Lou Dellaguzzo

He’s never stayed at a motel before, never been in a room where everything in it looks modern, brand new. More classy than the restaurant.

“I could live in a place like this forever if I had to,” he says. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s hinting. At what he can’t figure. Back at the restaurant, he told Rick everything about his busy day on the farm, including what happened with Stan.

“You sure I did right leaving the pickup in HoJo’s lot?” he says.

It was Rick’s idea to abandon it there, and to write a postcard telling Stan where to find it.

“Quit worrying,” the trucker says. “You did yourself a big favor unloading that moving target.” He strips down to his underwear and sits on his bed. “Man, I could use a long, hot shower.”

Dale reclines on the other bed. He sinks into the quilted cover, grateful to be horizontal. Gentle arms seem to draw him into the softness. He could conk out right now, never get up again despite all the coffee he drank. He tries to remove his work boots with his feet alone. “Would it be okay if I showered first?” he says. “I might not stay awake through yours.” He closes his eyes, forgets the question. He hears the jangle of springs from the other bed. The lights go out.

“I can help you get started,” Rick says.

“With what?”

“Getting you undressed, so you can take that shower.”

Dale opens his eyes to near darkness. “You want to undress me?”

“The question is, do you want me to undress you?” Rick stands in the space between their beds. Light from veiled windows gives definition to his handsome face and angular body. “I won’t ask again. Like I told you at the restaurant—gentleman’s agreement.”

Unsure what he wants, Dale hovers between exhaustion and muted arousal.

“Could use some help with my boots,” he says. “If you don’t mind starting there.”

Shoe removal doesn’t seem like much of a commitment, a thing he could stop if he gets uncomfortable. He’s certain Rick wouldn’t mind. Almost certain. He hasn’t the nerve to ask what’s going to happen when his clothes are off. What’s expected of him. He has some vague ideas he can’t—or won’t—picture. Fuzzy images of girls and guys pairing every which way. Doing things he thought about when he was alone in the farmhouse, lying in his bed, rubbing against an old towel hand-washed later.

Meanwhile sure fingers unlace his boots, free his numb feet. The mattress tilts as Rick sits near him, unbuttoning his plaid shirt, freeing the crumpled tail. Soon his belt buckle is undone.

“Lift up a little,” Rick says. “Unless you want to finish on your own.”

The trucker’s unshaven face appears silken in the dimness. His dark eyes never seemed more reassuring.

“It’s up to you,” he says again and withdraws a little.

“I don’t know,” Dale says. “I mean I don’t know what to do, I mean.”

“You don’t have to do a thing.”

Rick slides a hand under the boy’s yellowed T-shirt.

In the early morning, over breakfast at another HoJo’s along the Turnpike, Rick lays out his plan to keep Dale safe from the law.

“You’ll like New Hope a lot,” he says. “Just like I did, and still do, when I need a place to unwind.” He describes the small art community along the Delaware River. The folks he knows there. People who own restaurants and bars and shops where Dale could land a job off the books. Men and women who’d offer the boy a place to stay. And more if he wants. “We’ll see what’s shaking after we hit town. There’s always an odd job or two available. That’s how I got my break when I needed a fresh start.”

Dale squints at the bright sunlight and from fatigue. His lively night with the trucker left little time for sleep. “You sure Jersey can’t work out for a while at least?” He’s embarrassed to ask again. He still can’t believe Rick’d want it any other way. Not after last night. They’re buddies now aren’t they? Or something like that.

“It’d be great to have you with me,” Rick says. “But I don’t have any useful contacts in Jersey. And you can’t work with me, unless you know how to get a clean social security number. Otherwise the Feds’ll be on your case pronto.”

Across from him, Dale’s having a quiet meltdown. His eyes turn glassy. His slouching body slides halfway under the table.

“You could go back,” Rick says, floating a new idea. “Show up for your induction. Tell them you’re late because you had sex with a guy all night and really liked it. Can’t wait to have more. It’s a gamble. There’s a chance they’d think you’re faking. That happens a lot from what I hear. But you might cop a 4-F if you have second thoughts about dodging.”

“Forget it,” Dale says. “Too risky. And I’m not that kind of guy.”

“What kind of guy?”

“Last night doesn’t mean I don’t like girls too you know.”

“Same here,” Rick says. “When I meet a pretty one who’s game.” He rubs his leg against the boy’s thigh. “Then again, when the right guy comes along… How about you? Got a preference?”

“I’ll let you know,” Dale says, “after I’ve been with a girl.” He laughs despite his misery. He understands when the jig is up, as his old man’d say, though it hurts him raw he can’t change the trucker’s mind.

Rick taps on his watch. “Hate to press you kid, but if you think New Hope’s a good idea, we got to start now. It’s off my route. You don’t want to get a guy in trouble with his boss, now do you?”

Dale reaches for the check.

The trucker grabs it first. “Hold onto your dough,” he says, “until you got some to burn.” He takes Dale by the shoulder when the boy starts to flag. “You got to stop worrying so much. You’re a great kid. I can see that. So’ll other people. And they won’t let you go the way I am. The way I have to. You’ll do fine, long as you don’t give up before you start.”