This Long Silence: Part One
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It’s a quiet Monday at the station.
Jensen’s used to a few calls of busted farm equipment or trampled crops from bored teenagers or college kids home for the weekend. Sometimes, someone finds Danny Sommers passed out on a front porch after far too many Sunday beers. It’s all harmless fun that riles up nosy neighbors. But there’s little trouble brewing today, and Jensen takes the time to enjoy his first cup of coffee in his office. He leans back in his chair and flicks the County newspaper open to keep him company through the silence.
The department had been renovated four years ago as the second major improvement Jensen had insisted on; the first being the stoplight at Second and Main streets. Soft birch paneling spans the walls to meet eggshell ceilings and speckled cream floor tiles. It always feels clean and bright enough with little need for artificial light, but bland as heck. Just like his tan shirt-and-pants uniform. He supposes he can’t be choosy when it comes to these things. He’s thankful his office is set back from the main bullpen, and that the holding cell is more like a large closet with a deadbolt to keep up appearances. He likes to think they’re not in the business of locking up criminals, more like a central base in case of emergency.
Maggie Evans is at the front desk doing much the same as Jensen on this slow day, but her hand is inches from the CB radio just in case Deputy Abel calls in an incident or a trucker in need of a tow. The fifty-something mother of five has been at that counter since before Jensen joined the service, and he doubts her blond, tight curls have changed much over time. The only noise she makes is the gentle tap of self-manicured nails on the desktop and a soft smack of her gum as she, too, scans the paper.
Jensen can’t bring himself to mind. He keeps on reading.
When his coffee gets low, he leaves his office, stopping short when Maggie spins in her chair and rises.
“Sheriff,” she smiles and nods.
“Maggie,” he replies.
“You need anything?”
“Just some coffee,” he says, lifting his mug in the air.
Maggie follows as Jensen moves toward the counter where there’s a Black and Decker keeping half a pot of coffee just above lukewarm. She rattles on, as always. “So, I hear the Manns’ barbeque was pretty light this weekend. Did you have a chance to go? I would have but Frank’s heel spurs were killing him again and I couldn’t manage to leave the man be without some ice and regular doses of Asprin and warm milk.”
She must be bored, but he doesn’t bite. For all that they work in tandem for police business, he’s not interested in town gossip, especially given how she’s always up for it herself. Jensen snorts lightly, shaking his head with a smile as he tops off his coffee with a quick shake of powdered cream.
“I don’t know how you stomach that stuff,” she says quickly. “I brought in a jug of whole milk this morning. I got a crate from Hardy’s farm just yesterday.”
“Gotta watch my figure,” he returns with a flat smile.
Even as he steps away, she pinches his side, forcing him to shirk away with wide eyes. When mornings are this quiet, she gets a little anxious. It’s not too surprising, so he simply raises an eyebrow and gives her a long look. “You going for sexual harassment, Mrs. Evans?”
She rolls her eyes as she swats at his shoulder. “You gonna use your handcuffs?”
He huffs a little laugh, used to her humor, understanding that it never means a thing because she’s spent the last four years trying to set him up with any woman she’s crossed paths with. He’s spent just as long twisting away from the offers.
“They’re reserved for hardened criminals,” he replies.
“So, they’re rusty, huh?” she asks with a grin that he allows himself to share.
When he turns back toward his office, he has a clear view of Main Street through the front glass doors.
His neighbor’s pick-up is parked across the way in front of Clark’s Hardware.
Jared.
Jensen knows Jared can spend hours staring at two-by-fours and saw blades, dreaming up a deck that’ll never be built or a floor that won’t ever be replaced. The fact that he’s carrying merchandise out is remarkable, and Jensen’s instantly curious. He keeps it below the surface though, aware that he’s in uniform and under Maggie’s watchful eye. He can’t show any interest.
Jared’s sliding wood into the bed of his truck, arms stretching and back hunched over. Jensen watches carefully, ready to excuse it as spying, but it’s more than that given the way his fingers squeeze around the hot mug in his palm. He’ll never admit it’s something else - something that this town would never want to know about its Sheriff.
