Whitman had just been adjusting to the fall schedule and quieter mornings when Caitlyn blew through the front doors of the library and hid in the back of the reference section. Whitman double-checked the clock on the front desk, and sure enough, it read five past eleven.

Whitman: In case the school calls you, your sister came to the library.

Travis: What? Wy she do nw

It took Whitman a second to realize it was frantic typing and not new acronyms that he was texting.

Whitman: I’m not sure. I’m going to talk with her and let her help me. Keep working. I’ve got her. I’ll keep you updated.

Travis: u sure?

Whitman refrained from pointing out that Caitlyn was at her worst whenever Travis tried to play parent. He couldn’t figure out a way of saying that that wouldn’t feel like a slap in the face, because Travis loved his sister with everything in him. It was what made him so attractive. He felt things with his entire being. But to a seventeen-year-old girl trying to make sense of the upheaval of her life, that kind of intense focus worked against him.

Whitman: Absolutely. We’ll get this sorted out. I promise.

He almost deleted his last sentence. He couldn’t really promise it and doing so felt like a huge commitment. Like laying bare for Travis to see and read and understand that Whitman wanted Caitlyn to be his problem too. That the promise was more than just about her playing hooky.

Travis: Txh

Whitman paused at the desk and listened, grabbing a box of tissues when he heard the telltale sniffling.

“I’m not going back,” Caitlyn said as soon as his shoes approached her eyeline. He held out the box and she snatched up a couple of tissues, wiping at her running nose and overflowing eyes.

“I wasn’t going to make you,” Whitman said. “But there are a ton of returns now that everyone has gone back to school. Would you be willing to help me sort them out?”

“You’re really not going to make me go back?”

“Nope.”

“But what about Travis?” Caitlyn asked, finally raising her head and meeting his eyes. She looked so young in that moment that Whitman almost forgot everything the girl had been through.

“I can handle your brother.”

Caitlyn snorted out a laugh at that and wiped her face clean one more time before following Whitman back to the front desk. They fell into an easy rhythm of sorting and scanning, and soon her shining cheeks and red eyes returned to normal.

“Kids suck,” Caitlyn said as she stood up from the computer and pushed up her sweatshirt sleeves that had fallen back down to the tips of her fingers.

“That they do,” Whitman agreed.

The library was quiet, so Whitman followed Caitlyn back among the stacks to help re-shelve the books. Mrs. Leake had come and gone, and Mr. Tynan had not yet arrived for his weekly stack of books for his church. He came in each week with a list of names and Whitman would help him pick out a book for each one. Then when the ladies of his Sunday School class would make casseroles and take them to those in their church who needed a little extra assistance that week, Mr. Tynan would also deliver that person a book. It was a small gesture, but one Whitman appreciated. He had never grown up as part of a church community, only seen the negative effect it had on his LGBT friends at school. It warmed him to see a positive side at work.

It also helped that Mr. Tynan had told him that the local PFLAG meeting happened at the church and grabbed a bunch of books to take for a discussion a few weeks ago. He had expressed interest in attending, but it conflicted with one of his trivia nights. Now that summer was over, Whitman had the meetings input on his work and personal calendars. He would devote whatever resources he could to a cause like that.

“I’m being too sensitive, I know. I mean, all they did was stare and whisper. I never knew how horrible it could be to be on the receiving end of all those stares.”

Caitlyn spoke quietly as she searched for the proper place for each book. She wasn’t visibly upset any more, but it seemed to have given way to something worse. Defeat.

“Travis,” she said, a little louder as if trying to give herself strength. “Now he really got hit with it. Mom tried to shield me from it, but I still saw. I don’t think I grasped the extent of it until now, though. I mean, they were outright hostile to him. Before, I just thought – what, you can’t handle a few bad words being thrown at you? But if this is how awful I feel at them just staring and whispering behind my back, I don’t think I could take it if anyone said something to my face.”

“I think you’d be surprised at how strong you can be in the face of adversity,” Whitman said. “Sure, some people crumble. And that’s not a judgement. Sometimes it’s the people with the kindest hearts, the most hope in humanity, that simply can’t handle the darkness when it creeps into their lives. They don’t crumble because they’re weak, but because they’re so good. But others, I think, face it head on because they have to. Your brother, for example. He endured the bullying during high school, but it still affected him. It may be invisible, but the wounds are there. Yet he stays here. For you. To share some of his strength with you, if you would let him.”

“That was surprisingly heavy,” Caitlyn said.

“I’m a librarian. I’m supposed to be deep,” Whitman said with a wry smile. The faint ding of the front door alerted them both to a new visitor, and Whitman returned the book he was holding to the cart. “Think about it.”

