I was still feeling the lingering pinch of a particularly savage attack of brain freeze from the ice cream when I heard noises coming from outside the big window.  Far too loud to be a bird seeking dinner, I assumed that it was either a person in my yard, or an impossibly big squirrel, and either way, I was going to need to look.  I crept up to the side of the window, all Mission: Impossible style to peak over the side of the glass in hope of not being seen by whomever was tinkering around out there. 

            I wasn't at all surprised to see Ben walking around the bird feeders.  Still wearing his work clothes, a dark gray suit, white button up shirt, silvery blue tie, he looked too handsome, too neat and tidy to be lugging giant bags of various seeds out of Gram's tool shed to fill up the feeders.  My heart swelled a bit at the thought that he had done that every day for my Grams, something that meant the world to her but that she couldn't manage on her own anymore.  I will be forever grateful to him for being there for her in such an important way.  A stubborn old lady to the core, she never even hinted at an inability of any kind, let alone one in an area so dear to her.  I would have helped her, at least I would have done what I could, living states away would have made a daily assistance impossible, but I would have found a way.  Maybe I could have hired someone. 

            There would have been no need, as he would have been there.  My memory filtered through conversations with her, and from time to time she would talk briefly of a "nice boy" that would help her with things around the house.  When she spoke of this "boy", I assumed it was some fifteen year old kid who would pop in and put her storm windows up in the winter time, or who would mow her yard in the warmer weather, and imagined paying this kid twenty bucks, supplemented with cookies and milk.  Or tea, as was Gram's way.  Never would I have expected the lad to have turned out to be a man, let alone this man.  There would have been no exchange of twenty dollars, I could never see him taking it, but I smiled at the thought of her forcing mug after mug of lemon zinger at him.  And I am sure he would have sipped every mug dutifully, never once showing anything but appreciation for the treat she had bestowed. 

            The memories came faster, trace mentions of the "nice boy" dropped in more conversations than I had figured.  There was a twinge of guilt I couldn't shake knowing that I had never even asked about him.  My mental block of this town had me ignoring anything, or anyone within its limits that she spoke of.  I would listen intently to everything she said, but when a local topic reared its head, I would allow the words to become fuzzy in my mind, never once thinking about who or what she said beyond a silent grumble at Biddleton as a whole.  I wondered, who else in her life had I passed over in my distaste for this place?  What other people had made such a difference to her that I had missed out on?  Who might have been important to her that I ignored because of my deep rooted prejudice? 

            What things about Ben could I have learned, had I only allowed her to share with me that part of her life?  He spoke of feeling like she was his own grandmother, perhaps she considered him as her own grandson.  The unanswered question of how close they were nagged at me.  Clearly he was involved in her life in a prominent way, but would I would never know just how much she cared for him.  I had been too selfish to ask.  And she had been too respectful of my bias to ever dwell over the subjects she knew made me so uneasy.  I always felt that she disapproved of my anger, my bitterness, that she wanted to help me move beyond that part of myself, but she never pushed.  She never tried to pull me out from under the gray cloud that floated over my head upon entering this zip code.  I always appreciated her for that, grateful for her silent support, always more visible than her evident disapproval of my grudge.

            The guilt was sinking in and beginning to ache.  I always fancied myself as totally involved with Grams and her world, it never occurred to me the things she would edit for my benefit.  I suddenly felt that I had missed out on a part of her, that there was a large chunk of her missing from my memories.  A hole that I had never known was there.

            I watched Ben tending to the feeders, a small group of birds waiting patiently in a tree above him for him to finish his work so they could embark upon their freshly poured dinner.  Two or three brave stragglers bounced carefully around his feet, grabbing for errant seeds that had spilled free as he poured.  His face never showed annoyance, that this was just an inconvenient chore to be performed.  No, his eyes were peaceful, content, the corners of his mouth edged ever so slightly up into a calm smile.  When one of the braver birds would edge closer to him in hopes of finding the most delectable of dropped seeds, he would stand motionless for a moment to give the bird a sense of safety in its pursuit.  It was the grin his face held while watching the bird succeed that caught me off guard the most.

            This was never how I looked at Ben Stevens.  I cowered away from him, admiring his beauty from afar, all the while bitterly resenting his social standing in the world.  A Golden Boy, admired and envied through blushing cheeks and clenched jaws.  I dreamed of being a part of his perfect little universe, but more so, I feared even being spoken too.  Surely it would have been a trick, a lure to a trap set to break me down even further. 

