Any Way the Wind Blows Read online

  When I looked up, Jo was watching me. "Hungry?" Her voice was deep and warm in a way I'd started to realize was something like amusement or fondness, even if her expression stayed stoic as ever.

  I shot her a grin around the big bite I was working through. I must have looked ridiculous, from the way she snorted at me before going back to her own food. "Hell yeah," I said, once I'd swallowed. "Mark figured out I actually know what I'm doing, so he's giving me all the hard shit. Not that I mind, but goddamn."

  "He knows how to put people to work," Jo agreed, and then we ate silently, except for the crinkle of wrappers and the occasional pleased eating sound.

  Once we were done bagging up our trash, I leaned over the truck she was working on. "What're you working on?"

  "Well, the passenger side head was leaking, so I cleaned all that up and bonded the seam. Owner can't afford to replace it, and it wasn't too bad, so I was able to buy him some time, at least. Now I'm just giving it a tune up and an oil change, so hopefully he won't have to be back for a while."

  I nodded, and when she eyed me, started laughing. "I didn't understand that."

  "Here, let me show you." She took me through it, pointing out the pieces she'd worked on and explaining what she'd done to each one. By the end of it I was at least following along, even I still wouldn't be working on cars myself any time soon.

  She pulled a rag out of her back pocket to rub the grime off her hands. "You can do the oil change," she said, then paused, as if second guessing. "If you want?"

  "Totally." I wasn't much help, to be honest, but she was never impatient. She just explained step by step what to do, along with the why behind every one. While we waited for the oil to drain, I asked, "What made you want to be a mechanic?"

  Jo thought about it for a moment, then just shrugged. "I was good at it. Then it was a way to do something that didn't cost nothing. I couldn't afford college, so I joined the Army as a mechanic right out of high school. Went to Iraq for a few years, came back, had enough experience to get licensed and open my own shop."

  I was suddenly uneasy, feeling too hot and over-aware of myself and the things I'd said. I thought about my paid off tuition (to trade school, but still), remembered my careless explanations of the carefree life I led and that I didn't have any bills. I knew intellectually how poor youth often served in the military out of necessity rather than a sense of duty. It was the first time I'd been faced with someone I knew had done it.

  I fit my arms tight against my chest, and for a long moment, I just I watched to oil drain. "My Dad is from Iraq, actually." It didn't have much to do with the topic on hand; the Iraq from my dad and grandparents' stories was worlds away from the one Jo had been to. The silence had stretched on long enough, though, and it was the first thing I thought of to fill it.

  "Really?"

  I understood the surprise. I was white passing, with my pale skin that only freckled instead of tanned, despite all my time spent outdoors. "Yep. Moved here when he was a kid with my grandparents and my aunt. My mom is white; they met in college."

  Jo nodded. "Where are you from?"

  "Vermont. They both went to Dartmouth, and they liked the mountains so much that they stayed." She seemed satisfied with that as she retrieved a quart of oil. Since I knew how to do that, she stood back and watched me do it. "Did you grow up around here?" I asked, not taking my eyes off the task.

  "Born and raised. My Mom and Dad have a farm, a few miles from here."

  "I don't think I could move back home," I said, mostly just thinking out loud. "I mean, I love Vermont, it's beautiful. I even like the winters. I just don't think I could live there again. It feels like it belongs to my parents."

  That was part of it, anyway. The full truth was that it was a small town, and there were just too many people that knew me from childhood. Too many collective memories of all the embarrassing things I wanted to forget, and too many ideas of what I should be. It wasn't even that I'd done anything particularly bad, or embarrassing as a kid. I just preferred the blank slate of traveling, and the ability to be gone by the time anyone started to build expectations.

  I realized how that sounded, at least, so I kept it to myself. "What brought you back?"

  Jo shifted her weight between boots, attention on her hands as she scrubbed the oil off them with a dirty rag. "When I got back, I didn't know what to do with myself." It was said quietly, in the tone of a confession, and I leaned in closer to listen. "There weren't a lot of places to go. I had a little money, but not enough to set up somewhere without a job lined up. I thought maybe I'd work in town a little while, save some money, but then Mark offered to rent out this place to me, and…"

  She trailed off, then shrugged. For one brief moment, she caught my eyes. I saw that same look I'd seen a couple times, but didn't know what it was. I felt like if I could just keep looking, maybe I'd figure it out, but then she looked away, and it was over. She watched her hands as she picked a callous on her palm. "I just ended up staying a whole lot longer."

  "Why don't you just go somewhere else?" I just didn't get it. "Don't you have some money saved up by now?"

  When I thought about it later, I realized her shoulders had gone tense, that her fingers had stopped picking. That she still wasn't looking at me. "It's not just about money."

