Chapter 6 Jordan
JORDAN
I’m sitting on my back deck, nursing a beer, when I notice Gramps walking through Travis’ back yard toward mine.
A large portion of the street I live on is occupied by Thorne family members.
Gramps lives with my parents, and my three brothers all have houses here too.
All our yards are adjoining and not fenced in.
It’s not unusual to see one of my family members cutting through to another’s house.
“Hey, Gramps,” I call out as he approaches.
He climbs the stairs and then settles into the Adirondack chair next to mine. “How’s it going?”
“I’ve got no complaints. How about you?”
He shrugs. “I’m still breathing.”
“Good thing. Someone’s gotta keep my mom and dad in line.”
He chuckles. “That’s a full-time job.”
“Are they driving you crazy yet?” My parents have been out of town for months, traveling and visiting friends.
One of his eyebrows raises. “What do you think?”
I grin. “I think that’s why you’re sitting here with me.”
“And you wouldn’t be wrong.” He nods toward my bottle. “How about getting me one of those?”
“Sure thing.” I stand and head inside to the kitchen. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I pop off the cap. I dump some pretzels in a bowl, then return to the deck.
Gramps takes the bottle from me and takes a deep pull. He lets out a satisfied sigh. “Damn, that’s good.”
I smile, placing the bowl on the small table between our chairs. “You need a mini fridge for your room so you can keep a secret stash of beer and snacks.”
“I like how you think, kid. That’s why you’ve always been my favorite.”
“I bet you say that to my brothers too.”
He laughs and doesn’t try to deny it. He doesn’t need to. I’ve always known our relationship is special. We’ve spent a lot of time together, and even more so since Gram passed away a few years ago.
“I don’t suppose we’ll have many more mild days like this one,” he says, tipping his face toward the sun and closing his eyes.
“Not likely. Although, I’m sure more than half the country would think fifty-five degrees is freezing.”
He takes another sip of beer. “Mainers are tough. We’re made of hearty stock.”
I tip my head toward him. “That’s for sure.”
“Are you working today?” he asks.
“Nope. Not unless there’s a problem and I need to run in.
” Owning my own business has always been a dream of mine, but the biggest downfall is being on call 24/7.
Still, I wouldn’t trade it. I like not answering to anyone but myself, and doing things my way.
The responsibility can be daunting at times, but I’ve always liked a challenge.
“Why?” I ask. “Are you looking for something to do?”
“I’m avoiding your parents. Your mom’s constant hovering is getting on my nerves.”
“I get it. But that’s Mom. She cares about you, and wants to make sure you have everything you need.”
“Pfft. Except space.”
I snicker. Gramps’ mind is still sharp as a tack. “Well, you’re welcome to hang out here with me. I’ve got a few odd jobs I was thinking of knocking out if you want to be my assistant.”
“I guess I could do that,” he says, acting like he’s doing me a favor. “What kind of jobs are we talking about?”
“Nothing too intense. Fixing that loose bottom step, blowing some leaves, and cleaning out the gutters.”
“Oh no,” he says, raising a hand. “You lost me at gutters. I’m retired from ladders, thank you very much. Last time I went up one, your mother nearly had a heart attack.”
“Fair enough,” I say with a smile. “I’ll handle the high stuff. You can supervise and pretend you’re the foreman.”
“Sounds easy enough. I’ve been pretending to be in charge my whole life.”
I laugh, and we lapse into a comfortable silence, sipping our beers and listening to the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the shore. A feeling of peace settles in, and I think about how fortunate I am to be sitting here with my grandfather. I wish this moment could go on indefinitely.
I hear the sliding door at Travis’ house open, and Reed strolls out wearing a hoodie, basketball shorts, and his usual smug look. He heads our way. So much for enjoying the peace.
“Here comes trouble,” Gramps mumbles, echoing my thoughts.
Reed smiles as he crosses the deck. “Didn’t realize this is where the party is.”
Gramps sighs. “It was peaceful until now.”
“That’s rude,” Reed says, flopping into an open chair and stealing a pretzel. “I bring fun and youthful energy to every situation.”
“You bring noise and chaos,” I say. “And you’re thirty-seven, not that youthful.”
“I’m in my prime,” he scoffs, tossing a pretzel in the air and catching it in his mouth. “So what are we talking about? The weather? Which slippers are the most comfortable? The excitement never ends with you two.”
“We were about to start a few chores,” I say.
Reed makes a disapproving face. “Hard pass.”
“I thought you bring ‘youthful energy,’” Gramps drolls.
“Yeah, but I’m not wasting it on manual labor. If you need emotional support, I’m your man.”
“You’re something all right,” I mutter.
Reed ignores me, pulling another chair over and kicking his feet up on the seat.
Tipping his face toward the sun, he closes his eyes.
My brother’s like a hurricane blowing through.
He’s a larger-than-life presence, and not often idle or silent.
My gaze flicks to Gramps, and he’s looking at me with raised eyebrows.
Both of us are wondering how long the silence will last.
“You two need to relax,” Reed says without opening his eyes. “You’re ruining my chill.”