When Jared stands upright, his eyes roam a few storefronts until they land on the door to the department. He tips his head and briefly smiles as he waves at Jensen.
Jensen gets a similar smile going and raises his mug in salute, a flash of surprise hitting him for catching this moment with Jared. It’s a Monday, but school’s out for a County holiday; Jared has the day off, free to do as he pleases while his students do the same.
He keeps watching even when Jared steps into the cab of his truck, starts up the engine, and pulls out of his parallel spot. Jensen sips coffee without moving, knowing it won’t be the last time he sees Jared today. He’ll pretend the burn in his stomach is the warm, semi-fresh coffee he’s sipping.
“You know, Sheriff,” Maggie says, dragging Jensen from his moment. “If you don’t give Miss Danneel a real shot, I’ll have to pass her number onto Mr. Jared there. Girl’s been waiting years for you.”
Danneel’s been one of Jensen’s best friends since junior high; he highly doubts she’s waited all that time. And Jared’s the neighbor he thinks about far too often. Jensen would never approve of the set-up, though he knows there’s no worry for such things.
Either way, Maggie shouldn’t pester, so he glances over his shoulder then shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Go for it. I bet she’d be real interested.”
She seems too excited, missing his insincerity as she pops her head around to look out the window to where Jared’s truck is stopped by one of three lights in town. “You really think so? That poor girl’s been all by herself in that huge house since her brother left town and-”
“Hey, Maggie,” he interrupts.
“Yes, Sheriff?”
“Maybe you should read some more of the paper.”
She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and returns to her seat. But Jensen walks to the front door and glances to the left, not surprised to no one’s at the stoplight anymore, but a bit disappointed Jared is out of sight. He wonders what Jared will do with the rest of his afternoon, how much time he spent at Clark’s, and what all that wood’s for. He often wonders about Jared.
They’ve been neighbors for a little over two years, since Jared finalized papers on the long-forgotten farmhouse on the next plot over, using the summer to settle in before the fall session started at the high school. He’s the Biology teacher, leader of the Science Club, and does his best to get kids interested in ecology and water resources. In a town this small, there‘s only a handful of students dedicated to such topics, but those who are, are feverish for it. Jared becomes animated and nearly glows every time the subject’s brought up.
Jensen knows so much about a man he never talks about.
After lunch, Deputy Abel slips through the front door after taking his morning pass through the County. He settles at the front desk and exchanges more than just pleasantries with Maggie. He taunts her with local gossip and things he saw and heard while on patrol. Apparently Samantha Smith, English teacher at the high school, had lunch with J.D. The two had spent most of the afternoon at the end of the counter at J.D.’s Morgan Corner Diner just two streets over. Adding to the scandal, Abel reports that Debbie Mayfield stood by, barely containing her disappointment.
Just behind Jensen and Jared, J.D. is one of the most sought-after men in the community. His family tree dug its roots into the area a hundred years ago by starting up the first local business - a hardware store that Clark Henderson has since taken over - and getting their name tacked onto every county title, road sign, and school in the area. Morgan Falls has history, and J.D.’s a part of it.
Maggie’s nearly heartbroken for her own desires, with or without Frank; J.D. appeals to women of all ages. Jensen chuckles from his desk but doesn’t look up from the latest county reports littering the surface.
He does bring his eyes to the conversation when he hears Abel drop Jared’s name.
“Saw him clearing off his porch. Half his lawn furniture is all over the yard just waiting to be snagged.”
“The yellow ones, too?” Maggie asks a bit harshly. “I sold them to that boy the week after he closed on that house.”
“Not sure about yellow,” the Deputy replies slowly. “Maybe he’s just staining his deck.”
“I saw him at Clark’s this morning,” Maggie adds with more levity than needs be.
Jake leans against the front of the long counter she’s stationed at “I saw a whole mess of wood in his backyard. Maybe he’s gonna build himself a mother-in-law house?”
“Is he seeing someone?” Maggie asks in a rush.
Jensen’s attention can’t be directed to anything else. His ears are sharp to their hushed conversation and he catalogs every movement they make.
Abel flips his hand out with a minor shrug. “I have no clue. Haven’t heard a thing since he first got into town.”
