey there."

"Jack?"

"Yeah. Listen, I just wanted ta 'poligize 'bout Friday night. I got a lot a shit goin' on."

"Yeah, an' that's understandable." The silence that followed that weren't exactly comfortable like it should a been.

"Look, you ain't sore?"

"Jack... LaShawn is spending the night in town her a friend a hers. Shoppin', movies, girl stuff. Why don't you come on over."

Jack didn't even think, just said "yeah." He was in the truck before it occurred ta him that he ought a make something up ta tell Lureen. Fuckit. And not ten minutes later he was pullin' up in Randall's drive.

Randall greeted him with a tender rub ta the back and a whiskey sour. Jack did like ta think he could be greeted this was every day, but he wished it weren't Randall doin' the greetin'.

A few minutes later, they were sittin' on the couch, Jack still bein' rubbed smooth an' warm across his back and legs, up his arms. He groaned-- a deep man-like growl. He knew what he was wantin' again. Randall apparently did, too, because it didn't take three minutes before Jack was under Randall's warm body, relishing in the sense of firmness and bigness Randall seemed ta have in every part of him. He smelled like cigars and cattle, not quite cigarettes an' horses, but it was somethin', and it did not have even the slightest hint a rose water like Lureen wore.

Fingers were workin' his buttons an' buckle, workin' somethin' else too, before too long, and Jack arched up inta that, groanin' away all the pain he had been storin' up for who knew how long. I know how long. I know exactly how long.

And just like that, he remembered how long. Since. Since since since. And Jack managed to wriggle free of Randall again, but not before Randall's hairy kiss had burned against Jack's lips and smeared the memory of other kisses.

"I gotta... I gotta." Jack couldn't hardly think straight, but he was feelin' jumpy an' a little lower, despite Randall tryin' a raise him up. I said I fuckin' didn't wanna make no promises I couldn't keep, an' here I am tryin' a keep a promise I ain't so sure I made. But I really do wanna make that fucker do somethin' for me. Somethin' big. Really fuckin' do. Jack groaned, another deep man-like growl, and Jack didn't know if maybe it were even the same one, but he kicked a chair before he headed straight for the bathroom. Somehow cheatin' on Ennis (Ain't cheatin'. We ain't got nothin'. Knew that was a lie before he thought it.) with the porcelain god wasn't so much a crime, so he curled his shoulder over the seat, an' even though it weren't really what he wanted no how, he took the release the circumstances allowed him.

Randall was lookin' sullen an' thoughtful when he came out. Shit. Not this shit again. At least they weren't fighting this time. Not yet.

"Randall..." Jack groaned.

"I got it, Jack."

"Shit, Randall. I swear ta God I didn't mean ta do this to you again. It's just askin' too much a me right now."

"Yeah, Jack? What's askin' too much? I askin' too much?" Randall, usually cool-tempered, was showin' some real bitter leakin' through. Not angry. Bitter. An' that was scarier for Jack 'cause he knew how come a man got that way.

Jack blew out a hard breath, braced his hands on his waist. "Yeah, Randall... yeah I think you are?" He didn't want a fight. Just wanted ta speak plain. "Look, I really came over ta try an' clear some air, not ta get inta this thing with you."

"What air's that?"

"I just.. just wanted ta tell you Lureen's gonna take me in tomorrah."

"Yeah? Alright. I see 'bout that now."

"Naw, hell, Randall. You're one a my best friends on earth, an' I didn't mean fer it ta go down this way. But yer just a friend!" Jack wished he could help Randall to understand. He had to say those words again. "It weren't ever gonna be like that, Randall. Not between you an' me."

"What 'bout between you an Mr. Wyomin', then? It gonna be that way?"

Jack sure as hell didn't wanna get inta that again, and he really did not 'preciate Randall bringin' it up.

"Guess I should tell you LaShawn is gonna have a baby."

"Yeah?" Jack wanted his voice to sound hopeful. He was good at soundin' hopeful it the face a the opposite.

"Yeah. Guess I was gonna tell you I was gonna stick by her anyway. So I don't got no cause ta be mad at you."

Jack knew somethin' 'bout findin' out your gal was pregnant, knew somethin' 'bout puttin' off dreams for that, knew as well 'bout bein' put off for it. Old ground, and comfortable walkin' now, for sure. "That's good. You want a boy or a girl?"

"Yeah, a boy'd be pretty good. Easier for me, probably."

Jack smiled to himself, years an' years of inside jokes flooding into his head, 'bout how easy it was ta raise a boy. Randall was in for a ride, an' no mistake, either way, but easy wasn't a word you remember the meanin' of with a boy around. "Well good luck there."

"Yup."

"No hard feelin's?"

"Jack... you under a lot of stress, and you're not feelin' too well. I think you treated me kind a lousy this weekend, but I reckon maybe you got leave to."

Jack smiled almost shyly. "Alright. I gotta head on home. This was a bad idea. I just... hell." Jack reached an arm open, and Randall slipped into it. Their hug was tight an' genuine, warm an' natural, soothin' like a waterfall, but nothin' there sparkin' like electricity. Somethin' that hadn't never been there between them still wasn't, though Jack'd imagined it was on occasion. Randall clapped him on the back.

"You think I can visit you in the hospital?"

"They gonna transfer me to the ICU afterwards. I'll, uh," Jack realized he was awfully sleepy all of a sudden, "I guess I'll talk ta Lureen 'bout sneakin' you in." He did not want to put Lureen in that position, but under the circumstances, he didn't see no choice.

