Re: Appaloosa, Everett/Virgil, the things they don't say
When they finished Virgil was reluctant to separate, his hand on Everett's arm a reminder of thoughts unvoiced and unacted upon in all their acquaintance. He leaned even closer and almost spoke. Instead he brushed lips over cheek and Everett made a sound that put him in mind of Boulder and turned so suddenly that Virgil was startled, and suprised again when Everett pulled them close together and crushed lips to his own and kissed him as no woman ever had nor ever would after.
Years before, crossing New Mexico, the two of them spent the night in the church of an abandoned pueblo high on a mesa. They swept a place by the door, remnants of clay bowls and the leavings of other squatters were pushed into a corner, and they spread their soogans on the packed dirt floor and lay their tired bodies down for the night. When they had eaten and settled Virgil smiled across the small fire and said he always had liked sleeping in church. But Everett only said that he'd sit up and watch. Virgil woke to find him squatting on an adobe roof, taking the sun as it rose, painting the grey world of night over with red and orange and a blue Virgil thought had not existed until then.
Before dawn they mounted and took the cattle trail back to the wagon road and on through the thoroughfare to their hotel and parted at Virgil's door. Virgil hesistated, hand on the knob, then entered the dawnlit room alone.