The greenhouse space has turned into a classroom for budding carpenters.
The chickens are housed in the same area, so I don't know why it didn't occur to me that Joel building their new coop would mean sharing the space with him for a few days.
I chose an earlier start than normal today, a slight chill still hanging in the air as golden light spills over the mountain peaks, casting shadows from the staggered rooftops of the Jackson skyline. The chickens come pecking hungrily as I refill their feed before getting to work on one of the outdoor garden beds. In the summer months, we make the most of our space by growing more particular crops in the greenhouses and others outside in raised beds. This is my favorite time to be out, so I try to start my work this way more days than not.
"Howdy," Joel greets me as he comes through the gate. His southern accent is so distinct I would have known who it was even if I had not looked up from the patch of weeds I am pulling.
He does not wait on my response before setting his tools down and examining the project before him. Maria had some guys leave the building materials propped against the fence last night, so he wastes no time getting to work.
And so goes the morning routine of the next few days. He and I are always the first ones up and out, exchanging a brief greeting while silently working on our respective projects. Each day, the group of boys who show up to learn dwindles, but still Joel patiently talks them through each step he is completing as he builds.
For the first time since his arrival, our proximity does not stir irritability in me. Not that I would say I enjoy having him work so closely, but I've gotten used to it - like a dying battery in a smoke alarm whose chirp becomes part of the ambient noise of everyday life until you finally get around to changing it. But I do find myself frequently observing as he answers questions about his process or gives one of the boys a chance to try correctly placing a nail or measuring to cut a board. I'm sure he could finish it all much faster without the teaching moments, but he takes the time to carefully instruct them regardless.
My day off happens to fall on the same day Joel should finish the coop, but I still attempt to pass through the gardens to peek at the near-complete project. I catch only the quickest glimpse before Bonnie, the lead worker on days I am scheduled to rest, shoos me away. I notoriously find excuses to work when I am supposed to be off, so Maria has sternly instructed everyone to call me out when it happens. At first, it felt like a condescending use of power, but I've grown to appreciate her care for the boundaries I struggle to maintain.
I leave without argument, taking the longer path to the town center. My plan is to stop by the butcher and market to pick up ingredients for dinner and restock some cleaning supplies. I should take advantage of my time at home to scrub the growing layer of dust from my baseboards. After dinner with the Millers, the movie night and so much extra time training new recruits, I am genuinely looking forward to enjoying a quiet dinner in my own space.
While we have many luxuries provided by electricity and running (and occasionally even hot) water, the main forms of communication in town are pretty simple - word of mouth and bulletin boards positioned around town. We update the calendar of events weekly and leave space for others to add notes with announcements of their own. Occasionally someone will leave passive aggressive notes for someone they have a disagreement with, but in general things stay civil.
A small group of women are gathered outside the butcher, with Esther atop a ladder as she updates the weekly calendar of community events. Below her, heads level with her knees, are Tara and Astrid, chatting happily as they read off each day's event for her to copy. Tara sees me and waves politely, continuing their conversation as I approach.
"All I'm saying is, I'm sure they teach you how to square dance in Texas…" Astrid's expression is playfully devious, receiving an eye roll from Esther and laughs from Tara. On the schedule, Esther is writing "TUESDAY: SQUARE DANCING LESSON" in uniform script.
"Hey!" Esther seems relieved to see me, providing a break from her friends' banter. "I'm so glad you came by. Any chance you will be helping with Tuesday's activity? I don't know what kind of turn out we're going to have, but I'd rather be over prepared,"
"As long as you're not expecting me to dance, then of course," It's not that I don't like dancing, I just don't love the idea of doing so in front of a group. This is not the first square dancing lesson we've held and though it was a popular event, it was not a skill I picked up easily.
"You don't have to dance, I promise," Esther assures me, continuing to write the remaining week of activities.
"Joel on that other hand…" Astrid teases suggestively in Esther's direction. She and Tara find this amusing judging by their quiet laughter, but when I look back up in Esther's direction I see that her cheeks are blooming in shades of pink. I swear I see her almost smile, but she quickly dismisses the notion.
"You two are like lovestruck teenagers," She rolls her eyes at them, beginning to climb down from the ladder. I'm not sure why I am still standing here, but my feet feel as though they have melded with the ground below me.