"Yeah... Wait-- does Lureen know?"

"Turns out she known fer a while."

"No shit."

"Known since before you, I reckon." It was an admission of sorts, an admission that Ennis was a major part of Jack's life.

Randall nodded, somber. "She's a real lady."

"Yeah, well... she does have her moments." The wind swept through barren-now trees in a whistling sound outside a Randall's comfortable-enough home. "Anyway, I'm gonna head on home. Take care."

"Jack... you too."

Jack caught Randall's eyes, and with them his meaning. He just nodded once, added a "You know I will" because Randall couldn't read his every movement like Ennis could, and stepped back out inta the chill November night.

Jack stood outside for just a moment, noticing the world. He noticed how the cold air made the stars shine brighter, like maybe they was closer, an' it wasn't too bad a trade-off considering it weren't too cold yet. Time change happened just a couple weeks ago, an' it was getting dark early now no foolin', though the sun had set hours n' hours ago an it was late now. It was that part a the fall season where some days in Texas were still warm, but not so in Wyoming. The last warm week they could count on in Wyoming had passed, with Jack in it, but even it was a fluke. He sighed, his breath visible in the night, night not yet uncomfortable with cold, but getting there. Yeah, getting there. And he knew what he was going to do. He cursed himself, knowing, but yeah, he knew.

Jack got home at not even ten o'clock. Mostly he just wanted ta collapse in bed, but he dragged those shirts and the whiskey inta the spare bedroom, picked up the phone there. Damn his pride that stayed his hand a moment. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He never in a million years should a been doing this thing, but he did feel the pieces of his pride were pretty well shattered 'bout now, so what the hell. He dialed.

"Information, can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh, I'm askin' for an Ennis del Mar, Riverton, Wyoming."

"Can you spell that?"

"Oh, sure. D-E-L-M-A-R, Ennis."

Jack could hear her typing away on one of them new computer things. "I'm sorry, I don't see anything."

Jack's palms began to sweat. Ennis hadn't had a phone yet last week. Maybe it was a bluff.

"He just got a phone." Jack mustered more certainty than he felt. "You sure you don't have a listing, maybe not in the computer system yet."

"Um... it could be new, but in that case I wouldn't be able to check it."

"No way to check those?"

"Well, I mean, not if they aren't in the system yet."

"I know, but is there some files or somethin' around you could check?"

"Um... no?"

Poor girl. Jack knew he should just give up. "Could you just humor me and check again?" He wiped his damp palms on his jeans.

"Um, wait... yeah! Gosh it's right here. I'm sorry, I don't know... I'm new, don't quite know the system...let me..." Jack heard shuffling, moving, bumping. "Sorry. Yeah, we have it. Ennis del Mar. He was added yesterday."

Jack let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"Would you like me to connect you direct?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, that'd be just perfect."

"Thanks! And thank you for calling information."

Jack could hear a smile in her voice from here. But before he could even digest the frazzled encounter with a young and clearly inexperienced operator, the phone was ringing. It didn't even ring twice. Damn.

"Uh, hello?" Ennis said it like the toaster had got up ta talk to him, an' he was tryin' ta make heads or tails of reality. Jack thought Ennis had maybe never sounded cuter. An' he just couldn't let Ennis's discomfort slide.

He made his voice a little deeper. "Hey there. Found yer number on a bathroom stall. You 'vailable?"

The groan on the other end of the line told Jack that he wasn't foolin' anyone.

Jack chuckled. "How you like havin' a phone?"

"Well I ain't had but one call, an' it were soliciting sexual favors, so I'm thinkin' not much."

Jack laughed.

"You alright? Why you callin'?"

"Yeah, I'm ok. Go in to the hospital tomorrow. Guess I felt like maybe we oughta clear a little air first."

Ennis groaned again, real emotion this time. "Now, Jack, don't be talkin' like that."

"Just common sense ta talk ta people before a surgery."

"Nothin' ya can't say later."

"Yeah." Jack didn't know what to say. It hadn't occurred to him how hard talkin' on the phone to Ennis would be. Ennis didn't carry a conversation too well, an' Jack didn't feel like conducting a monologue at the moment. The silence was moderately comfortable, but seemed ta stretch on forever, highlighting a gap, highlighting how little they had ta say to each other, and Jack suppressed a pang of fear, and with it a distant feeling. "Well, I guess I just wanted ta say hi." Truth was, Jack didn't want to try and clear the air. He didn't have any desire ta get into it with Ennis, and maybe Ennis had already sensed that.

"Yup. You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Lureen'll take me to the hospital tomorrow evening, then Tuesday mornin' I got my surgery. Guess I'll be in ICU after that?"

"ICU?"

"Intensive Care Unit."

Ennis grunted.

"Well, I just wanted ta tell you..."

"Yup."

"Yup."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Take care a yourself."

"I surely will."

"Alright then."

"Yup."

"G'night."

"Yeah, goodnight, Ennis."

The click was deafening like a cavernous echo, sounds bouncing against all the empty rooms of his life. The conversation somehow had only made everything worse. It gave Jack a sense of disconnection and something incomplete. But maybe that was good, because at least that way he had some reason to make sure he got ta talk to Ennis again.

Jack was feelin' awful tired. Like ta just lie down right there an' sleep all night. But he had a week in the hospital ta sleep, so he grabbed a pack a smokes and headed ta the back deck. He sat there-- just sat there. All night. Sat up all night an' watched the stars 'til the last one faded inta day.