Chapter Text
…They call me the wanderer,
Yeah, the wanderer,
I roam around, around, around, around…
Pete McVries had never been very good at staying in one place.
College had been nice at first; staying in the same town, solidifying a group of friends - it was a far cry from what he had grown up with. From a drunkard for an uncle to foster home after foster home, Pete had been wandering his whole life. He had almost gotten used to college, almost gotten even comfortable. Then Olson had to go and ruin it and ask him what he wanted to do after he graduated.
What did he want to do?
Well, make music, of course.
“Yeah sure but like for a job?”
Fuck off, Olson.
Pete didn’t want a job. Not in the 9-5, sit in a cubicle under soul-sucking flourescents sense anyway. He knew it wasn’t reasonable to make a living off his music - not yet. He also knew that it wasn’t reasonable to ask himself settle down somewhere in a job that didn’t fulfill him. He wouldn’t be living like that; he would just be surviving.
And Pete, well, Pete McVries wanted to live.
Over the years, he had picked up some valuable skills. He had needed them to survive - odd jobs that kept him going. He had become handy around a house, learning how to repair appliances, how to snake a drain, among various other things that made him useful in a pinch. As he’d gotten older, he’d taken jobs at local cafes and then bars, tucking away savings and gaining experience he didn’t really want but appreciated anyway.
“Well, Olson, I think I might travel for a bit. See where my guitar can take me.”
“That’s your plan?”
“Sure, why not? I’ve always wanted to see more of the country.”
“You can’t possibly expect to make enough money playing open mics and shit to sustain that.”
Pete had just shrugged that off.
“I’ll pick up odd jobs, maybe stay a few places for a while, bartend or something. I like the idea of me and the open road for a while.”
Olson had scoffed, and Pete didn’t blame him. After all, Hank had a wife and a child on the way; he needed something stable. He was alright anyway - even with his doubts, he had shown up to help Pete pack his few belongings in his truck and saw him off with a sack lunch (a sandwich and a clementine, to “fuel up before he ran out of money and starved”) and a tight embrace.
Pete chewed on a jelly sandwich now as his truck crested over the border of New Hampshire and into Maine. He hadn’t ever thought of making just a jelly sandwich before Olson had sent him off with one over a month ago - it was incomparable from one with peanut butter, but it tasted a little like the only place he could call home. He found himself forgoing the other ingredient when his heart ached for something more permanent. The road was right for him, but it certainly got lonely at times.
WELCOME TO MAINE
The Way Life Should Be
“The way life should be…” He mused out loud, crumpling the ziploc baggie and tossing it into the backseat, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Maine might be alright.”
It was nearly noon now; the late June sun was high and hot. His truck clunked loyally along the pavement, vibrant expanses of forest rushing past his windows on either side. Besides his guitar, the ‘99 Silverado had been a great constant in his life. He’d been gifted it the summer before his freshman year of college, a gesture of thanks from an elderly man that he’d spent the better half of a year with, helping to fix up his house.
“I ain’t fit enough to drive anymore, you know that by now, boy.”
The Silverado had seen Pete through the last four years; it was home to his tears and his triumphs, his secrets, and the low, passionate murmurs of love with different men that could never quite keep a hold on his heart.
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he wiped it away before reaching over and cranking down the passenger window as well. The only downfall of the truck was the lack of air conditioning, but Pete didn’t mind - it wasn’t a luxury he had come across often anyway.
The wind breezed in, the air smelling of pine and something sweet he couldn’t place. The state border was miles behind him now but there had been a shift the moment the tires had crossed the line. He knew this feeling well; it was time to stay for a bit.
Pete didn’t have a plan when it came to the road; he let the road tell him where he would stop and when he would go on. He’d been on the move for nearly a week now and well, it was time. It wasn’t long before a faded white sign came up on his right side.
WELCOME TO FRYEBURG, MAINE
Home of the Fryeburg Fair!
(October 3 - October 10)
The dates were more prominent, freshly painted, within the last few weeks he would guess. Maine in the fall sounded nice, he had to admit.
Too bad I’ll be gone by-
A loud thunk startled Pete out of his thoughts and the Silverado jerked, sputtering.
“Shit!” He eased the truck over into the gravel just past the sign, eyes widening in horror as smoke began to twirl out from under the hood.
“Fuck!” He turned off the ignition, jumping out, dust clouding around him as he rushed to the hood to pop it open, coughing and waving smoke out of his face.
Pete had plenty of skills, but cars weren’t one of them. Sure, he knew how to change a tire, when to get the oil changed, but he’d never learned much about the mechanics. The Silverado had been in pristine shape despite its age, and he hadn’t needed to take it in for anything out of routine. He supposed that the idea of a road trip might have been a kicker to learn something, but it was too late for that now, wasn’t it?