Whitman returned to the front to find Mr. Tynan and a mom and toddler had arrived at the same time. The toddler knew exactly where he was headed and his mother chased after, but Mr. Tynan approached the front desk with his list.

“It’s a good thing you’re doing there,” Mr. Tynan said and Whitman followed his gaze to Caitlyn, pushing the cart from one row to another. “If more people in this town would open their hearts instead of their mouths, it would be a grand thing.”

Whitman nodded, but kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t doing a good thing, just the right thing. And if he were honest, he debated himself if he was even doing it for the right reasons. Regardless, he was in up to his knees now. No point in stopping, just because the water was cold.

Ginger’s number lit up Travis’s phone, and like he always did when it was Ginger, he picked up after the first ring. One hand still had an egg salad covered glove, the other held the phone to his ear, and he gave Aunt Lucinda a nod as he passed by on his way to the back. She knew the drill enough by now to understand that there were certain situations where he was going to drop everything, mid-sandwich or not, and answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“Travis, hi. It’s Ginger. I’m glad I caught you.”

Ginger’s normally chipper voice, even through the exhaustion of all of her work and everything she had to deal with on a daily basis, was absent. Travis’s stomach dropped.

“Are you free this afternoon?”

“I get off work at two and then I have to pick up Caitlyn from school.”

“Can she stay with a friend? I need to talk with you alone.”

“What’s this about?” Travis asked, his skin prickling out of fear despite not knowing why he was suddenly afraid.

“I’d rather go over the details with you in person, but her father has contacted us again.”

“Fuck.”

After the shit show that had been their last, and only, meeting, Travis had assumed that they would not be hearing from Caitlyn’s father again. The pious asshole had obviously not found anything to approve about any of them, so Travis wasn’t sure why he bothered. Still, he was an important member of the community in Copper Beach, and that meant he was going to be taken seriously, whatever accusations he had made.

Caitlyn had described the meeting and how miserable he was, how he insulted everything she held dear and then acted as if she was supposed to be honored that because she had his blood in her too that she was somehow redeemable. It had been a huge setback in a struggling summer where she seemed to finally be working her way back to a new normal. Travis couldn’t begin to imagine what fresh damage her father could inflict now.

“She’s going to be at the library. Let me talk to the librarian and see if she can stay later.”

“Great. I’ll be at your house at two.”

Travis hung up the phone and took off his other glove so that he could text Whitman. He was certain the man wouldn’t mind keeping Caitlyn at the library. Hell, she had skipped school and he had treated her as if overjoyed to have her help. It had led to more hours at the library in a work-study program Whitman had coordinated with the principal. It went far beyond what other student interns had ever done, but Whitman had been willing to go out on that limb for Caity.

They still hadn’t spoken about their kiss. Part of Travis worried that was because Whitman hadn’t felt what he had. That these swirling tangled emotions he held for Whitman – gratitude, admiration, arousal, fondness – were just that and nothing more. That he was a stupid kid with a crush, and Whitman was humoring him because he was hot and gay and his options in Slat Creek were limited.

The other part of Travis worried it was because it did mean something. Travis had been kissed before. He wouldn’t say loads, but he also couldn’t say that he was innocent. He’d gone out enough to understand attraction and lust. He’d fooled around enough to know that their kiss stirred up something new inside him. His life was complicated enough without adding in a relationship – something he’d never in his life tried to navigate before. Their timing couldn’t be worse.

Which was why ignoring seemed to be the way to go.

Travis: Can Caity stay late at the library? I’m meeting with her caseworker and she asked that she not be there.

Whitman: Of course. Take your time. She’s a tremendous help.

Travis tried his best to ignore, but the tug of Whitman’s words at his chest were too strong.

Travis: Maybe you can come over for dinner afterward? As a thank you?

Whitman: I would love that.

Travis had only a few seconds of relief that his offer had been accepted before the freak-out began. He invited him over for dinner. Travis could cook. Sort of. He could follow a recipe if he had the right ingredients and step by step instructions. But whipping up a dinner from whatever the hell was, or more likely wasn’t, in his pantry? Not a chance. What was he thinking?

Travis pocketed his phone and went back to work. The line was out the door, but he couldn't regret ditching Aunt Lucinda in favor of those few extra seconds of correspondence with Whitman. He put on fresh gloves and took the knife from Lucinda’s hand that had been spreading cream cheese for a BLAT. She didn’t say a word, but Travis knew he’d get the third degree later.

