Read Online Third Strike by Heather Brewer - Free Book Online Page B

wanted to be doing was hanging out in the growing darkness with his cousin, chopping wood. Come to think of it, that was the last thing that Joss wanted, too. “Your dad said he wants it done by dinner.”
    Dinner. The world rolled around uncomfortably inside Joss’s mind, like a loose marble. He was so used to grabbing a sandwich by himself or popping a frozen meal into the microwave that he was pretty uncertain what Henry had meant by his dad mentioning the
D
word. Dinner was something that their family had had before they lost Cecile. Now they simply foraged in the kitchen for food while avoiding eye contact. “What’s for dinner?”
    â€œPizza.” He and Henry locked eyes then. Joss hated what he saw on Henry’s face, but it was undeniable. Pity. Henry couldn’t deny what was lying all around him in shambles. Joss’s family was falling apart, and now he knew that for sure.
    Joss stood there, the ax dangling in his right hand, shifting his feet uncomfortably in embarrassment. He could feel tears beginning to well in his eyes but fought to keep them contained. “Remember how much my mom loved to cook? Before?”
    He hadn’t been able to say “Before Cecile died,” but he knew Henry would understand what he’d meant. It was too difficult to talk about his sister. Especially when discussing the chaos and destruction that had been left in the wake of her demise.
    Henry forced a smile, his eyes shimmering. “Yeah. She and my mom could cook circles around each other. But . . . things change, I guess.”
    â€œI hope they don’t.” Henry tilted his head curiously at Joss’s words, so Joss clarified. “I mean, I hope that my mom’s love of cooking is still in there somewhere. I keep on hoping that I’ll wake up to the smells of breakfast and happiness, y’know?”
    Memories of his mom’s creativity in the kitchen came flooding through Joss’s mind. The table had always been perfectly set. The food was in abundance, and the recipes wonderfully complex. His mom had had a passion for cooking then. And now she didn’t have a passion for anything. She took her medication and sat quietly most of the time, the color drained from her days. Joss worried about her. He worried a lot, and with good reason.
    â€œLosing Cecile really changed things, didn’t it? The extended family talks, of course, and I see it when you guys visit, but I really had no idea how bad it had gotten for your family, Joss. You all just seem so . . .” Henry swallowed hard, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His words were softly spoken and carefully chosen. “. . . fragile.”
    Fragile. Meaning they could be broken. Joss refused to believe that, refused to believe that his family could crumble and blow away with the wind. He tightened his grip on the ax and readied another log, his jaw tight, his shoulders newly tense. He never should have talked to Henry about this, never should have opened himself up in this way. What good could possibly come of it? Nothing. “We’re fine.”
    â€œYou don’t have to—”
    â€œI said we’re fine.” Joss brought the ax down hard, cutting both the wood and Henry’s words. Clearly, Henry had hit a nerve.
    Henry watched him quietly for several minutes as Joss moved through several logs. Just as the sun had finally dipped behind the trees, casting a nighttime feel, Henry spoke. His tone was even, as if he were worried that any misspeak might damage the already frazzled Joss. Joss would never admit it if asked, but he was right. “What can I do to help?”
    Joss lowered the ax momentarily and looked around before pointing to the house. “Carry the wood I’ve already cut over to the rack by the garage and stack it.”
    Without complaint, Henry moved from the cut pile to the stack by the garage and back again. Joss continued to