Page 53 of Where I Should’ve Been

“In his defense, Tad, it wasn’t his idea to move to small-town Vermont and run a sheep farm. Bitching is his coping mechanism.”

“I didn’t force him to follow me here ten years ago, and I’m not making him stay now. I’m in my forties. Pretty sure I can handle my own shit.”

“He’s your big brother,” my dad tosses back. “He’s protective. And in your own damn words, it’s been ten years. His life is in Red Bridge now, whether the two of you like it or not.”

He’s not wrong. Randy’s life is in Red Bridge now, and if I’m being frank with myself, things wouldn’t feel right if he weren’t here. Though, I’d more than support his choice to leave and finally choose himself over being worried about my bullshit.

“Dammit,” he snaps, a teasing laugh preceding something unintelligible from my uncle Cal. “You’re not the only one with a pain in the ass sibling, son. Count your blessings for good old boy Rando. You could have a poker cheat for a brother like me.”

“I’m not a cheat. Your father is just inferior,” Uncle Cal says, leaning into the phone enough for me to hear him clearly.

I laugh and sigh at the same time. “There a reason you called while you’re cruising the Caribbean seas? I don’t wanna cut you short, but I’ve got shit to do.”

“Relax, son.” His responding chuckle sounds weathered but warm. “I’m just checking in while we have a day at sea. I won’t keep you long.”

Dad and Uncle Cal are retired firefighters, brothers like Randy and me, and Chicago born and bred like us too. They were the backbone of my entire childhood. Shifts at the fire station together, softball games on their off days, and Sunday cookouts in the backyard, they’ve been inseparable since birth.

Now they’re balls deep into retirement and spend their days on golf trips, poker nights, and vacations with other retirees from their station.

I love them both dearly, but I’m not naïve enough to think they’re calling me from a fucking cruise for any reason other than to take the temperature of my mental state.

“So…everything all right out there?” he asks subtly, diving predictably into probing. He and Randy are two peas in a pod when it comes to checking in on me.

And is everything all right? I mean, the sheep are fine. The fences mostly hold. Randy’s still Randy. But lately, my nights don’t end alone.

Instantly, my mind pictures Breezy, her bare feet padding across my kitchen floor, my shirt sliding off one shoulder, and her laugh wrapping around me like something I shouldn’t need as much as I do. She’s still here in Red Bridge. And somehow, that feels like the best and worst kind of relief.

I still don’t know the whys or hows of what brought her here—has kept her here for the past month—or when she’s going to leave. But that probably stems from the casualness we agreed to.

Though, Breezy did say she’s just taking things day by day and doesn’t plan to become a permanent fixture here.

And I tell myself that’s a good thing. But do you actually believe it?

“You still there, bud?” Dad asks.

“Yeah,” I answer quickly, voice flat enough to hide what’s under it. “And everything’s all right.”

He hums like he doesn’t buy it. “You sure things are good in that small town of yours?”

In the background, Cal yells, “Don’t let him fool you, Freddy! That boy was always a bit of a ladies’ man. Probably busy dating half the women in that Podunk paradise by now.”

“Everything’s good, Dad,” I reassure. “Sheep are healthy. Randy’s cranky. Business as usual.”

“Hold on, Tad. Cal wants to talk to ya.”

“Tadpole!” My uncle Cal’s voice is now in my ear. “How’s the sheep biz?”

“You’d be surprised how exciting and glorious it is.”

“That’s funny. Exciting and glorious weren’t the adjectives your brother used when I last talked to him.”

“Yeah, well, Randy has a flair for dramatics,” I retort. “How about you old geezers tell me how the cruise is going?” I ask, trying like hell to change the topic of conversation.

“Well, I’m certain it’s a lot better than mucking around in sheep shit,” Uncle Cal retorts on a chuckle. “I just cleaned out half the poker tables on this boat. You and Randy want me to send a care package when we land in Jamaica? Maybe some whiskey and cigars to take the edge off all the farming mundanity?”

Before I can answer, Dad cuts in. “Ignore him. He’s only had one good gambling day on this boat, and he won’t shut up about it.”

My dad and I continue chatting, but we both dance around the deep shit.