Page 61 of Second Story

“About that.” He fills me in on that conversation I couldn’t quite overhear. “Luke is interested.” He scrubs at the back of his neck as if being wanted is unexpected. “He asked me to meet with him and Hugo tonight.” He repeats that neck-scrubbing movement, this time without making eye contact. “I’d still need to travel back tomorrow to meet with Kwasi. But after that, I could definitely come back if that’s oka?—”

“Yes.”

He’s startled into laughter. It rings all the way along this narrow alley. It must do—Lenny turns, then darts back. Before he reaches us, Joe asks a quiet favour. “Give yourself time to think about it, yeah?” That suggestion comes with one of those flinches I’m not sure he realises I can see.

“I won’t change my mind.”

Lenny isn’t about to change his mind either. He takes a running jump, and Joe doesn’t drop my brother. He hoists him up for a ride on his shoulders all the way back to the van. Then he’s the one and only person Lenny chooses after I follow signs to Love-Land Weddings and arrive at a farm that doubles as a venue.

Dogs run out to meet us, and Joe opens his arms again, this time at my open window which Lenny almost tramples my nuts to climb through.

He sits high up on Joe’s shoulders again, safely out of reach of a snuffling greeting, and gets to learn sheepdog names. Noah puts them through their herding paces, and my brother is even brave enough to get down and hold Joe’s hand when Noah introduces him to an old dog with a white muzzle. “This is Jess. She’s a good girl. Soft as butter.”

Joe pets her. “She is, Len. So, so soft.”

I am too when Lenny copies, tentatively at first, then with a huge smile that I capture with my phone. Noah also watches, and perhaps seeing Joe helping someone else to get closer to what scares them also makes a difference.

Any ice he had left must have started to thaw—he agrees that Joe can stay for a while to talk about what is coming.

Joe walks me to the van first. Dogs bark as soon as I start the engine, but Lenny doesn’t cower. He sits beside me, paging through the book he borrowed, only stopping when he finds the same black-and-white breed on its pages.

Joe stands at my open window, the cough of the engine muffling his voice. “Luke will pick me up. Sounds like he and Hugo will keep me busy all evening. Will tomorrow be enough time to think over me coming back for longer?”

“I told you I won’t change my mind.”

“No?” He smiles, and I love to see it. Love too how his low-pitched answer tugs at that crab line between us. “Good.”

My brother pays no attention. He’s firmly in his sheepdog era, and no, he doesn’t tell me all about them, but I can’t help wanting to believe what another quiet kid’s caretaker told me.

Like me, Lenny’s filling up with happy moments.

17

JOE

The next afternoon, Hugo walks with me down to the school, talking the whole way. The difference today is that he doesn’t do that to give me time to think like when all I could see were trees. Instead, he answers my questions.

“How did I end up with a village parish to minister and a school full of children to support as well as a leadership role in a migrant project?” He stops for little Adam to clamber onto a tree stump at the edge of the car park. “That’s hard to explain.”

“And to balance?”

“That too.” He’s wry. And honest. “Thankfully, I share my parish workload with other clergy. Now that the school is growing, pastoral care is my biggest challenge. The end result makes the workload worth it for both Luke and me. What I sometimes forget is the impact of that workload on others.”

His son has similar trouble with balance, it seems. He crouches on the top of that tree stump, wobbling until he trusts himself to stand upright, then he jumps with zero forward thinking.

Hugo nearly catches him, moving fast for someone I’ve witnessed limping, but everyone has their limits, and Adam almost face-plants.

I scoop him up just in time, and turn a scary tumble into a superhero swoop through the air that comes with shrieks of laughter before I set Adam on his feet and we keep walking.

“Thank you,” Hugo says quietly on the way to the courtyard. “But that’s a good example. I have faith that I won’t truly be given more than I can manage, buthowI manage is the challenge. There’s no doubt I’ve stumbled a few times and needed help. Been so wrapped up in work that I haven’t realised how much of my load my most important people have fielded for me.”

“More hands make light work, right?” That’s been true in every school team I’ve been part of. And I saw evidence of the same last night while Hugo and Luke picked my brains about their cohort of teens at high risk of re-offending. Charles had fielded parish phone calls during dinner and had still made Hugo laugh over and over, all while rocking babies. “Good thing you’ve got Charles.”

“To share my workload?” Hugo stops in the courtyard beside a picnic bench where Adam crouches, busy investigating a patch of dandelions and daisies. “That’s love, isn’t it? Giving and taking support.” He’s frank again. “I’m not sure I’ve struck that balance lately, but wanting Charles to have a lifetime of happiness is my number one driver. My entire reason for being. It’s that simple.” He’s contemplative for a long moment. “I do need to find more balance, but speaking of happy moments...”

I turn to see what he has noticed.

Lenny is visible through the library window. He’s busy with a glue stick, the tip of his tongue peeking out, until Adam spots a butterfly and Lenny hears his shout.

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