"Well, I'm not sure why you aren't ," Tara seems bewildered by her casual response. "If I had the most handsome man to join our town in absolute ages walking me home at night, I'd be beside myself!"
Watching them all laugh together and the blush in Esther's cheeks continuing to spread feels like witnessing a private conversation I am not meant to be part of, but they clearly do not mind. In a community this close, there are hardly any secrets, so I assumed the moment Esther and Joel walked into the movie night together that people would start talking. So it shouldn't take me off guard like this to witness, and Esther seems humbly flattered by the attention despite her playful protesting.
"I gotta get going," I find a pause in the conversation to excuse myself, "But I'll be there Tuesday, no worries,"
As the doors of the butcher shop close behind me, I swear I hear something about Joel and knowing "how to take the lead" but I push the thought from my mind immediately. Thankfully, by the time I am placing the parchment-wrapped steak I've selected into my bag, the group has departed from outside.
Instead, I see the runaway group of teenagers from movie night walking together down the street. When Ellie sees me, I'm pleasantly surprised that she not only waves in my direction, but gestures to her friends to wait for her before walking over to me.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite local delinquent," I greet her sarcastically.
"Thanks for being cool the other night," She says quickly, clearly wanting to get back to her friends, but the tone of her sentiment seems genuine. "We weren't going to do anything crazy, I just…talking animals don't really do it for me, you know? They're kind of creepy,"
I'm sure her excuse about the movie is not the actual motivator for the group sneaking out, but there is no benefit to challenging her. I've known both Jesse and Dina long enough to know that while they may get into some typical teenage shenanigans, it was not likely to be anything truly deviant. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them came up with the talking animals excuse because they knew I would relate.
"Oh, I completely get that," I assure her. "They're horrifying. As long as you weren't off, like hiding a body or anything, we're good."
"No bodies, I promise," She smirks, turning on her heels to head back to her friends. I'm not even sure why I continue talking, but I can't seem to stop myself.
"You might want to warn Joel that he's going to be invited to square dancing," I keep my voice intentionally lower, just in case Astrid or Tara are out of sight yet nearby.
"Why the fuck would Joel be invited to square dancing?" She seems genuinely confused.
"Conversation I overheard," I tell her, shrugging slightly. "He doesn't strike me as the dancing type, so he may want the heads up,"
"I'll let him know. I don't know though, maybe he's got some newfound passion we don't know about. He's been reading some random sewing book, so maybe square dancing is next,"
"Sewing book?" That doesn't seem like Joel at all, but then again, I hardly know the man.
"Yeah, I saw it on the table by his couch last night. Or maybe it was knitting…Weird fucking choice of hobby if you ask me…" I can tell she's anxious to get back and the group seems to be growing tired of waiting on her.
"Go be with your friends," I gesture dismissively before reminding her, "Don't forget to warn him about square dancing,"
The rest of the day is blissfully quiet. I clean my house, opening windows to fill the place with fresh air. No matter how well cared for, every house in Jackson holds the faint, musty scent of age. I combat this temporarily by mopping the floors, letting in the outside air, and cooking the steak I picked out at the butcher for dinner. The house I was assigned is the left half of a two story duplex, positioned across from the greenhouses and next to the town cemetery. The right side of the duplex never stayed occupied since the stairs had rotted years before. We assume there had been some type of flooding a while ago that never was addressed and the repairs would take significant time and materials.
When the sun goes down, I wash my pan and dishes from dinner before making sure each window is securely locked tight. I'm not concerned with security so much as the cold night air coming in. The last window I shut is in the front room, with a perfect view across the street. Under the street lights, I see that the greenhouse lot is completely empty since everyone is home for the night.
I grab my jacket from the hook by the door and quickly slip into my boots before sliding out the door, shutting it carefully behind me before sneaking across the street.
This chicken coop is damn near perfect.
Even with the assistance from the younger boys, the structure is so even and sturdy that by comparison the previous one looks like a box of popsicle sticks held together with glue. The chickens are already nesting happily inside, their old home but a distant, cramped memory.
Aside from the new coop, there is no sign that Joel was ever here. The building supplies are all neatly packed up and returned, the scraps from cutting the boards stored away for repurposing. Tomorrow, I'll come out and find the space exactly as it has always been, except now the chickens are living in a coop better constructed than any of the homes in Jackson.
