Page 31 of Sweet Caroline
“Just one of my old buddies from Seattle.”
He lets a beat or two pass, watching me—probably remembering how stuff from my drinking days might be triggering. “You alright?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Honesty,I remind myself.
“I mean, it was weird. Not in a good way.” I throw a bunch of leaves onto the tarp. “Let’s just say it made me appreciate being sober.”
Jude smiles. “Good.”
We work in silence, raking and collecting all the leaves until the tarp and wheelbarrow are both full. Slogging across the property, we haul everything back to his truck.
I cast my gaze sideways toward my brother, mulling over howshitty it felt when Benji didn’t give two shits about what I’d told him. I can do better—be present and ask questions and actually listen to the answers. “So, what plans do you have with Olena later?”
“Uh,” he hesitates as he parks the wheelbarrow behind his truck. “I think they call itafternoon delight.”
“Fuck, bro!” I groan.
He flings a twig at me, smirking at my reaction. “Hey, you asked.”
“ThenforgetI asked,”—I chuck a handful of leaves back at him, but he only laughs—“unless you want a load of my puke mixed in with these leaves.”
So much for my attempt at genuine curiosity and connection, because kumbaya just turned to kumbayarf.
“Wait, youplanthat?” I ask. “No, nope, never mind.” I grimace and shake my head. “Don’t answer that.”
“Hey, listen,” Jude says when the disturbed look on my face has settled to something more like vague caution. He tugs off his gloves and reaches for his back pocket. “I know you wanted to help me out and, y’know, repair our relationship and shit, but, uh… We’re good, man.” He slips some cash from his wallet and holds it out to me. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I take a step back, wary expression firmly in place.
He balks. “What does it look like? A fuckin’ Fabergé egg? Take it.”
I scowl down at the cash. “Fuck off. I’m not taking your money.”
He doesn’t back down. “Miles, don’t be proud. You busted your ass for hours here. I can pay you.”
“That’s not… Dude, that’s not how this works.” I push past him and heave the last tarpload into the truck, then turn back to face my brother. “Making amends in AA is about showing up for the people you’ve wronged. Behaving differently. Better. Y’know, actions speak louder than words, right?”
“I’m just trying to help you out.”
“So stop,” I say with a shrug. “You need to let me hold my own, alright? Stop trying to rescue me. I’m not needing that so much these days, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Yeah, Miles,” he says, dropping his gaze with a nod. “Okay.”
“And put your fucking money away. If anything, I should be payingyouback. Not the other way around.” I push the wheelbarrow up the ramp to dump its contents onto the pile of yard waste, then busy myself securing it to the truck.
My brother’s covered a lot of my expenses over the years, including medical bills and paying for my move back to Lennox. Never mind all the times he’s spotted me cash or bought me a meal because I’ve been broke or between construction jobs. The least I could do is offer up some free labor when he needs a hand.
“Alright. You’re right.” He slips the cash back into his wallet. “Sorry, man.”
“Now let’s get this shit cleaned up, ’cause I have a date with a hot-as-fuck shower when I get home.”
“And what about your real date tonight? Your, uh… real fake date?”
“What about it?” I hop back down.
Murphy slowly pushes up and stretches, as if he can sense we’re almost done here.