Maggie visibly deflates in disappointment. “How does a good man like that go untouched?”
First there’s a snort from Abel, then one from Maggie, and they wind up nearly giggling together.
Even as he rolls his eyes to their reaction, Jensen feels himself settle, his worries soothing themselves with common sense.
“I still haven’t figured out what his type is, really,” Maggie says. “Do you know how many I’ve tried introducing him to and how many he declines?”
“I’m guessing a hundred percent,” Abel smiles.
“Exactly,” she nods.
“Maybe he’s building a house for a new lady? All that wood out back,” Abel refreshes the conversation, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I can’t tell if he chopped it all himself or it rained down on him.”
“Big arms like that, man could do anything,” she says with a strange softness.
Jensen’s staring with his hands resting on his desk, holding a packet of papers he hasn’t looked at in minutes.
Abel fully shrugs this time, and as he moves, he sees Jensen watching and smirks. “Oh. Hey there, Sheriff.”
Maggie looks flushed and guilty for being caught and turns to her computer screen, tapping out a few commands that Jensen’s sure go nowhere.
Jensen nods with a plain, “Deputy.”
Abel’s boots scuff the floor as he walks to the opening of Jensen’s office. “You know what Jared’s up to out there?”
“No clue,” he answers, and it’s honest. He puts a few papers down, picks up a handful more, and scans paragraphs, doing his best to look - and get - busy. “That man could be building a birdhouse for all you know and you’re going around with tall tales about in-laws and girlfriends.”
The smile is obvious in the Deputy’s words. “Now, tall tales is kinda stretching it don’t you think?”
Jensen fixes him with a stern look, and it gets the point across as Abel raises his hands in apology, turns away, and returns to the lobby. Jensen’s thankful for the returning silence so he can work. He’s only a bit less thankful for distracting thoughts of Jared and whatever he’s up to today.
Come five-fifteen, Jensen walks Maggie to her car, a sedan from the 90’s that Jensen doubts is in production anymore, and watches Maggie head north down Main Street until Route 16, where she takes a right and disappears. He yanks at his collar, undeniably grateful he doesn’t mess with ties and can keep his neck free. Still, the uniform becomes too much at the end of the day and he’s itching to unbutton his shirt and drag the County-issue boots off his feet. But he keeps himself tidy for his own ride home, also down Main but left on 16 for a handful of miles until he hits Wilkes Road and takes the beaten path damn near until it ends, not more than 30 miles per hour on wrecked gravel for a solid twenty minutes.
He pulls onto the free-pebble driveway that runs along the side of his house. As always, Jensen eyes Jared’s home for his walk up the steps. He waits until he’s inside to undo the top few buttons on his shirt, tugging it out of his belt as he flips through the three envelopes that’d been waiting for him in the mailbox. A beer is taken from the fridge, opened, and sipped ice cold for a few seconds before he bothers to unlace his boots.
He takes the beer with him upstairs and sets it on the old oak dresser his father had used. Pale rings staining the finish mimic a coaster and did for years before Jensen was old enough to drink. An old, double-wide mirror still holds to the wall, and Jensen looks into it all while he disarms himself. His holster, gun, utility belt, and badge all go in a separate box in the top drawer, locked down with a key that hangs off a chain at his neck.
The only real upgrade in the room is the bed, and even that’s not fancy. Just something firmer and wider than his parents had ever considered. It serves as a good seat when he needs to take his boots off, pull his pants off, and replace his work clothes with a worn-down pair of jeans, an equally worn-out t-shirt from his days in the service, and a pair of running shoes. They were once white but are now stained grey and green, beaten up for all he traipses across the fields in them after hours. They feel too soft to toss out; after ten hours of hard leather trapping his feet, they’re a guilty pleasure.
The bottle accompanies him as he returns to the first floor, stops at the mirror in the front hall, and scrubs fingers through his hair. He fusses it enough that he feels less like the firm arm of the law and more like the farm-grown 36-year-old he truly is.
The screen door pops open with a turn of his wrist, and once he’s moving down the stairs, he smiles at the canary plastic chairs at the edge of Jared’s lawn. Four identical pieces at four different angles and their metal frames are mangled beyond repair.