            The gaze I held upon him as I watched him through that window contained none of that fear.  The contrast of the emotions made me wonder if I was even looking at the same person.  Surely the man that I stared at with gratefulness and appreciation could not be the same as the classmate from so long ago, could it?

            I was unaware of how engrossed I had become in my thoughts until I realized I had reached out to touch the glass in front of me.  It was an unintentional gesture, and I was unsure if it was to steady myself as I watched, or if I had unconsciously reached out to him, but the iciness of the window jolted me out of my reminiscent stupor.

            Feeling the chill on my fingers reminded me of just how bitterly cold it had been that afternoon, and it drew my focus to Ben's lack of coat as he worked.  He hadn't come to the door, or even looked at the window through which I spied, and I wondered if he had intended to make his presence known, or if he was planning to be just a silent helper, not seeking the recognition of his good deed. 

            Overwhelmed as I was by the thoughts in my head, I found myself overtaken by the urge to go and speak to him.  This would normally be something that I talked myself out of right quick, but my impetuousness won out and before I even realized I was moving, I had on my own coat and was heading out the front door.

            I exited quietly, and was standing maybe ten feet away from him when I stopped and continued to watch him.  He had no idea I was behind him at all, he just went about his task as he had before.  I was pleased that Grams had so many feeders that needed attention, it allowed me more time to observe.

            When that idea ran through my brain, I was overcome by a wave of adolescent embarrassment.  What was I doing?  I couldn't just sidle up to Ben Stevens and chat like we were friends.  My mind began a massive internal struggle, fighting between the woman who eyed him with care through the window, and the sixteen year old that was standing near him, afraid to breathe.  The frustration of that constant inner turmoil, the then versus the now, was weighing heavily on my shoulders, I felt as if I was being pushed into the frozen ground below me.

            The indecision gave me cause to think that fleeing was the best course of action.  As much as I had hoped that I could embrace the Grams manner of thinking towards him, the reality of being right beside him took me out of the warm feeling memories I had been lost in just moments before, and I turned to slink back inside.

            But he had been watching me.  Lost in my decision making of should I stay or should I go, I was staring at my feet as I devised my plan, and I had never noticed that Ben had turned around.  I was mid-dart when I saw him eyeing me curiously, and so I froze.

            "Hey, Max," he smiled.

            I had already committed to the plan of running, so to be caught threw me off guard.  Which persona would win out?  The calm, admiring adult?  The scared, blushing teen?

            No, I went for stuttering, sarcastic Max instead.

            "Where's your coat?" I half snapped at him, internally kicking myself for my tone.

            "In my car," he chuckled, nodding to the black Lexus sitting at the end of the driveway, "I guess I didn't intend to be out here that long.  I didn't disturb you, did I?  I was trying to be quiet."

            "No, you were fine," I sighed, trying to get a grip on my voice.  "You know, you don't need to do that anymore.  I can take care of it now."

            He tilted his head and looked at me, as if he was considering the possibility, considering my reactions before he spoke.

            "It really is no problem, and I enjoy doing it," he began, "So if it is alright with you, I'd like to keep at it."  There was no condescension in his voice, but there was something he wasn't offering.  His eyes showed the briefest twinge of sadness as he spoke, as if the prospect of losing the job would cause him actual pain somehow.  I didn't understand the expression, how this could be of that level of importance to him, but it grabbed at me enough that I knew that I wouldn't push the notion any further.

            "Sure," I answered.  "If you really want to, I guess."

            "Thank you."

            There was a quiet few seconds and we just stared at each other.  He seemed to be assessing me, all the while trying not to become lost in his thoughts, and I became more self conscious as they ticked by.

            "So..." I started, hoping to break the silence, "Did you cure cancer today?"

            A loud laugh escaped him, it looked like it flew out before he was ready for it to, "No," he chuckled, appearing caught off guard, "Not today.  But tomorrow is looking promising!"

            An icy gust of wind raced by us and reminded me again of his lack of proper attire.

            "Seriously, aren't you freezing?" I insisted.

            "Well, you obviously are," he nodded at me.  I hadn't realized that I had my arms wrapped tightly around myself, and was bouncing a bit to keep warm.

            I rolled my eyes.

            "Can I ask you something?" I inquired after a few seconds of shivering.

            "Of course."  He began to seal up the bags of bird seed and started trudging them back to the tool shed, where he sat them carefully inside before locking the swinging door behind him.  The wind was flying hard enough that he had to wrestle the door a bit to get it back into place.

