"Smells potent," Neely said.
"It ought to require a prescription. Rake asked me one day what he might like to read. I gave him a Raymond Chandler. He came back the next day and asked for another. He loved the stuff. Then I gave him Dashiell Hammett. Then he went nuts over Elmore Leonard. I open ateight, one of the very few bookstores to do so, and once or twice a week Rake would come in early. We'd sit in the corner over there and talk about books; never football or politics, never gossip.Just books. He loved the detective stories. When we heard the bell ring on the front door, he would sneak out the back and go home."
"Why?"
Nat took a long sip of coffee, with the small cup disappearing into the depths of his unruly mustache. "We didn't talk about it much. Rake was embarrassed because he got sacked like that. He has enormous pride, something he taught us. But he also felt responsible for Scotty's death. A lot of people blamed him, and they always will. That's some serious baggage, man. You like the coffee?"
"Very strong.You miss him?"
Another slow sip."How can you not miss Rake once you've played for him? I see his face every day. I hear his voice. I can smell him sweating. I can feel him hitting me, with no pads on. I can imitate his growl, his grumbling,his bitching. I remember his stories, his speeches,his lessons. I remember all forty plays and all thirty-eight games when I wore the jersey. My father died four years ago and I loved him dearly, but, and this is hard to say, he had less influence on me than Eddie Rake." Nat paused in mid-thought just long enough to pour more coffee. "Later, when I opened this place and got to know him as something other than a legend, when I wasn't worried about getting screamed at for screwing up, I grew to adore the old fart. Eddie Rake's not a sweet man, but he is human. He suffered greatly after Scotty's death, and he had no one to turn to. He prayed a lot, went to Mass every morning. I think fiction helped him; it was a new world. He got lost in books, hundreds of them, maybe thousands."A quick sip."I miss him, sitting over there, talking about books and authors so he wouldn't have to talk about football."
The bell on the front door rattled softly in the distance. Nat shrugged it off and said, "They'll find us. You want a muffin or something?"
"No. I ate at Renfrow's. Everything's the same there. Same grease, same menu, same flies."
"Same bubbas sitting around bitchin' 'cause the team ain't undefeated."
"Yep.You go to the games?"
"Naw.When you're the only openly gay dude in a town like this, you don't enjoy crowds. People stare and point and whisper and grab their children, and, while I'm used to it, I'd rather avoid the scene. And I'd either go alone, which is no fun, or I'd take a date, which would stop the game. Can you imagine me walking in with some cute boy, holding hands? They'd stone us."
"How'd you manage to come out of the closet in this town?"
Nat put the coffee down and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his highly starched and pressed jeans.
"Not here, man. After we graduated, I sort of migrated to D.C., where it didn't take me long to figure out who I am and what I am. I didn't sneak out of the closet,Neely, I kicked the damned door down. I got a job in a bookstore and learned the business. I lived the wild life for five years, had a ball, but then I got tired of the city. Frankly, I got homesick. My dad's health was declining, and I needed to come home. I had a long talk with Rake. I told him the truth. Eddie Rake was the first person here I confided in."
"What was his reaction?"
"He said he didn't know much about gay people, but if I knew who I was, then to hell with everybody else. 'Go live your life, son,' he said. 'Some folks'll hate you, some folks'll love you,most folks haven't made up their minds. It's up to you.' "
"Sounds like Rake."