Dak growled, “Damn, Brody, it’s hotter than Hades up here. Why’d you have to decide to do this on the hottest day of the year?”

“I didn’t tell Mom when to die, and I definitely didn’t tell her air conditioning to kick the bucket, but it needs to get done if I’m gonna move back in. I can’t have all of her stuff just lying around. I don’t feel bad right now, but I’m sure with all of her stuff everywhere, it’d be like her ghost was always just over my shoulder. Besides, you’re off the boat, so I’ve got some extra muscle to help me out.”

Brody grinned when he commented on Dak’s body. He knew that complimenting the physique was a surefire route to Dak’s heart. When they were growing up, Dak compensated for teasing over his ginger-colored hair by building a body that was the envy of all the other boys in town.

“Yep, five more days before I’m back on the river. What’s in this box anyway?” asked Dak. “It’s heavier than those filled with your Mom’s old clothes.”

“Well, let’s stop here in the bedroom before we stash it in the attic. I’ll show you.”

Only ten days had gone by since Brody’s mother, Coldbrook Bend’s town librarian, passed away in the aftermath of a sudden stroke. He only had two weeks to say goodbye, most of it time in which he wasn’t sure about her understanding of what was going on. While still in shock, he knew that he could place her private things in storage. When the dark clouds of grief settled in, something that was sure to happen soon, he wasn’t sure how he would cope.

They tossed the box onto the bed with the bowed mattress that had supported Brody’s sleeping body throughout his childhood all the way to high school graduation. Brody said, “It’s my mom’s old photo collection. You know, from the days when you actually held a picture in your hand instead of looking at them on your phone.”

“Damn, they were expensive to develop back then,” mumbled Dak.

Brody flipped open the cardboard flaps of the box. It contained two thick, overstuffed photo albums and two shoeboxes filled with loose snapshots. He pulled the lid off one of the shoeboxes as Dak peered inside.

Dak reached in to grab a handful of loose pictures. “Hey, there’s little Brody. I remember him.”

Brody rolled his eyes. “Careful with them. Don’t get your grubby fingerprints on the faces.” Whenever Dak mentioned anything about childhood, Brody was always transported back to the day in third grade when Mrs. Estabrook said, “Welcome our new class member, Dakota Preston.” Brody watched the red-headed boy shuffle his feet and look at the floor and felt a lump grow in his throat. It had to be embarrassing to be singled out as the new kid like that.

In junior high, Dakota became Dak when a cousin, a teacher over in Bridgeton, said that kids named after geographic places were twice as likely to fail in school. Brody secretly loved the name, Dakota. It made him think of TV westerns and dusty cowboys in tight chaps, but Dak sounded cool, too.

“These camping shots are great,” said Dak. “That skinny kid with the big head of black hair. You’re still a skinny guy, but there’s some additional meat on your bones now.”

When Dak made comments about his body, Brody always felt a little electric surge head for his crotch. It was easy to dismiss the reaction as something that would happen if any guy with a hot body like Dak’s noticed him. Besides, Dak was his best friend and was always falling in and out of relationships. Nothing physical would ever happen between them.

Brody watched while Dak shuffled through more photos. He suddenly stopped. Dak’s face turned red. “Wow, look at this. Brody, bud, you never told me about this. You’re not the first in your family.”

“First what?” Brody’s forehead wrinkled as he looked over Dak’s shoulder. “What’d you find?”

Brody blinked to make sure of what he was seeing. It was a photo of two men kissing. It wasn’t particularly gratuitous, but it didn’t look like it was posed for a joke either.

Dak looked up at him. “Gay guys in the family. I thought you said you’re the only one in the Sexton clan. This picture says otherwise.”

Taking the snapshot from Dak’s hand, Brody held it up to his face for a closer look. He knew one of the men. It was his great-uncle, Clyde. Brody remembered him from family gatherings. Clyde always brought something fun for dessert. He could decorate cakes, and he made fancy layered dishes with lots of whipped cream and fruit. Being gay might explain the fact that he was one of the few relatives who didn’t have kids.

Brody said, “Well, he wouldn’t be in the Sexton family. That was Dad. He would have been a Miller, but it doesn’t matter. Mom told me directly more than once that we didn’t have any relatives that were gay. I never believed it, but it made sense to me the gay ones might all still be in the closet.”

Dak shrugged. “You’re not very deep in the closet if you’re letting people take pictures of you kissing the boyfriend.”

Brody stared at the photo. The man Clyde was kissing wore expensive clothes. Every crease was in place, and he wore a sports jacket tailored to fit his body. He wasn’t rumpled like most people in old family pictures.

“And she knew…because it’s here in her collection.” Brody felt a shiver up the base of his spine. His mom never kept secrets from him. At least he didn’t think she did. His mind started to race about what other things she might have hidden. He gripped the photo tighter and chased the thoughts from his conscious mind.

Dak reached out and rubbed Brody’s shoulder with thick, rough fingers. “You okay there, buddy?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just put these away and stash the pictures in the attic along with the other stuff. Then we can go downstairs and grab something out of the fridge for a drink. The temperature’s okay down there with the fan.”

Brody unlocked the half-height door to the attic, and he said, “Watch out for your head again, Dak. It wouldn’t take two of us to get the box in there if you could stand up. Then you’d just have to heft it up on your shoulder.” Brody watched Dak crouch and stared at the way sweat was darkening the fabric of his friend’s T-Shirt in the middle of his back. Then Brody fixated on the bare flesh revealed when the T-Shirt hiked up just above the top of Dak’s jeans. He tried to shake the desire to reach out and touch from his head.