            "How long did you do this for Grams?"

            He paused to think for a second, "Maybe the last two and a half years or so?"

            "Wow, I had no idea," I spoke softly, wondering what other things Grams had to let go of that I never knew about.

            "Well, you know Ida," he laughed gently, "She didn't like to ask for help."

            I laughed with him for a second, he was certainly right.  I could imagine him seeing her difficulty with the feeders and insisting his help upon her, whether she like it or not.  That was how you had to work with Grams, don't offer the assistance, just do it, never give her a chance to say no.  She would always be grateful, but it allowed her to keep her pride.  Impressive that he was able to get through her that way.

            "Did she pay you or anything?" I wondered aloud, afraid that maybe I really was supposed to be paying him for his hard work or something.

            "Not really," he grinned again, "But..."  He trailed off.

            "But, what?"  I frowned.

            "Well she usually would invite me in for tea afterwards."

            Ha!  I knew it!

            "That sounds like her." I smiled, and before I knew what I was doing, I asked, "Would you like to come in for some tea?"

            There was another brief quiet spot as we stared at each other.  Our knack for frequent uncomfortable silences had to be breaking a record of some sort. 

            It was like he was trying to interpret the sincerity of my offer the way he looked at me, and much to my own surprise, we both realized it was genuine.

            "Sounds great." he finally answered and lithely trotted up beside me, rubbing his hands together.  I knew he was cold...

            Inside, water heating up on the stove, respective teas chosen, we sat at the kitchen table together while we waited for the little pot to whistle.

            "How was your day?" he asked after yet another awkward minute.

            "Fine." I responded quickly, "Yours?"

            "Wonderful," that crooked grin of his in full swing, "Except for that pesky not curing cancer thing.  But as I said, tomorrow is looking good!  Did you do anything interesting?"

            "Not really."

            The silence returned and he kept his gaze pointed directly at me.  I felt myself shrinking down into my chair.

            "Max?"

            "Hmm?"

            "Remember that discussion we had?" his face turned in mock seriousness, "You know, about how this conversation thing works so much easier if you say words, and then I say words, and so on?"

            I felt the blood rush wildly to my face, burning even under my hair.  It is really unfair his ability to do that to me.

            "Sorry." I muttered, willing my face to return to its natural color, "Um, I couldn't find my debit card, so I had to start a new checking account."  I felt like a child as I spoke, as if I was confessing something naughty that I had been caught doing.

            "You were right." he said.

            "About what?"

            "Nothing interesting." he smirked, teasing me.

            I flicked the dry tea bag sitting in front of me at him, catching him square in the chest.

            "Sorry," I mocked, "We can't all have super hero jobs, ridding the world of deadly diseases, you know."

            He laughed openly and leaned back into his chair, tossing the tea back onto the table in front of me.  It suddenly felt very relaxed at the table, and I was very impressed that he was able to do that to me.  My mind jumped back to the bank earlier and my encounter with Michelle, and although I am still not sure why, I was anxious to discuss it with him.

            "You know, I actually ran into someone from school today." I began.

            "And you managed to survive?"  The mock seriousness returned.

            "Shut up." I mumbled, "But no, it was Michelle Lancaster.  I mentioned that I had seen you and she sort of asked about you." 

            "What did she ask?"  His face was calm, but his expression was unreadable.

            "She invited me to some party tonight, and told me to invite you too."  I shrank down a little more as I spoke, feeling like a fraud for saying that Michelle Lancaster invited me to a party, when anyone in their right mind would know that in itself was an impossibility.  "She um, said that they invite you a lot, but you never go."

            "That's true."  I wished that I could decipher his tone.

            Yet another pause.

            "So, uh..." I stuttered, "Why don't you ever go?  I thought you all were friends in high school."

            He leaned forward, folding his arms in front of him on the table, "Max, there really aren't a lot of things that are the same as they were in high school," he spoke thoughtfully, "Things change.  People change.  I mean, you aren't the same person you were back then, are you?"

            At the moment, I certainly felt as though I were the same person.  I felt as though I was being talked down to, being explained the rules of life by someone older and wiser, and yet his words implied none of that.  Somehow, the fact that I was aware that I was twisting his words still couldn't stop me from doing it.

            "But, why don't you go?" I was still curious, as though I had been briefly granted a glimpse into a quarrel in the inner circle, and was about to be privy to some tidbit of juicy gossip.

            "It's not..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "It's not really my sort of thing, I suppose."

            "Oh."  I responded.  I don't know why I pushed the subject, but my curiosity got the better of me.  "Why not?"

