Page 78 of Second Story

Joe closes his eyes for a long moment. They reopen to show typical-for-him softness. “The problem is thinking we’re alone. We aren’t. We just gotta communicate better to spread the message.” He keeps going, leading by example. “Dad helped me do that by giving me and my twin a hunk of junk to fix up.” He flashes a look my way. “I wouldn’t be here without that car.”

He’s right. Without it, Joe couldn’t have driven to a beach where I yelled that someone would miss him. And without thatvehicle, he wouldn’t have found us in a lay-by. Now he holds out bare arms and does the same baring with his soul.

“Pretty sure it was Dad’s way of making sure Josh and I had a reason to keep communicating. A bridge we could cross to meet in the middle, so if I’m planning on coming back here to challenge all of you to confront your own pasts, I gotta confront this question: When did I last try to communicate with him?”

He clears his throat before continuing.

“Because I can’t ask you to break silent patterns if I won’t try to break my own, yeah?” He draws in the same kind of deep and slow breath Luke has encouraged me to take so often, then he pulls out his phone and places a call.

“Dad?”

Joe takes another breath, and I hold my own at him reaching out with an audience hanging on each word he chokes out. “Hey. You got a minute to talk? No, not about painting this weekend. I’m needed elsewhere.”

With me.

His eyes locking with mine say so.

“Listen,” he asks his father, gaze not shifting so I both hear and see how much he means this. “I got a problem. One I can’t fix on my own.”

I can’t help pushing closer, then I take a seat next to him in the van opening so I’m shoulder-to-shoulder with Joe like he just promised to be with me.

“Hang on. Can I switch to video?”

His father agrees, and I get a front row seat to see an older version of Joe on the screen, all frown lines and worry that deepens when Joe turns the phone to show off the boys and girls watching. They must be a hard-faced reminder of the gang he used to run with.

“If I start an engine, can you help us all to troubleshoot the problem with it?”

His dad nods, listens, then casts expert judgement.

“Could be the fuel injection, could be a clogged filter. Start with the spark plugs. You got the right spanner?”

Joe aims a request at a kid who looks nearer now than ever to communicating with him. “Noah, take a look in the toolbox for me?”

The man who taught Joe how to make repairs offers assistance from the phone Joe props beside the engine. “Look for a T-shaped handle.”

Noah finds it, and we all get to witness Joe use it and hear him do some of that reflecting he mentioned. “You showed so many kids how to do this when I was younger. Every single Saturday morning in that repair group you set up, yeah?”

He addresses the group next, glance flicking at the screen like he’s nervous about his father overhearing.

“Pretty sure Dad did that for the same reason he took me and my brother to a boxing club after our mum’s car accident. He tried to find communities for us. When one didn’t pan out for me, he kept trying.” This is grittier. “All of those Saturdays with him mending motors have come into a different focus lately.”

He faces his father and gets honest.

“I used those skills for the wrong reasons. To steal cars. Haven’t done that for years. But that community feeling? It stuck right here.” He rubs the centre of his chest like Noah does so often, and that’s who Joe next faces. “Look at me now. Then look at you. We both got into trouble in Wintergreen.” That must have been loud enough for his dad to register—I glimpse frown lines deepening as Joe continues. “You didn’t mean for that to happen, Noah. Now your future is like this engine.”

Noah is silent, his freckles even starker as Joe holds up a dirty spark plug to the screen. His dad nods at the probable cause of my van’s problem while Joe address the cause of Noah’s.

“You feel like you’re the one on trial. I don’t blame you. Anyone who survives what we did deserves to catch a break instead of facing more judgement. It’s like this dirt, yeah? Keeps coming back to stop you cold.” He uses a rag to rub one spark plug clean. “I won’t let it while you’re on my caseload the same way I’m not about to let the person I care about most face tough stuff all alone this weekend.”

He doesn’t name me. I’m certain my inhale tells him I heard. Joe doesn’t leave room for doubt, and forget dragon riders or Tarot lords fighting over their thrones or Aslan roaring.

I swap them all for Joe, who isn’t done using me as an example.

“Someone I care about is gonna walk out of a difficult family visit to find me waiting. I’ll be right beside him like I’ll be right beside you in court one day, Noah, if that’s where you decide to give evidence. But it’s what happens after that court date that I’m interested in the most. In how we can work together to turn that pain into something positive. That’s what I care about. Not your past. Your future.” He includes the whole group. “All of your futures. I want to know all of your stories.” He shrugs. “Can’t help it. A librarian got me hooked on happy endings.”

He passes spark plugs and rags to his cohort, and everyone here gets their hands dirty, which isn’t what I expected when I crossed this car park. It wasn’t what I expected either when I woke up with Joe smiling at me. He smiles again after his talk ends with my van purring.

I could purr too at Luke shaking Joe’s hand.

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