He’s drawn to the sound of metal on wood, hammering carrying on from just beyond Jared’s house. Jensen follows the noise along Jared’s wrap-around porch until he sees Jared in the grass, folded over a maze of wood that doesn’t look like much. An untreated Adirondack chair sits at the top of the weathered side steps. The contradiction says so much about fresh, open Jared living in such an old home.
As Jensen walks further into the side yard, Jared’s head tilts up and he smiles before positioning a nail and setting the hammer to it. “Howdy, Sheriff.”
“Jared,” Jensen returns, voice stern as if he never left the station. He waits until Jared’s done dropping the nail into wood to speak again. “You fixing to change careers? Biology to Carpentry?”
“Shop was one of my favorites,” he replies.
Nails keep being set to wood, and Jensen steps around tools and scraps to reach the stairs. “I always took you as a Home-Ec kind of boy.” He walks up to the top of the porch and lowers himself into the fresh Adirondack. “Is this thing safe?” he asks.
Jared tsks at him and Jensen stops. Images of wood collapsing and Jensen cracking his back on the porch flash through his mind, so he freezes with his hands on the chair’s arms. Jared licks his lips and puts focus back to where he’s setting the final slat of chair seat. “You so sure you wanna do that, Sheriff?”
Jensen looks down at the piece and silently admires Jared’s handiwork. The chair looks factory fresh, not as though it was built in a day by a high school biology teacher. “Do I have reason to not trust you?” he asks as he gives the furniture a small shake to test its sturdiness.
A smirk plays on Jared’s face and he’s back to the rhythm of knocking nails into lumber, and Jensen figures he’s good to sit. Once Jensen’s settled in the new chair, slowly slipping his beer, Jared shifts to line the arms up with the bottom half of the frame.
He takes the time to watch and admire Jared’s concentration even as he moves swiftly, the chair taking shape as though Jared were a woodworker. He wonders how far into carpentry Jared has dabbled.
“I didn’t realize you were serious about building new chairs,” Jensen says as he watches Jared pinpoint the next nail’s position.
Jared doesn’t look up but his smile is obvious as his cheeks go pink. “I liked Home-Ec for the cookies.”
“I bet you did,” Jensen replies then smirks as he sips from his beer.
Jared stands, sidesteps his work, and looks down on it as he runs the back of his hand over his forehead to clear a light layer of sweat. He looks tired, and Jensen nearly feels it in his bones out of sympathy. But then Jared shakes his head, clearing all emotion from his face. “Shop was more fun once I found out I’m pretty good with my hands.” When he looks to Jensen, he’s smiling fondly, one hand on his hip and the other fiddling with the hammer.
Jensen appreciates the silhouette of Jared in a fitted tee and khaki shorts, tan skin looking especially bronzed with a sheen of perspiration and the setting sun. Jensen picks at the label of his beer as he keeps staring at Jared while Jared’s lips are pressed tight, like he’s trying so hard to not smile. The long look makes Jensen’s fingers twitch against the bottle but he keeps snagging at the damp paper. When he’s got enough wrapper, he rolls it and tosses at Jared, missing by a mile but making his point.
“What?” Jared asks with a laugh and bright smile.
“You’re a damned tease.”
He grins and finally sets his hammer down in the grass as he moves forward. “I’m damned hungry is what I am.” He hops up the steps and pats at Jensen’s shoulder as he passes. “You hungry? Thirsty?”
“All of the above,” Jensen calls when Jared’s already inside, screen door slapping shut.
It’s not long before Jared returns with two plates, a sandwich and handful of chips apiece, and two chilled bottles of beer tucked under his arm. He sets himself at the top step, just beside Jensen in the new chair. They eat with light banter, both keeping eyes to their food when not taking in the vast fields running west with nothing between Jared’s house and dusk.
“Think you got enough wood?” Jensen asks idly as he logs the pile a good thirty feet further in the yard.
Jared takes the final drink from his bottle and rubs at the corner of his mouth. He kicks his feet to the next stair and leans back with his elbows on the weathered deck. “I was thinking of making a foursome.”
