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The bread was soaking and almost ready to fry up when the doorbell rang. Michael wiped his hands on a towel and strode across the living room. Dad had that familiarI want to get up and answer the damned doorlook on his face, but he was still weeks away from that particular activity. The tenacity was great to see, though.
Josiah stood on the porch, his face the perfect mix of surprise and confusion, and he thrust the note at him. “You got my stuff from Seamus?”
Michael took the crumpled piece of paper. “Well, not just me. I had a little help.”
“Why?”
“Because it was your stuff. He had no right to keep it from you. And we probably didn’t get it all but we tried our best.”
“Who’s we?”
No one last night had said to keep their involvement secret. “Me, Wayne and Brand Woods, Hugo Turner, Jackson Sumner, and Brutus. It was a last-minute group effort.”
Josiah’s eyebrows crept up into his hairline. And then he let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You took Brutus? Seamus hates dogs.”
“Well, I don’t trust people who hate dogs.”
“That’s probably a good life motto.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and angled his head down. “Thank you. For getting what you did. It’s more than I ever expected to get back from him. You didn’t have to.”
“You’re welcome. And maybe I didn’t have to in terms of our professional relationship, but I had to do it for myself. I don’t expect anything from you in return. This was me trying to earn back some karma points from the universe.”
Josiah’s lips parted and Michael saw the questionfor whatforming there. But Josiah closed his mouth and nodded, instead. “Thank you. For whatever reason you did it, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We’re, um, having French toast for breakfast. Please, come inside?”
The way Michael phrased the final few words as a question seemed to battle against some of Josiah’s defenses, because he physically relaxed. “I’d like that, thank you. It probably sounds pathetic, but I’m not used to having friends in my corner. It’s been a while. I’m kind of awkward in social settings, and Seamus only ever occasionally brought his poker buddies over, but I didn’t care for them.”
“Well, you’ve got some friends now. You’re great with Dad, and you obviously made an impression on the Woods family a few months ago. Come on in and relax a while. You aren’t working today.”
“Okay.” Josiah entered the house like someone walking in for the first time, seeming to really take it in. The size, the decor, the placement of things.
Dad waved from his bed, his own smile bright and cheerful. “Morning, young man. Guess you had a night.”
“It was something. I’m so grateful for the trailer, Elmer, I mean it. We’ll figure out rent.”
“Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s all just enjoy a nice Saturday morning brunch cooked up by my son.”
Michael smiled and took that as his cue to head back into the kitchen. Once the skillet was nice and hot, he began adding the custard-soaked bread slices to it. It wouldn’t be a full brunch, since he didn’t really have other sides to offer his guest. On a whim, he cored and sliced up two apples just for the extra food.
Dad had found an old Western movie by the time Michael brought in the tray of hot French toast, syrup, butter, and apple slices. He put it on the coffee table, then went and got plates for everyone. The coffee was brewed, and Josiah took over that duty, pouring mugs for himself and Michael. They briefly danced around each other in the kitchen in a way that wasn’t forced. It was almost practiced. Easy.
And it kind of felt right.
Once Josiah had his plate, Michael prepared one for Dad and himself, and he took over the spot in a folding metal chair beside Dad’s bed, both of their plates on the rolling table. He assisted when Dad needed it without babying him, and while also eating bites of his own meal. The entire production was both strange and easy. As if their trio had done this a thousand times in the past, despite it being the first.
Michael wasn’t sure what it meant other than he was comfortable with Josiah here, in his home, as part of his family. And as much as he liked it, it also kind of unnerved him.
Once the meal was over, the dishes done, and he and Josiah both on their second cups of coffee, Michael asked, “Did we miss anything important at McBride’s house? I assume you went through the stuff we collected for you.”
“I went through them very fast, yes,” Josiah replied. “You got the important stuff, so thank you. I’m not put out by the loss of a few shirts or a bottle of aftershave.” His eyes narrowed. “Besides, I was never fond of that smell.”
“Okay, good. And feel free to use the washer and dryer in the basement for your laundry. I mean, it’s kind of your only option, since we don’t have a coin-op in town, and I doubt you want to spend an hour scrubbing stuff by hand in a metal bucket.”
He laughed. “No, I don’t. I’ve done it and I’d rather not. Actually, I should head to the store this afternoon and get some stuff. Snacks and food. A lot of what I’d bring for my own lunch was leftovers of the meals I’d cook for me and Seamus.” His voice went distant, his expression the same.
Michael glanced at Dad, whose own face was difficult to decipher. Somehow a mix of sad, angry, and determined. But who were those emotions directed at? Hopefully, the anger was directed right at Seamus McBride, where it belonged.
“Get whatever,” Michael said. “And if you feel like cooking something that your little fridge can’t hold, you can store it here in the house. Not a big deal at all.”