I should be thankful. The chickens are a useful asset and Eugene's intention of expanding the flock is beneficial for us all. But I can hear his voice in the back of my mind, bragging about how getting Joel to build it was the right call. There's nothing I can do to avoid it, so I might as well get a full night of sleep so I can accept my defeat while well rested.
Turning to walk back home, I hear a sound that is distinctly different from the usual cricket chirps that fill this place at night. A somewhat unusual cadence floats through the air, blending with the sounds of the rustling leaves from the trees nearby. I strain my ears, attempting to catch the strange melody. The timbre is warming and inviting, resonating from the other side of the fence beside me.
I don't make the conscious choice to follow the music, it just kind of happens, like a naive sailor drawn in by a damn siren. I'm careful to crack the gate slowly and only slightly, enough to look through the thin opening without being detected.
Under the glow of the porch light, Joel leans back in one of the plastic resin chairs with a guitar propped on his knee. He seems unaware of the world around him as he plays, hands picking at the strings with unexpectedly graceful ease. There is a sense of tranquility in his relaxed demeanor, one that I have not witnessed from him before.
Without warning, Earl's rooster lets out a startling crow, causing me to jump and knock the gate open farther. A stray cat saunters unbothered by the wire enclosure surrounding the coop, not posing the threat the rooster presumed. I feel my heart racing as I place a hand on my chest, the other steadying against the now open gate.
The music stops.
I have no good excuse for spying through the gate after dark. My cheeks flush with embarrassment as Joel and I make silent eye contact, neither sure of what to say as he remains seated on the porch and I stand frozen at the open gate. If the earth would just open up and consume me, my gratitude would be unending.
"This is the second time I've caught you sneaking through here," Joel breaks the silence, leaning forward and holding the guitar with one hand as it rests standing between his legs. He isn't mad, which is unexpected, but I have trouble deciphering his tone.
"I was checking on the chickens," I explain, though the chickens are yards away from where I stand and checking them did not warrant opening the gate to his yard.
"Aren't you supposed to be taking today off?" He raises a skeptical brow in my direction. Maria must have given him the same chase-her-away-if-she-tries-working-today instructions she gives everyone else. I ignore him, crossing my arms uncomfortably at my chest. Words are failing me and my heart rate has yet to de-escalate.
Joel picks up a mug from the plastic table beside him, taking a long sip as the silence between us lingers. I can see steam rising from the mug under the porch light and realize he is still watching me even as he drinks.
"You don't strike me as a tea drinker," I observe bluntly, desperate for anything to break this lingering silence. He considers his response for a moment before speaking.
"It's coffee," He says this like it's some kind of dangerous secret, and maybe it is. It's been months since anyone has been able to find any, and trading for it usually comes at a high cost.
"Where the hell did you find coffee?" He probably brought it in with him when they came back. There's no need to give up a valued possession when you can take something by force. I bet he's got an entire stash of beans stored away in that house.
"I told the old man I didn't need payment for building that coop, but he insisted," He chuckles softly as he sets the cup back down on the table. "Was a bit scared to argue with him, if I'm honest,"
If anyone could match Joel for violent actions, it's Eugene - he has shared how much he regrets the acts he committed for the Fireflies' cause, which repentantly spurs many of his good deeds now. And just like with the rooster, he likely traded from his secret inventory to obtain the coffee.
"You want a cup?"
There's a catch. There has to be. My expression betrays me as my eyes narrow skeptically in his direction.
"What's the catch?" Might as well just cut the bullshit and be up front.
"No catch," He shakes his head a little as he moves to stand, nose scrunching in a casual grimace. "I only have about two decent mugs though, so you'll have to drink it here. Can't risk losing one of 'em,"
There's the catch. If I want the first cup of coffee I've tasted in literal months, I have to do so in the confines of Joel Miller's back porch.
"Fine," I accept. My contempt is evident, but I know a rare opportunity when I see one, and I doubt I'll be performing any tasks in the near future that Eugene will warrant deserving of such a coveted compensation.
Joel simply nods, resting the guitar against the house before disappearing through his back door. A few moments later he returns, second mug in hand, and stands waiting by his chair.
"You plannin' on drinking this while standin' all the way down there?" He holds the mug out as an offering, then looks toward the second chair on his porch. A heavy sigh releases from my chest and I make my way up the back porch steps feeling as though I am mounting the gallows where my dignity will hang.
