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“Not for the Windfall rumor mill.”
Our local paper is calledThe Janglerfor a reason. Jangling is the backbone of this town—chin-wagging, schmoozing, chattering. The less detail in a rumor, the better. The hens and rattling roosters of this town will pass the information along. Each person will tweak the story, tiny embellishments added until Jolene’s stare is a full-on confession of love and Jake is crying himself to sleep at night, desperate to win back his lost love.
I know this because I used one such subtle rumor to break up Jake and Jo twelve years ago. It’s only fitting I use the same tactic to bring them back together.
“Also,” I add, “you need to let it leak that the ancient Jake-cheating rumor is false. Hint that Mary Ackerman was interested in Jake at the time and started it to break him and Jo up.” Except that Traitor of the Year prize goes to me.
“Consider it done.” Sandra methodically folds her paper in half. She stands and walks toward Delilah’s coffee shop, Sugar and Sips, without sparing me a second glance.
Seriously. Sandra is indispensable.
A little kid runs by me, flying a small kite through the grassy town square. A teenage boy at the mermaid fountain reaches into the water and flicks droplets at a girl. She shrieks and smacks him lightly, laughing. For some reason, my shoulders tense. It’s a beautiful spring Sunday. Townsfolk meander down the wide cobblestone sidewalks. Flower displays enliven the shop facades, but those teens are a reminder of Jo and me—the fun we had together, messing around and laughing. All of it gone when I vanished into WITSEC.
I take a deep breath, try to absorb the serenity, but my lats bunch toward my ears.
My phone chimes.
I glance down. A note from my calendar glows up at me:
Measure Mr. Liang’s yard.
I swipe off the reminder and blink hard. I scroll through the rest of today’s commitments—ordering wood from the lumberyard, deck construction planning, helping Javier move. I stand, eager to get to work. I’m clearly not built to uselessly lounge around on a sunny Sunday. I’m a get-busy and get-things-done kind of man.
chapterthree
Callahan
Measuring Mr. Liang’s yard for his fence is actually fun. His new puppy, Sprocket, is a hilarious bloodhound. She has Dumbo ears that nearly reach the grass, and she loves nipping at the rough hems of my jeans. I spend half my time playing with her and the other half whipping out my tape measure and jotting down measurements.
“She likes you,” Mr. Liang calls.
I look down at Sprocket’s droopy face and massive ears. “If she mysteriously goes missing, I swear it wasn’t me who took her.”
He laughs. My phone chimes again. No rest for the organized.
“I’ll be back Thursday afternoon,” I tell Mr. Liang. “Is it okay if I work into the early evening?”
“Whenever is good. We’re just thrilled you could fit us in.”
I give Sprocket a final rub, then spend time in my truck reviewing my other side job—the Elroys’ deck and its measurements. I check the notes I jotted down yesterday and calculate how much wood I’ll need. When my phone chimes with my next commitment, I have just enough time to order my supplies and meet my friends for Javier’s move. Not only does Javier run his own refrigeration repair business, he’s moving to the other side of town, into his first purchased home. Being here to help him feels good.
Unfortunately, when I park my truck, I see two of my brothers, not my friends.
Lennon and E are standing on the street curb, the former always in everybody’s business, the latter too intuitive for my liking. They’re loitering beside a large moving truck outside Javier’s rented house. Apparently, my brothers were also roped into moving duties.
I shut my truck door and head their way. “Wasn’t expecting to see you two.”
E salutes me. “Javier was in Delilah’s shop and mentioned the move. I offered to help.”
“I eavesdropped,” Lennon adds. “Since E can’t lift anything heavier than a pencil, thought it would be prudent to assist.”
E punches his arm. Lennon flicks his elbow.
Mature adult men, we are not—an aftereffect of WITSEC.
Our family may have spent ten years in a big city, but we lived in relative isolation, mainly hanging out socially with one another. E’s twenty-nine now, taller than all of us at six-foot-four, and an insanely talented illustrator. He’s not as bulky as me, but he’s fit from running andcanlift things heavier than his pencil. Lennon, however, rarely speaks without sneaking in a jab. He hikes and rock climbs and works with our brother Desmond, running their outdoor recreation programs, cracking jokes twenty-four seven. All three of them are happy and in love with the women from their pasts. These two, in particular, also love tormenting me.
“So,” I say, aiming to keep us from veering into unwelcome topics, “we should—”
