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“Awesome. And since you’re the kitchen wizard, you can tell me what I’m making for the potluck, because I have no idea what to pick. Especially something that can be made in big quantities.”
He chuckled, a soft, melodic sound Michael didn’t hear often enough. “I can do that. Some kind of cold salad is your best bet, anyway, since the weather will be nice, but not the usual suspects, like potato or macaroni.”
“I bow to your expertise. Tell me what you need and I’ll buy the groceries this week.”
“Deal.”
They shared a fond smile over Dad’s head, and in Josiah’s smile he saw a bit more hope peeking through. Hope for Dad’s continued recovery; hope for Josiah’s own mental recovery from his time with McBride; hope that things would finally bend in their favor and turn out all right.
Hope for a brighter, happier future for all of them.
Chapter Thirteen
Elmer took full advantage of the new freedom of his wheelchair, despite the chillier weather of late October, and Josiah loved seeing the elderly man come alive in the sunshine. After physical therapy, both morning and afternoon, Josiah allowed Elmer to spend an hour in his workshop. Mostly Elmer told Josiah where to move this or that, or he explained how a particular tool worked, because he wasn’t strong enough yet to use the tools himself. Elmer grumped a lot about it, but every time Josiah reminded him that pushing too hard could set him back, Elmer gave in.
They did a bit of cleaning, too. Josiah hauled a big plastic trash barrel out of a stall, shoved a sturdy garbage bag into it, and set it up by Elmer wherever he was working for bits of trash as he found them. Scraps he’d saved for an idea, but that maybe, now that he’d had one health scare, he might not actually get to use as planned. Scraps that were no good to anyone except his imagination.
Actual trash went into the bin, too, like water-damaged car magazines, torn boxes of nails that could be consolidated into a glass jar with others of the same size, and plastic baggies with contents long melted or disintegrated due to air exposure. The place slowly decluttered on the surface, but there was a lot of work yet left to do for it to be anywhere close to organized—at least in Josiah’s mind. Elmer seemed to know exactly where everything was supposed to go in the chaos.
They talked about the booth Elmer would set up for Saturday’s picnic. The Baptist church provided a single folding table per person/company who wanted to set up and talk about their products. The other four churches would set up with tracts to talk about their particular religions—not that everyone in Weston hadn’t already chosen one or none at that point—as well as places like hunting clubs or the Loyal Order of Whatever type of places. Probably a Boy Scouts table. Woods Ranch, according to Michael, would have information on their organic beef, plus a penned-in young bull from their spring group of calves for kids to pet.
Michael had reserved a table for Elmer and promised to print out some flyers with information on welding, metal art, and recycling to hand out. For as miles apart as Michael and Elmer had seemed on Josiah’s first day, the pair had come together more in the last month-plus, and he loved to see it—except on the rare occasion they dipped into certain parts of the past. The one part they always avoided around him was Michael’s mother.
Josiah knew very little about Carol Pearce, other than she’d died when Michael was in high school. Her and Elmer’s wedding photo still adorned the living room’s mantel, plus a picture of her holding an infant Michael that Elmer had once requested Josiah bring down from his bedroom, but those were the only obvious traces of the woman. He could ask but he also didn’t want to push. She was a ghost for a reason, and he didn’t want to stir up the past if it caused both men pain.
Thursday afternoon, Elmer was going through each drawer of a huge standing toolbox, picking out bits of trash, admiring other things, and basically moving items around as an alternative to being inside watching TV. Josiah didn’t mind. He perched on a sawhorse beside Elmer and asked the occasional question about what something was, what it did, and if Elmer really needed to keep it. At one point, Josiah found an old shoebox that seemed sturdy enough, and Elmer began a small “give away” pile, mostly of small wrenches, screwdrivers, and sockets.
It surprised Josiah a bit that an artist was willing to part with his stuff, and he questioned Elmer on it.
“Can’t take it with me, son,” Elmer replied. “And I know Michael don’t wanna bother with it after I’m gone. Can’t see saddling him with more than necessary.”
“You don’t think Michael will want to keep the ranch?”
“What ranch? We ain’t been a ranch since we sold the last horse to that fellow down in Littleton. It’s just a lot of land that’s not doin’ anyone any good. Should’ve sold it a long time ago.”
“But you didn’t for a reason.”
Elmer spun a small hex key between his fingers, his profile giving away nothing to Josiah. “Guess I kept hoping Michael would come home one day and want the place.”
“He did come home.”
“Temporarily. He’s made it clear he’s here until I’m better and he sells his house in Austin. Then he’s outta here again.”
Josiah’s skin prickled with unease. Michael hadn’t made that clear to Josiah at all. Had Michael waffled about leaving in front of Josiah to make Josiah feel better? To get closer to him, all the while planning to leave, after all? Josiah didn’t need Michael’s emotional charity, he needed honesty from his friend.
“Michael seems content here,” Josiah hedged, keeping his other thoughts to himself. “He likes working at Woods Ranch. I’ve seen him staring out over the land, as if he’s imagining what it could be beyond empty fields.”
“You sure he ain’t just remembering what it used to be?”
“No, I’m not.” It was probably his own wishful thinking, hoping that at the end of things, Michael would stay. Those hopes and doubts were exactly why he’d kept Michael in the friendship zone these last few weeks, and kept his own feelings for the man buried deep down beneath his survival instincts.
Elmer tossed the hex key into the donate box. “Had a lot of dreams for this place when I took over after my father died. Wanted to keep his dream alive and pass it on like he passed his dream on to me. But Michael wanted something else. Can’t even say it was our fight—I saw it from a young age. He worked his ass off here but his heart wasn’t in ranching.”
Josiah bit his bottom lip so he didn’t ask about the fight. A fight Michael had only brushed up against without revealing any actual details. Whatever had been said between father and son had driven a two-decade wedge between them and created a rift. A rift only briefly bridged because of Elmer’s stroke. Despite their differences and the separation of time, Josiah still saw paternal love in Elmer’s face and heard it in his voice when he talked about Michael. Was pride keeping Elmer from seeking forgiveness and permanently mending that rift? Was pride doing the same to Michael?
It’s not my place to interfere.
Didn’t stop him from wanting to, though, if only because he truly cared about both men and their happiness.