He hands me the hot mug with a smirk before I drop into the chair, the aging plastic legs shifting slightly. He returns to his own chair and picks up his mug again. Neither of us speak. I am no better than a stray animal lured in by a dangling treat.
The first sip hits my tongue with a wave of bitter, acidic warmth that tea just cannot mimic. The taste is more comforting than pleasant, invoking a sense of the routine stability we have hardly known for decades. For a moment, I focus on the way the hot liquid goes from my lips slowly down to my chest and grounds me with that quiet, ever-fading feeling of solace.
"You don't like me,"
His statement is so startlingly direct. Most people tend to soften the blow and dance around their actual point, so I am not prepared for his harsh accusation.
Because honestly, "like" feels like such a trivial term. My feelings toward him are not so simple as like or dislike - our world is much too gray for that to be a suitable scale for relational assessment.
"I don't trust you," I correct him. "There's a difference,"
"Fair enough," He seems to contemplate my response for a moment. I came out to simply see the new chicken coop, not hash out the more complicated aspects of my perspective on the man who built it. "Listen, I know my brother has probably told you some less than flatterin' stories about our history. And I won't deny that I've done some things that are worthy of your judgement."
He is more self-aware than I have given him credit for. Taking a sip of coffee buys me a moment to collect my thoughts. I've spent so much time in my own mind with my distrust of this man that it seems unreal to be saying any of this out loud.
"Why do you care if I like you?" My eyes cut over to him, attempting to match his candid approach.
"You're real good with Ellie," His eyes soften when he speaks about her, the strategically blunt approach he has taken to this conversation seeming to fade. "She's been through a lot for a kid her age and it means a lot to see her connecting with someone. And it's clear that Tommy cares about you. Maria too, though I know she's got a different way of showin' it. My brother is a lot of things, but he's always been a good judge of character. Anyone he finds worth protecting is someone worth having on your side."
A lump is rising rapidly in my throat, threatening to choke me as I feel my eyes slightly water. The last thing I want to do is cry in front of him, but I am so wholly taken off guard by this genuinely kind and heartfelt confession that I am not sure I can stop myself.
I turn my head to fully face him instead of the half focused side eye I've allowed up until this point. He's watching me, carefully considering how his words may be received and patiently awaiting my response. My cheeks puff somewhat dramatically as I let out an audible breath, thankfully able to blink back the single tear I feared would fall.
"Maybe I've been a little harsh," I am grateful he ignores the slight crack in my voice when I finally speak. "Yeah, the stuff I've always heard about you has not been great. But you're right about Tommy, and despite everything he's been through with you, I've never seen him as happy as he was at dinner the other night. So I'm…I'm sorry I've been so damn stubborn."
"It's one of your stronger qualities, or so I've been told," The look on his face is almost mischievous as he says this, looking away for the first time as he finishes the final sip from his mug.
"And who told you that? Eugene?" I scoff, feeling the lump in my throat begin to fall and the overall mood of the interaction lighten. "Don't trust anything he says. The man is senile,"
"Just somethin' I've been hearing," This time he does laugh, a gentle chuckle that unwillingly provokes a smile from me. "So we good?"
"We're alright," I hope the look I am giving him accurately shows the hint of sarcasm I am trying to portray. "Thanks for the coffee. I'm sorry I was weirdly snooping near your yard."
"No problem. Thanks for hearing me out,"
This is the first moment of silence between us that doesn't feel tense. I pause a moment before taking the last sip of my now lukewarm coffee, placing the mug on the table before standing up to leave.
"The coop looks great," I admit, but now I feel less defeated about the situation. "Seriously. Thanks for doing that,"
"Happy to help. They were right, you know. Those boys tried hard, but that old one was a piece of shit," He picks the guitar back up, leaning back and propping it back into place on his knee with one hand securely holding the neck.
"I know, I know!" I finally give in, throwing my head back somewhat dramatically. "It's hard for me to admit defeat, okay?"
"Well, you said it - so damn stubborn,"
"Goodnight, Joel," My head shakes softly, sticking my hands in my pockets to keep them warm as I descend the steps to cross the street.
He returns the sentiment as I begin walking away, and I hate the way I feel the corner of my mouth twitch hearing my name in that distinct southern drawl.