Page 28 of Sweet Caroline
If you’re taking fashion cues from Mr. Peanut, we may have a problem.
Miles
Shit, she’s onto me!
Nah, relax fancy girl. I got this. Promise I won’t embarrass you.
6
MILES
This is at least the fifth load of soggy dead leaves and twigs I’ve hauled across this property and I’m sweating through my damn T-shirt. I wipe my forehead with the dirty wrist of my glove, then gather up the tarp and dump its contents into the bed of my brother’s truck.
Jude’s landscaping crew doesn’t work weekends, but, since all the fallen leaves make autumn their busiest season, he tends to work an extra Saturday here and there to keep on top of it. He was hesitant to let me help at first, but it’s a win-win situation: he gets free grunt labor, and I get to make amends—slowly pay him back for all the grief I caused him while I was drinking. The fresh air and exercise are solid perks.
So’s Murphy. I pull off one work glove and crouch down to give Jude’s sleepy old golden retriever a scratch on the head. He stirs, yawns, and gets right back to the important business: his mid-morning nap.
“Hey.” Jude comes up behind me with another wheelbarrow full of crap. “Think there’s probably one more load left over there.”
“This place is pretty dope.” I straighten and lift my chintoward the open cliffside overlooking the river, adding, “Like a fuckin’ postcard or something.”
“Yeah.” He follows my gaze, then scans around the yard. “This is where I met Olena, y’know.” With a shove, he wheels the load of yard waste up the aluminum ramp and onto the open tailgate.
“Wait…” I throw him a skeptical look as I put my glove back on. The story of how they met—the version I heard, at least—didn’t sound quite this picturesque. “Didn’t she chew you out on the side of the road or some shit? In the pissing rain?”
Not that I’m one to judge; my first encounter with Olena wasn’t exactly a meet-cute, either—showing up drunk and pounding on Jude’s door like a shithead. We’ve patched things up since then, thankfully.
“Yeah. The road on the wayhere, though. This was our first project together.” He empties the wheelbarrow, then brings it back down the ramp. “We got off to a weird start,” he adds with a smirk. “But we figured it out.”
I can’t stop my thoughts from drifting to the way I met Caroline, but quickly shove aside any comparison. We aren’t off to a weird start, because we aren’t starting anything.
“What’s with you?” Jude asks, lifting his chin with a brow cocked.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re all…” He gestures at my face.
“I’m allwhat?” I grab a rake, ready to head off for the next haul of cleanup.
Jude passes me the tarp and picks up the wheelbarrow, following me along a gravel path toward a wooden arbor. “Something on your mind?”
“It’s nothing.” The white lie slips out easily—old habits and all. I give him a sidelong glance, my gaze falling to his tattoos; inked on each of his forearms is a tribute to the parents we lost tooyoung—a hand planer for Dad, and a dandelion for Mom. Regret needles at me, knowing they’d want me to come clean.
Rigorous honesty.That’s what they always say in AA.
“Okay, it’s not nothing,” I confess, gripping the rake tighter as we walk. “But don’t get all judgy big brother on me about it.”
Jude stops in his tracks and lowers the wheelbarrow as I turn to face him, giving me a long look. He’s totally doing the judgy big brother thing. “Okay…”
“That includes your face, bro.”
“I didn’t say anything!” He throws his hands out at his sides, but I’m sure he’s probably going through a laundry list of potential fuckups I could’ve committed.
“Dude, I’m not drinking again, if that’s where your head went.”
“Good,” he says. “So, then, what’s up? Do you need, like, more support or?—?”
“What? No!” I say, realizing what he’s thinking.