Dak reached up for the single chain hanging from a lightbulb, and amber-colored light suddenly flooded the space. “Shove it on in here,” said Dak. “I’ll put it right next to the clothes.” He backed up as Brody pushed the box over the threshold. A crunch echoed in the space while Dak duck-walked backward. “Fuck, what’s that?”

“You broke something? Damn, be careful!”

Dak laughed as he pushed the box into place. He shuffled forward with his thighs parallel to the floor and stuck his head out of the door. “I think I killed a popsicle stick truck made by little Brody. I hope it wasn’t an heirloom.”

Brody joined in the laughter and offered a hand to help Dak out of the attic. “Mom kept all of my shit like that. I found a kindergarten finger painting yesterday. The paper is fragile just like an old newspaper. It started to crumble when I touched it.”

“I think it’s fun that you’ve got that stuff. If any of my little art masterpieces still exist, I guess they’re with Mom, wherever she is these days.”

---

Dak sat at the kitchen table with a package of vanilla sandwich cookies and a tall glass of milk. His arms lay on the tabletop curled protectively around the package of cookies. Brody asked, “Are you sure you don’t want a beer or even a Diet Coke? Something that will make you look a little like an adult?”

After swallowing a bite of cookie, Dak said, “I’m honoring Mrs. Sexton. Is that such a horrible thing? She always gave me milk and cookies when I followed you home after school.”

Brody grabbed a beer from the fridge and pulled up a chair opposite Dak. “Yeah, she took good care of you. She was even good to you when we had fights. Mom said things weren’t as nice for you at home, so she didn’t care whether I liked you or not. You needed some care from a responsible adult.” Brody laughed thinking about his mom at her best. She wasn’t the saint people in town made her out to be, but she had awesome moments.

Dak took a big swig of the milk and then rubbed his chin. He said, “So, we’re at that stage where we’re supposed to be fighting for our love, you know.”

Brody blinked. “We’ve changed topics now?”

“Oh yeah. You gotta follow my thoughts. I’m talking about Lewis now. We had a yelling match the other night, and I kicked him out of my apartment. Now, we’re supposed to fight for the love, but I’m feeling a little tired of it all.”

“Fight for love?” asked Brody. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t you ever read? That’s how it always unfolds in a romance book. There’s that big break up, and then you claw your way out of the hole until all is good again.” Dak stuffed another cookie into his mouth. He inhaled the whole thing instead of taking any bites.

Dak pointed at the windowsill behind the sink and made a motion like he was tipping a watering can. He was eyeing the row of potted herbs cared for by Brody’s mom for decades. Sweet basil rose up toward the top of the window frame while oregano spilled over the sides of a pot in a cascade of tiny leaves. The plants were looking sickly and wilted.

Brody hadn’t noticed them since his mother’s stroke. He walked past them at least a hundred times. He couldn’t understand how Dak noticed right away. Dak saw everything. He noticed when Brody bought a new pair of tires for his pickup truck.

Brody opened the pantry door and rummaged around for a watering can while calling to Dak, “So what did you do to piss him off? You weren’t romantic enough? I know that’s not a strength of yours. Did you hurt Lewis’ feelings? He always seemed a little fragile to me.”

The watering can was a plastic milk jug half-filled with water and the words “water for plants” scrawled across the side with a black marker. Brody remembered his mom’s instructions when she left town for a three-week vacation two years ago. “Put water in the jug at least three days before you plan to use it. That way the nasty chemicals settle out making it better for the plants.”

As Brody emerged from the pantry, Dak started defending himself. He asked, “Why do you assume it was me? Okay, fine, it sort of was me, but he’s an ass, too.”

Brody frowned while he tipped the jug to dump water into each of the pots. The frown turned into a scowl when a little stream began running out the bottoms of the pots along the wood shelf. He remembered the uneven surfaces throughout the 150-year-old two-story house when a little pool of water began to form at one end of the shelf butted up against the window frame.

“I mean, he accused me of fucking guys on the tow. What the hell is that about?”

Brody decided to ignore the plants and the drainage problem. At least they weren’t going to die from lack of water for a few more days. He turned around and leaned his back against the edge of the sink. “You know I love you like a brother, Dak, but was he right?”

Dak looked up. Brody could see the ocean blue of his eyes from fifteen feet away. “No, he’s not.”

“A month on the boat and you didn’t do anything with the other guys? That’s not the kind of story that you used to tell.”

“Hell, I’m pushing 30 now. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Brody raised an eyebrow. “That means you forgot how to fuck? Are you serious? Nothing?”

Brody hated defending Lewis. He was an asshole in so many ways. He thought having an uncle who was once mayor of Red Wing put him on a level above almost everyone who lived in Coldbrook Bend.

Dak growled. “Okay, yeah, so a guy sucked me off. It’s not like we slept together. And I never let him into my heart. My heart’s a private space.” Dak pounded his chest with a fist. Brody could see in his eyes that he wanted acceptance of his reasoning.

Instead, Brody sat at the table again and said, “You know how I feel about Lewis. You can do better. I honestly believe that. I know the crowd’s not so big here in town, but maybe you should look up in Rochester or the Twin Cities.” Brody sighed as he had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying, “Or even across the table from you.”