            He gave me a quick half smile before he answered, "Why?  Did you want to go?"

            "No!" I choked out, far too quickly, "I mean, well, no."

            "I'd be happy to go with you if you would like to go, Max."

            My face burned violently at his suggestion.

            "No," I sputtered, "It's not that, I was just curious.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push or anything."  I shrank another good two inches into my chair.

            "I don't go to them because they are exactly like the parties from high school," he sighed after a moment.  "I said that things change, and people change.  Well, they are the exception to that rule.  It is exactly the same.  The same people, the same beer, the same hookups, the same drama."  He seemed frustrated as he spoke, not at me, but at the situations he was recalling.  "Look, I am not against the party aspect of it.  In fact, if you want I will be glad to take you out and get you good and liquored up," he flashed that heart beat skipping smile again, "But watching a bunch of near thirty year olds act the exact same way they did when they were sixteen is not the most appealing of ways to spend a Monday night.  Although if you are looking to watch a bunch of grown men get so slammed that they puke in the front yard, and women start slapping each other because they think the other one is cheating with their husband, well, then that is the place!"

            "They really do that?"  I was awed.  I tried to shake the image of a very pregnant Michelle chugging beer from a can, and eye gouging some other girl out of my head.

            "That is the general idea, yes."  he rubbed his hand gently through his hair, each caramel lock falling perfectly back into place, "It just isn't how I would choose to spend my night.  But as I said, if you would like to, I would go with you.  I would rather you didn't go by yourself if you do decide to go."

            "Why?"

            "They can tend to get a little out of hand." he said, once again choosing his words with precision.

            "Oh."  I wondered what he meant, but I didn't want to pull it out of him.  It seemed to make him uncomfortable to discussing it further, and even though his features showed a calm and casual demeanor, I could see the seriousness in his eyes. 

            "Believe me," I inhaled deeply, "That is not something that's on my list of to-dos today." 

            "So what is on your list?"  His voice carried his smile, and he was gone from the party topic instantly. 

            "Well," I began, "I don't have a clue, actually."  My eyebrows pulled together in a frown as I tried to think of something interesting to say.

            "You know, the getting liquored up is still on the table," he offered, stifling a laugh.

            "I was thinking more like dinner and unpacking," I corrected, throwing in a solid eye roll.  "Ooh, although..."

            "Although what?"

            I wanted to kick myself under the table for saying that out loud, but I had been taken by the urge to go see Callie Davids.  She was the one person that I actually looked forward to seeing again, and according to Michelle, Callie worked at Mort's, one of the more pleasant bars in town.  And by pleasant, I mean you don't fear getting a fatal case of flesh eating bacteria should you sit on one of the bar stools.

            "It's nothing, I just had a thought about dropping by Mort's sometime." I pushed out, "I heard Callie works there."

            "Oh yeah, she does!"  he smiled, perked up by my suggestion, "Well, see now that combines the best parts of both our ideas."

            "What do you mean?" I asked suspiciously.

            "Well, we could get the dinner you were talking about," his perfectly white teeth showed through his giant grin, "And I can work on that getting you intoxicated plan of mine."

            "You want to go with me?" I asked, confused by the improbability of Ben Stevens frequently escorting me to various establishments.

            "If you were planning to go by yourself, then don't worry about it!"  I don't know if I had ever heard someone whose voice was always so consistently sincere as Ben's was.

            "No, it's not that," My words were coming too quickly for me to filter them properly, "I just don't get why you would want to come with me again." 

            I felt like an idiot as soon as I spoke.

            He leaned forward on the table again, the table which suddenly felt very small as he seemed to be mere inches in front of me now, "I am not sure why you have a hard time believing the concept that I enjoy spending time with you, Max," he reached out and gave my hand a gentle squeeze as he spoke, his skin achingly soft and warm against my own, "But I assure you it is true."

            He smoothly pulled himself up from the table and walked into the kitchen, leaving me to my all encompassing flush, and trying to force my lungs back into breathing mode.  I had been so captivated by him speaking that I didn't even hear the tea pot screaming behind me.

            "So what do you think?" he asked as he sat a mug of steaming water in front of me.

            In a court of law, I am sure that the fact that he placed his hand on my shoulder as he asked the question would be considered coercion.  Devious, unfair tactics.

            "Sure, sounds great." I squeaked out, in an unnaturally thin voice.

            Now, I thought to myself, If I can just get my heart to start beating again, we'll be on our way.