Jensen snorts and shakes his head as he lightly toes at Jared’s side, making him flinch and chuckle. Even while feeling sharp on Jared’s humor, Jensen asks, “When’re you finishing them?”
“You got a good flashlight?” he returns with a small smile.
“Really?”
“If you don’t mind, I sure don’t.”
Suddenly, they’re both taken with the sight of a dusty pick-up weaving through barren roads in the southwest. J.D.’s truck becomes more obvious the closer it gets, and the man honks and raises a hand through the open driver’s side window when he passes.
Jensen and Jared each wave, and Jared asks, “Did you know him and Sam Smith have been hanging out together?”
Jensen chuckles, and shakes his head as his mind recalls his day at work. “You been talking to my Deputy?”
“Maybe a little. That kid’s got some good intel.”
He sits into the angle of the chair and snorts. “That kid says you chopped all this wood yourself.”
Jared flexes his arms out with muscles bulging at the edges of his shirt sleeves. “Maybe I did. You never do give me much credit around here.”
Jensen’s proud that he only stalls for a couple seconds as he admires the hard lines of Jared’s arms and, better yet, the shape of Jared’s broad shoulders when he settles back on his palms again. Lightly clearing his throat, Jensen stands, swatting Jared’s hair as he takes the stairs. “I’ll get my light and a couple more beers.”
“If I keep drinking, I’ll likely hammer my hand right to the slats,” Jared calls out. “Then where will we be?”
“The ER,” Jensen laughs. “I was planning on it anyway.”
Jared works slower by twilight, but Jensen watches with the same keen attention as he had when he first sat down. Jared’s precise with each hit of the hammer, his aim exact to each nail. And when he’s done, near Jensen’s weekday bedtime, there are two sturdy Adirondacks on the porch, one for each of them to lounge in, and the pile off to the side remains untouched, waiting for another day.
Jensen stretches his legs out and crosses them at the ankles as he presses his now-warm bottle into his thigh. “These are much better than the steel cans you used to have.”
“I hated those things so hard, you have no clue.”
“The demolition of the legs kind of clued me in.” Jensen rolls his head to look at Jared. It’s not too difficult with so little light, his battery powered lantern shut and sitting at his side; he knows every smooth turn of Jared’s face. He’s been looking at him long enough. “Maggie won’t be too happy that you’re tossing them out. She did give you quite the deal at that garage sale.”
Jared chuckles into the lip of his bottle before finishing the beer. “I’ll chalk it up to vandalism.”
“Damned kids,” Jensen mutters with a smile. After sipping the last of his beer, Jensen rises, collecting the few empties as he goes. “I’m gonna head in. I predict a long morning with Maggie complaining over you tossing her lawn furniture to the street.”
Jared stands, too, and puts a hand to Jensen’s shoulder as he guides them around the front of the house. They both freeze and stare at the empty spot on Jared’s lawn where four damaged yellow chairs were just hours ago.
“Well that fixes that,” Jensen says plainly. They chuckle together and then a sleepy smile slips across Jensen’s face. He and Jared share a warm look before they’re both alarmed by a minivan roaring by with persistent honking, a loud radio, and the chatter of high school kids lacking enough to do with their time.
“Better jump in your cruiser and get to work, Sheriff.”
All too often Jared pushes that word, which in turn pushes Jensen’s buttons. Jensen doesn’t want to be Sheriff with Jared, doesn’t want his neighbor to only think that of him. Even as Jared seems to avoid following those orders, the comments have become a running gag.
He forces the empties into Jared’s hands and raises both eyebrows. “To sleep.”
“Yeah, alright,” Jared smirks back without moving an inch.
When Jensen reaches his own porch, he stalls and nods at Jared with a fond smile. “Nice work on the chairs.”
“Thank you, Officer.”
Jensen rolls his eyes but can’t keep the laugh from breaking. He shakes his head, pulls his screen door open, and calls, “Good night, Jared.”
It’s quiet, and he’s just barely a step across the threshold when he hears Jared’s soft, “Night, Jensen.” He smiles back at Jared, liking the sound of his name for the first and last time that day. It’s the best way he’s been addressed in twenty-four hours.
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