  "Then what is it?" I began gathering up the trash and taking it over to the can as I continued. "I mean, you don't seem like you even like it here, so why not just leave? Why bother, if it doesn't make you happy?"

  I paused for her to speak, and when I she didn't, I glanced at her over my shoulder. Her body was a hard line, from the grit of her jaw to the clinch of her fists, and I realized with blinding, horrifying clarity just how far over the line I'd gone.

  Before I could say anything, she spoke, her tone low and sharp. "You've known me for one—" Her mouth snapped shut, cutting herself off, and she turned away from me to begin tossing tools into her toolbox, hard enough to clatter.

  "I'm sorry," I started, but she silenced me with a sharp glare over her shoulder. I immediately took a step back, and she looked away again to push the hood of the truck down, hard.

  "He's picking this up at four. I need to get back to work."

  I did, at least, know a dismissal when I saw it. "Yeah, okay," I said, and my voice was meek in a way that was completely unfamiliar to me. I left quietly, but couldn't help glancing over my shoulder as rock music, loud and heavy, started pouring out of barn.

  She didn't look back.

  *~*~*

  Jo wasn't at dinner, that night or the next. Not unheard of, I'd gathered from the mealtime chatter. I hated the thought that I might have made Jo feel uncomfortable in her own space, the guilt from the thought heavy and oppressive. It didn't matter whether she was avoiding me or not, I realized by the third day, though I was almost positive she was. I'd hurt her. Regardless of how she was or wasn't acting in response, I needed to fix it. And since it didn't seem like I could count on her coming to find me any time soon, I needed to go to her.

  Her cabin was up on the edge of the property, and it was nearly dark by the time I made it out there. It was small, practically a box with a slanted roof, and there was no plumbing, if the dry sink and rain barrels were anything to go by. It was great for a little cabin getaway, but even the hippy in me thought it was intense for long term living.

  The door swung open before I could even knock, revealing Jo staring down at me. I took a step back, surprised. "Oh, uh, hi." She didn't' say anything, just stared, so I tried again. "Were you coming out?"

  She shook her head. "I came out because I could hear you."

  I realized too late that the big casement windows were all open; of course she'd heard me creeping around. Nothing like starting an apology with getting caught snooping around. ring "Sorry. I was coming to say hi, but I got distracted by your water barrel setup over here. Are you plumping free?"

  "Yeah. Completely off the grid." She stared at me for a long moment before adding,
"What are you doing here?"

  I unsuccessfully tried not to wince. I'd deserved that. Still, I pressed on, and offered a glass jar of amber liquid out to her." I just wanted to give you this, it's hard cider from some local orchard. I bought it off Kyle." She didn't take it, and just stared at me like a stone. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry I was a jerk yesterday. I don't know about your life, and I don't have any right to comment on it, either. I don't know whether you're avoiding me, so totally tell me to get out of here if you want, but I just wanted to say that."

  She just stared at me for a long moment, and I tried not to flinch under her gaze. She might not be ready to accept an apology, or she was just letting me stew. Either way, I probably deserved that too.

  Finally, the corner of their mouth twitched, and I let out a breath I didn't realizing she was holding. "You've gotta stop giving me stuff," she said, and stepped aside to let me past. "It's not Christmas. You comin' or what?"

  I went inside eagerly, and even if she hadn't told me that she was off the grid, I would've been able to figure it out. There were no standard lights in the house. Instead, she seemed to be making due with string lights and an oil lantern, which together suffused the room with a warm, cozy glow. I groaned as I collapsed down her couch, a beat up loveseat with a woven blankets over the faded cushions. It may have been old, but it was one of the most comfortable couches I'd ever sat on.

  "Want a bowl?" Jo set down the cider and gestured at the wood-fueled cookstove in the corner of the room. A stew bubbled in a pot as a small cast iron skillet made something doughy, and it all smelled amazing.

  "Hell yes. Load me up." It was still a little early for dinner, but my stomach growled, and I remembered what a long day it had been. I accepted a mug of cider, and watched eagerly as she dished out a bowl of stew. When she set it on the old cedar trunk that, apparently, served as a coffee table, I immediately fished out a chunk of potato. "Fuck, hot," I garbled around it a second later, fanning my mouth to help with the remaining heat.

  Jo just rolled her eyes with an amused smile. "There's cobbler, too."

  Having managed to swallow the potato, I stared up at her wide eyed like she was some sort of culinary angel. To be honest, I wasn't convinced she wasn't. "Dude. Adopt me. I'm serious."

  She chuckled, a warm and rumbly sound that radiated comfort. "Pretty sure we're almost the same age."