“You need some help there?” A voice that sounded like years of cigarettes came from behind him and nearly scared him out of his skin.
“Shit! Where’d you come from?” He whirled around to see a short, round man with a wizened face and a white beard that reached his chest eyeing him with a mixture of amusement and caution. He carried a fishing pole and a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.
The man raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Didn’t mean to scare ya, boy.” He nodded back towards a trail leading from the trees. “Just finished up fishing in the creek down through those woods there.”
Pete let his shoulders relax slightly. “Right. Uh, yeah. My truck broke.”
“Yeah, I see that. You just passin’ through?”
“Well, I was planning to make a stop here, just not like this.”
The man stepped forward to take a peek into the hood, one eyebrow raised. After a few moments of quiet study, he dug into his overalls’ pocket and pulled out a phone that looked like it was from another century.
“I can’t help ya but I’ll give Garraty a call, he’ll come right down and fix you up.”
“Garraty?”
The man flipped open the phone, punching in numbers. “Ayuh. Ray’ll fix you right up, don’t you worry.”
Pete leaned back against the truck and watched as the man explained his dilemma into the phone.
“Right.” He snapped it shut. “Garraty should be here with a tow within the hour. You gonna be alright here if I leave? He’s good people.”
“Sure, yeah. Thanks, man.” Pete didn’t see any other option than leaving his fate in the hands of this ‘Garraty.’
“Not a problem. I’m sure I’ll see ya in town then.” The man turned and marched towards the town, whistling a jolly tune as he went.
Pete paced around the Silverado for what felt like well over an hour before he was ready to just hike into town and find Garraty himself. He opened the driver’s door and climbed in, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, forcing himself to take a few breaths. He didn’t like feeling like this, like he was stuck.
…Anything you want, you got it
Anything you need, you got it
Anything at all, you got it…
Was that music?
Pete sat up and peered out the window to see a tow truck clattering down the road. The driver’s window was open and he could hear the music clearly now.
…I begin to understand
Everything about you tells me I’m your man-
The song cut abruptly as the man finished backing up in front of Pete’s truck and shut the engine off.
Pete got out of the truck, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, ready for another old, overall-clad farmer type.
Instead, a man around his own age stepped out, adjusting the floppy bucket hat on his head, squinting at him.
“You must be the guy with the car trouble!”
Pete started to throw back a snappy remark - obviously, can’t you see - and then saw the grin playing at the man’s lips.
“Uh, yeah, thanks for coming out.” He took a few steps towards the other man, closing the distance to offer his hand to shake. “Pete. Pete McVries.”
A strong hand took his own, giving him a firm handshake. Pete had to look up to meet his eyes; he was tall with a stocky build and doe-brown eyes that seemed to twinkle in the sunlight. A constellation of freckles smattered across his face, a kind and full smile spreading as his gaze met Pete’s. One of his front teeth was chipped on the side, and Pete found that absolutely charming.
His stomach flipped.
“Ray. Ray Garraty. Now, let’s see what the problem is.”
Ray Garraty strode over to the truck, hands on his hips as he leaned over, examining the inner workings of the Silverado.
Pete’s mouth was suddenly very dry. He just stood there for a moment, gazing at the man as if he'd hung the moon.
“It seems -” Ray paused, turning around. “Oh! Come here! Let me show you this.”
“Right,” He muttered and forced his feet to move next to him, looking into the hood as if he understood anything that Ray began to explain to him.
“So I’ll hook you up and take you into town. It might take a few days to fix, though.” Ray pushed his hat back from his head and ran a hand through a mess of ginger hair-
So pretty in the sunlight…
- a thoughtful expression clouding his face. “I guess you could stay at the motel, though it’s not very nice-”
“Wait, a few days to fix?” Pete snapped back into focus.
“Yeah, but it’s not too bad, it’ll just take a little time to get some parts, like I mentioned.”
Right. Like he mentioned. Like I was listening to any of that and not just staring at his hands. His forearms. His…
Pete’s gaze trailed back to those hands again and then squinted sharply as a glint of gold caught the sun, flashing into his eyes, the rush back into reality giving him some clarity.
Of course. Married.
“You alright? It won’t set you back that much or anything, and I’m good, I’ll get you back on the road.”
“Yeah, motel. Yeah, that works, sure.” His voice was tight, clipped with frustration at himself.
Ray nodded, seeming unconvinced that Pete was alright. “Well. I’ll get you hooked up now.”
Pete cleared his throat and followed him over to the tow. “Sorry, I’m just stressed about all this, you know? Thanks for coming out, I appreciate it, I really do.”
Ray straightened up from pulling out a chain and gave him a reassuring smile. “Hey, I get it, losing your wheels isn’t fun. But I’ve got you now.”
Yeah, you’ve got me alright.