clench. What was most amazing was that in eight years, the family had so tiptoed around this ridiculous accusation that it was the first time he’d heard of it. “I didn’t steal.”
“Joel was about to tell me his side of what happened to the RC money,” Billy spoke up, “but then Matthew got sick to his stomach and Beth Armstrong interrupted us.”
“I can’t believe you think I would steal money.”
“It’s no secret that you thought your half of the farm was worth more,” Jared said.
“True, but I also thought—okay, dreamed—that I’d be looking at career winnings of over a million dollars. You heard me say that for years. I got my Professional Rodeo Cowboys’ Association card right before I left. I believed so strongly in my dream. Plus, you knew I felt guilty taking what I did. That’s why I left the way I did.”
“Every little bit helps,” Jared quoted their father.
“I didn’t take the RC money,” Joel said again, not that Jared was listening. Billy, though, finally looked a little more thoughtful than stoic.
“Twelve thousand, three hundred and seventy-four dollars,” Jared stated.
“You have the amount memorized?” Joel asked, incredulous, looking at his big brother.
“Of course I do.” Jared stood. Carefully, methodically, he put his dinner plate and glass in the kitchen sink. Then, as he walked out the door, he added, “I reimbursed the club so they wouldn’t press charges.”
Outside, the whir of a combine penetrated the murkiness that made up Joel’s slumber. He kept his eyes tightly closed, hoping the headache would disappear and sleep would return. It didn’t.
The bed was harder than it needed to be, but maybe that was just an effect of the pain in every bone in Joel’s body. Especially his head. Great, until the night before last the only thing that hadn’t hurt was his head. Opening one eye, Joel winced and took in his surroundings and noted the time. Wide awake at seven on a Saturday morning. Who needed an alarm clock? Pain worked better and didn’t offer a snooze option.
He slowly opened the other eye.
The guest room hadn’t really changed in the last fifteen years, not since his mother had decorated it in a fit of Martha Stewart enthusiasm and a good crop year. Both his parents were gone now—his dad while Joel was still in elementary school to a tractor mishap, his mom to cancer the year he turned eighteen. When she died, Joel lost his footing. The only thing he’d wanted was to leave because he no longer felt like he belonged.
But maybe he’d left because it hurt to belong.
Their memory dimmed as Joel eased up to a sitting position. He managed to get one leg to the ground, and while he rested he stared at the only thing new in the room, a sewing machine. It must have belonged to Jared’s late wife, Mandy. Come to think of it, right before Jared’s wedding, there’d been a bunch of Mandy’s friends gathered in the living room doing something to the curtains with those plastic things that came with cola six-packs. Two years later, right before Joel left, Mandy and her best friends had been sitting in the same living room, the one that now had prettier curtains, making baby blankets.
Had Beth been there? He tried to remember and finally, after thinking of all the times he’d hung around with Beth’s sisters, a memory surfaced. She’d been there, but not to sew. She offered advice a time or two, but just as often as not, when Joel came through the room, she’d been reading. He remembered now.
No wonder he hadn’t realized what a beauty she was. She’d been so young and always had her head down with her nose stuck in a book.
He put both hands, palms down, on the bed and pushed. He stood, winded and then sat down again as the knob on the bedroom door started to turn. He’d left the hospital yesterday feeling good on whatever they’d pumped him full of. Today wasn’t going to be such a feel-good day.
He heard a few snickers and maybe some pushing, and finally the door inched open. More snickering and then, as though he’d been pushed, Caleb hurtled in and stumbled to a halt. Two fingers were in his mouth, shoved deep enough to hurt.
“Morning, Caleb,” Joel greeted. “Are you being shy today?”
The fingers didn’t come out of his mouth and Caleb didn’t respond.
From the doorway came a whispered command, “Tell him it’s time for breakfast. Tell him Grandpa said.”
But, as youngest sons are prone to do, this one didn’t listen, just shook his head again.
“It’s time for breakfast.” The door opened all the way and Ryan came in. He gave his little brother a dirty look. “Grandpa said. And Caleb’s not shy, he’s just being stubborn.”
The words may have come from an eight-year-old’s mouth, but they were Jared’s words, complete with tone. The way Joel had heard them, all those years ago, was more like, “I’m Jared, the oldest. And Joel’s off hiding somewhere because he doesn’t want to do the real work. He’s just being lazy.” Real work was driving the tractor, not making sure it worked. Real work was spending eight hours straight harvesting, not spending eight seconds on a bull for a chance at a couple thousand dollars and a buckle.
Jared and Joel had different ideas of fun.
Matt peeked through the door, not willing to enter, but not willing to miss out on what was happening. “Matt is shy,” said Ryan. Matt neither disagreed nor entered the room.
“I’m three.” Caleb took the two fingers from his mouth and held them up.
“He’s three,” Ryan agreed. “And after we eat, Grandpa wants you to help set up his party.”
Joel managed to stand once again.
“You not staying?” Caleb asked, moving closer.
“Dad says you’re leaving soon,” Ryan agreed. “And we’re not supposed to talk to you except when we have to.”
“Grandpa says he’s staying,” Matt reminded from the doorway. “Until he’s better.”
“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” Joel said.
“He’s staying.” Grandpa Billy put his right hand firmly on Matt’s shoulder. “And you boys are leaving. It’s past time for you two to be doing your chores.”
Billy hadn’t made a sound as he walked down the hallway. Years of being an elementary school principal had taught him how to sneak up on kids. Ryan and Caleb giggled. Matt pretty much harrumphed, sounding more like Grandpa Billy than a mere boy. After a moment, they all left.
Joel put a hand to his head. He wasn’t sure if it was his nephews’ visit or the passing of time, but his headache was gone. Outside he could hear the tractor shutting down and the boys shouting, “Morning, Dad.” At least some things didn’t change.
He felt a pull in his lower back, but it was only a dull ache, not a blinding pain that flashed every time he so much as twitched. You’d think the minor traffic accident would have made things worse. Instead, it was just another day of not knowing if he’d be bedridden or moving.
That’s
