Page 23 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
The employee had looked miserable enough without me beating him up over something he couldn’t control. I’d given him my number in case it turned up, but figured I’d need to cut my losses.
“Why?” Joe looked perplexed. Well, as perplexed as he could, considering his face was made of stone.
“It got lost.” I shrugged a shoulder as his dark blue gaze grew stormy. I had no doubt if I asked, Joe would glare the unlucky employee into submission. But that wouldn’t solve the missing bag issue—so there was no point. “Don’t worry about it.”
Joe nodded.
And that was that.
He waited for me to toss my backpack inside—obviously eager to help, even though it was only one bag. I didn’t think we reallyneededto use the trunk, all things considered—but I didn’t want to dampen Joe’s mood by pointing that out.
So I didn’t comment.
“Just cleaned the back,” Joe grunted. “Figured you’d appreciate the lack of junk. I even vacuumed.”
Last I’d heard, he’d been borrowing Lacey’s van and acting as an official babysitter on the side while he saved up for a farm of his own. He’d even moved back home, every penny he earned going toward his dream.
I wasn’t the only Milton interested in living back East.
Joe had his heart set on Vermont, a fact that made Mom apprehensive. At least, that’s what she told me when we’d chatted on the phone about it. I didn’t share that apprehension. It was easy to picture Joe on his own. He’d thrive there, especially if he found a farm close to wild life. Animals flocked to him like they saw him as one of their own. He was basically the gigantic, manly version of Snow White—only if she’d been interested in owning anapple orchard and dreamed of going bird watching on the weekends.
Joe’s cleaning left much to be desired. The trunk looked like a cornfield had thrown up in it. There were muddy boot prints. A few broken crayons. A half dozen unicorn-themed toys—all Mavis’s.
It was the thought that counted, right?
And Joe had obviously…tried.
Which was why Joe was my favorite.
The passenger seat was covered in Cheez-It crumbs and Kool-Aid stains. And yet, I melted into it gratefully, absorbing the scent of dirt and family. I was a bit anxious to see my other family members, worried Mom would take one look at me and know how miserable I was, and I’d be unable to play her golden boy the way I desired.
Which was why I let myself soak up Joe’s presence and enjoyed the companionable silence we shared during the forty-minute drive home.
The cornfields were thriving, green, glorious blurs on either side of the windows. Eventually, Joe got me up to date on the family drama—nothing more than a few tiffs between siblings—and updated me about Mavis and her newest obsessions.
The way he spoke to me, all quiet, gruff honesty, made it seem like no time at all had passed since we’d last talked. Despite his efforts, I could feel the chasm that Brendon’s presence in my life had left behind.
It was always bizarre returning to Ohio after living so many years away. Like visiting an alternate dimension of the place I’d grown up. Some things were the same, yes—more paint chipped than when I was a kid, maybe—but mostly unchanged. And others? Other things felt like transplants. Foreign buildings that didn’t fit into the Chesterton of my memories. Too new. Too different. Out of place.
Family, though.
Family was the same, no matter how many years went by.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it free. Like a slap to the face,another text from Brendon broke the calm Joe had lulled me into.
Brendon
I know you read my earlier text, George. Ignoring me is a new low, even for you.
“What?” Joe’s voice was a welcome distraction. But even its familiar cadence couldn’t chase away the shadows left behind from Brendon’s words.
“Nothing. Just work,” I replied, shoving my phone back in my pocket, hands shaking.
I shouldn’t stress over this.
Over something as small as a text.
I wasn’t obligated to reply. Not during my time off.
