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stayed closed-off and unreadable.
    Pulling up in the bar’s almost empty parking lot, Calvin shut off the engine, but Brock made no move to get out. They sat in silence.
    “Thanks,” Brock eventually said, “you know…for today.”
    “No problem.”
    “My daddy died in that hospital.” Brock’s voice cracked.
    “I’m sorry.” Calvin wanted to reach out and at least touch the guy, but was pretty sure the gesture wouldn’t have been welcomed.
    Brock let out a breath and ran a hand over his face. With the engine off, the temperature inside the car was starting to rise.
    “What did he die of?” Calvin asked when it looked as though the conversation had stalled.
    “Cancer.”
    Calvin winced. It made him feel even more of a fool for his over-reaction about Brock’s supposed melanoma.
    “The doctors gave him three months. He lived —if you could call it living—for nearly seven.”
    “Shit.”
    “There was this medicine that the doctors said might give him extra time. Daddy didn’t want any of it, said they should just take him out to the corral and shoot him,” Brock laughed humorlessly, “but I had to try anything that’d keep him alive, you know?” Brock turned an anguished gaze to Calvin.
    “Yeah. I’d have done the same.” Even though they weren’t especially close, Calvin shuddered at the thought of losing his own father.
    “But all it did was prolong his agony, as well as stack up some fuckin’ huge hospital bills.”
    “Ah.” Calvin remembered they didn’t have health insurance.
    Brock slammed the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. Then he brought both hands to his face. Calvin could see the man’s shoulders shaking. He ached to comfort Brock, but they were in a public place in Podunkville, and the site of two men hugging—no matter the circumstances—would probably get both their asses handed to them on a plate.
    “I’m real sorry, Brock. Your daddy was a good man.” Calvin handed him the last of the Kleenex.
    “Thanks.” Brock sniffed. “Shouldn’t cry. Men don’t cry.”
    “One thing my own daddy taught me is that a real man is one who can cry in front of another man. So you go ahead and cry if you need to, and I won’t judge you.”
    “Thanks.”
    Brock took a few minutes to compose himself.
    “Feel better now?”
    Brock nodded and settled lower in his seat. “I’m sorry.”
    Calvin shook his head. Strangely reluctant to let Brock leave, but knowing he couldn’t keep him any longer, Calvin let out a breath and said, “Well, I guess you’d better go and start pricing up materials.”
    Brock looked at him. “You still want me? Even after I freaked out like I did?”
    “I thought we agreed not to talk about that.” Calvin sure wanted to, but…
    “Thanks, man.” Brock’s smile did something to Calvin’s insides that he wasn’t willing to examine too closely.
    “Go on. Git. Give me a call when you’re ready to start work. And in the meantime I’ll press your shirt.”
    “You’d make someone a great housewife.”
    “Fuck off.”
    * * * *
    Brock’s talking about his daddy made Calvin conscious of the fact that he hadn’t spoken with his folks for a couple of days. At a stoplight Calvin got out the Bluetooth earpiece, pressed the button, said, “Mom and dad,” and the phone did the rest.
    “Calvin, honey,” his mom said when he’d identified himself.
    “Just thought I’d call…you know…to see if you two were doing okay.” The light turned green and Calvin eased forward.
    “Uh, yes. Your father and I are both well.”
    They spent a couple of minutes discussing the weather, how they were all settling in, and so on. Calvin could tell his mother was surprised to hear from him. Rarely did he call just to chat.
    “Have you two made any friends down there?”
    “Yes, we’ve been invited out to a bridge game at the country club as a matter of fact.”
    Reluctantly, Calvin said, “Sorry. If you need to go I can—”
    “Nonsense. It’s not