Between Ginger’s cryptic message and the realization that he had offered to cook dinner for a grown, experienced, man that made his insides flare like DEFCON 1 sinking in, Travis was a mess for the rest of his work day. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn’t chopped off his own finger or worse in the two hours he had left to work. Accidentally making Mrs. Leake a chicken salad sandwich instead of egg salad had been the most grievous of his uncaught errors, but his hands shook and his insides jittered, and he was sure that if every patron of Molly’s that day wasn't convinced he had lost his marbles, they were now.

“What is going on?” Aunt Lucinda asked when the rush had finally ended and the only one to hear was Mrs. Leake at a nearby table. If she hadn’t already been talking Mr. Lane’s ear off about the condition of Porter Road, the road that ran perpendicular from the Slat Creek main road up past the town hall and toward the reservation and tribal lodge and ceremonial grounds, he would have been more concerned about openly sharing.

“Ginger called. Apparently, Caitlyn’s father got in touch again. She wouldn’t say why over the phone, but I’m meeting her at two.”

Lucinda’s mouth tightened, but she said nothing.

“Oh, and I have a dinner date afterwards. Sort of. Caitlyn will be there so maybe not. Maybe it’s just me being a spastic idiot. As per usual.”

Lucinda opened her mouth but glanced around the room when she noticed that it had gone quiet. Mrs. Leake sat on the edge of her seat, pretending to eat her soup, but her spoon hadn’t moved from the bowl for a while. Mr. Lane was oblivious that he had lost her attention, because she had lost his ages ago.

“Travis, I need help bringing the fresh tea up to the front. Come on back with me for a sec.”

Travis huffed out a laugh but followed Lucinda through the swinging door into the kitchen, where she immediately pounced.

“Who?”

“The librarian?”

“You aren’t sure?”

“I thought I made that clear already. I mean, I’m sure he’s the librarian. I’m not sure if it’s a date or not. But he’s been helping Caitlyn out, so like a dumb-ass, I invited him to dinner.”

Lucinda closed her eyes and took a few breaths. Her lips quirked into a smile before she opened her eyes and fixed Travis with a pointed look. “You deserve so much happiness, Travis. I wouldn’t have pegged the librarian as your type, but then again, he’s the nicest man I’ve run into in Slat Creek in ages, so why the hell not? I say go for it.”

“But why would he be interested in me? Especially once he sees my attempts at dinner.”

“Because you are kind and caring and have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met,” Lucinda said, ruffling Travis’s hair the way she did when he was eight and she was trying to bolster his confidence about his art or his skateboarding skills or whenever she was letting him win at Monopoly. “And you leave dinner to me. What time is he coming over?”

“He’s dropping Caitlyn off after the library closes, so probably around six.”

Aunt Lucinda peeked through the door, then back at Travis.

“Go home. It’s dead out there, and you sticking around is just going to result in Mrs. Leake reporting god knows what about your mental condition or speculating about your date – which she definitely heard, by the way. I’ll be by later with dinner.”

Travis’s shoulders sagged with relief but not relaxation. “Thanks Aunt Lucinda.”

“You deserve it,” she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder until she could drag him low enough to kiss his forehead. “You deserve so much more, actually, but at least I can give you that much.”

Travis left through the back of the building, not eager to face Mrs. Leake or any other customers. He wasn’t sure about the state of the house, but he found it amusing that he didn’t care how Ginger found it. She understood and had seen him and that house, in much worse conditions. It was Whitman he wanted to impress. Whitman, who had seen the house before he and Caitlyn had tried to make it their own. Whitman, who he hoped saw the house now as cozy and warm and fitting for an adult man, and not a kid playing house in his mom’s place. His stomach churned and he wished he could hide under his covers and not come out for the rest of the day.

At least he was already dressed for both meetings. He had on his nice work jeans, and although his shirt smelled of mayo and panic sweat, he had plenty of time to pull on a fresh t-shirt.

Wind whipped across his face, pulling his hair from his ponytail and plastering it against his cheek and across his eyes. He smoothed it back, ignoring the burning in his eyes, and squinted toward home, trying to keep anything else from getting in his eyes.

He reached Porter Road and turned left, his plum colored siding already in view. A car pulled out of the town hall parking lot and hit a pothole, sending a muddy splash of leftover rain from the morning’s deluge all over his jeans. The fabric clung to him like a second skin.

Travis didn’t even bother with a sigh. He inhaled deeply, puffed out his chest, and continued down the road, squishing and squelching through each step.

A light-brown skinned woman stood by the front door when he arrived.

“Sorry, I’m early,” Ginger said, “But I was driving back from a meeting in Salem and I made better time than anticipated. What happened to you?”