Gramps snorts. “Your chill is giving me anxiety.”
“I think I liked it better when it was just you and me out here,” I say to Gramps, making sure my brother hears.
“Hey,” Reed protests, eyes still closed. “Consider yourselves lucky I’m gracing you with my presence. I could be doing something incredibly productive right now.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Making trades for my fantasy football team.”
Gramps groans. “Lord help us.”
“You know you love me,” Reed replies, grinning.
Gramps nods. “I do, but I’m not exactly sure why.”
“Okay,” I say, standing and stretching. “I’m gonna grab my toolbox and knock out the step. You two can stay here and supervise or nap.”
Reed gives me a lazy salute without opening his eyes.
Gramps leans back in his chair and takes another sip of his beer. “I think I’ll sit here for now. If I fall asleep, I expect you to cover me with a blanket.”
“If? I’ll just get one now.” I step inside and remove the folded black blanket from the back of my couch. Next, I get my toolbox from the garage and then return to the deck.
“Here you go.” I pass the blanket to Gramps.
He unfolds the fleece and laughs when he sees the large white words written across the middle—Live, Laugh, Lobotomy.
“I gave him that,” Reed chimes in, his eyes still closed.
This annoying fucker. I shake my head, wondering how he always knows what’s going on. But he’s our annoying fucker, and I wouldn’t want him to change. I descend the small staircase and get to work.
The flames dance inside the stone circle, casting its warmth out to us all.
“I brought s’mores fixings,” Willow says.
“Yes!” Drew pumps his fist. “I’m in a bulking phase and can finally eat some.”
“I know. That’s why I brought them,” Willow says, winking.
Reed’s lips flatten with disgust. “You track Drew’s bulking and cutting cycles?”
My youngest brother started working out when he was a preteen and he’s never stopped. He’s got us all beat in fitness. I consider myself to be in good shape, and I work out most days, but Drew takes it to another level. Dude is jacked, but I’m still an inch taller than him.
“Actually, it’s easy to track them,” Willow defends. “When he’s cutting, he eats grotesque amounts of protein.”
“Yeah, he eats so much chicken he should cluck,” Nina says.
Travis laughs and presses a kiss to her temple.
“He’s always been a little chicken shit to me,” Reed adds, and we all laugh, Drew included. He’s the best natured of the Thorne brothers.
“Anyone started their Christmas shopping yet?” Nina asks.
“Get the hell out of here.” Reed beams a marshmallow at her. Travis swipes it out of the air before contact is made.
Nina flutters her eyelashes at Travis. “My big, strong hero.”
“Knock that shit off, or I’ll throw the rest at you,” Reed threatens with a smirk.
Willow whacks his knee. “Don’t even think about it. That’s the only bag I brought. Hand them over.”
Reed grabs a marshmallow before he reluctantly gives up possession, mumbling, “Killjoy.”
I glance around the fire pit, taking in the happy faces of my siblings and our friends. Our Saturday night hangouts have become a regular thing, and I look forward to them every week. But tonight, there’s one thing missing, and I’m surprised by how much it’s affecting my mood.
“Where’s Ginger?” I ask, trying to sound casual as I push a marshmallow down on the stick.
Reed doesn’t answer. Instead, he nudges my foot. It’s sharp enough to be intentional, but not enough to be noticed by others. I glance at him, but his focus is on roasting a marshmallow like he’s a Boy Scout.
“She had laundry,” Willow says, not even looking up as she breaks a graham cracker in half. “She said she needed to get caught up.”
Laundry?
I nod like it makes sense. Technically, it should, but it feels wrong. Ginger’s the kind of person who would bring a basket of clothes with her if it meant not missing a hangout. She’d fold and take part in conversations at the same time. So why isn’t she here?
Maybe she needed a night to herself to relax. Everyone needs that sometimes. But I find myself watching the house, hoping she’ll walk out with an oversized hoodie that hangs to mid-thigh, and a soft smile on her lips.
It doesn’t happen. She’s not here to snatch the stick from my hands and show me how to properly roast the marshmallow.
I already know the s’mores aren’t going to taste quite right without her expertise, but I toast the marshmallow to a light golden-brown like she taught me, not catching it on fire and no black edges.
Across the fire pit, Drew is mid-story about Curtis, one of his gym bros. I nod, acting engaged, and laugh when everyone else does, but I’m not fully locked in. Fortunately, no one notices.
Willow hands me two graham cracker halves, and I say, “Thanks.” I layer the chocolate, slide the marshmallow off my stick, and press it all together. I take a bite, and it’s good. But I called it—it’s not the same.
I wonder what Ginger’s doing right now. Is she blasting music and dancing while folding socks?
Or is she sitting quietly on the couch, watching a movie with Pops?
Does she wish she came tonight? I shouldn’t care this much about her missing one hangout.
I shouldn’t miss her presence so much. But I do.
I glance back at the house one more time. Still no sign of an oversized hoodie or a soft smile. Taking another bite of the s’more, I chew slowly.
Yeah, it’s definitely not the same.