  "Keep feeding me like this?" I pointed at my bowl of stew for emphasis. "I'll find a way."

  She shoved my legs off the couch, smirking at my whine of protest. "I have been considering getting a cat."

  "See? There you go. I bring way better gifts, too."

  We dug in, and soon we'd moved on to the cobbler, taking spoonfuls straight out of the skillet still on its trivet It was delicious—probably more so because we'd just picked the blackberries that morning, and I had the scratches up my arms to prove it. I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing, be allowed to sit on her couch and eat her food, but I wasn't complaining, either. Exactly the opposite, actually.

  "So, what's up with this place?" I asked, and gestured around the cabin with my spoon. "Are you some kind of eco-warrior? Not knocking it. That's actually super cool if you are. I just haven't met many people who live like this."

  Jo just shook her head "I'm not. I do care about the environment, but I prefer flushing toilets." She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, her attention back on the cobbler. I almost spoke, but my time in replaying that awful conversation in my head had taught me that she looked away when she was uncomfortable, and I waited. Finally, my silence was rewarded.

  "It's Mark's." She pushed her veggies around in her bowl, looking into it like it held some secret. "He threw it in with the garage rent. It was just a little camping lodge he used for hunting trips, before. He had plans to put electricity and water in, but other things always took priority, and I'm used to it now."

  I couldn't imagine living without those things unless it was just something I felt strongly about, and even then, it seemed like it would be a rough adjustment. There were extra rooms in the farm house, I knew. I'd been sleeping in one. It seemed like it'd be a better idea to make the FarmShare hands stay here and put her in the house, but I kept myself from voicing that opinion. I was pretty certain that Jo had had enough of my opinions on her life for a while.

  By the time we were done with dessert, we were working on the dregs of the cider. Jo leaned heavy into my side, her hair loose and draping over my shoulder. I was feeling loose too, warm and relaxed. The snugness of the cabin paired with the glow of the lights only amplified the feeling. It felt like, in that moment, we were the only two people in the world.

  It was a new feeling, but surprisingly, not an unwelcome one.

  I struggled to put my empty mug on the coffee table without moving Jo from my shoulder. It looked precarious, so I carefully nudged it with my foot… and knocked it to the ground. Thankfully it was enamel, so it didn't shatter. Jo burst out laughing, a real, gut laugh with her forehead pressed into my shoulder from the force of it. "The fuck was that?"

  "I was pushing it back!"

  "Yeah, that was no push. You kicked that damn mug."

  "Yeah, screw you, potty-mouth, I'm drunk." I shoved her off my side, trying to be grumpy, but I couldn't help but grin as I watched her laugh and sway. I had never seen her this animated before. Would she be like this all the time, if I really got to know her? I probably wouldn't be around long enough to find out, I realized suddenly. The thought sliced sharply through the comfortable haze of alcohol. I was leaving soon. For the first time in a long time, I found myself wishing I could stay.

  She settled against me, and I set my arm around her shoulders, stroking my hand through her hair. It was beautiful and impossibly long, silky as it slipped through my fingers. I wanted to braid it, to do something more extravagant than her typical utilitarian style. "You have beautiful hair. I wish I could get my hair that long." Mops of unruly curls weren't the best for length.

  "Been growing it since I got out of the army," she murmured, muffled from where her mouth was pressed up against by my arm. "I like your hair. 'S cute." Her words slurred together a little, and when she looked up at me, she gave me a drunk grin.

  "Being drunk suits you." She quirked her eyebrow in question, the gesture exaggerated by the alcohol. "You smile more."

  The space between her eyebrows creased as she frowned. "I don't smile?"

  "You do, but just these little ones. They're nice, though." I was starting to get that words affected her easily, and I tread carefully. I didn't want to upset her again. "It's not a bad thing."

  "Not a lot to smile about." She looked into her cup as if it might grant her more alcohol if she wished hard enough, then set it on the floor when it disappointed her. She fell into my lap with a huff, hair spread out and long legs draping over the arm of the couch. The silence was weighted, and she opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. For once in my life, I stayed quiet instead of asking, and ran my fingers through her hair. My patience was rewarded a few moments later, when she broke the silence.

  "Do you think—?" She paused and threw an arm over her face, so it was hidden it in the crook of her elbow. "If there's a guy," she started again, "Everyone thinks that he's perfect for you, but he's—" She cut off and huffed. "You don't hate him, he's a nice enough, but you still don't want to. Should you at least try?"

  I thought back to the guy crowding her against her truck and the bit of conversation I'd caught between her and her mom. I was trying hard not to draw conclusions, but indignant anger on her behalf began to well up in my chest. I did my best to swallow it down before shaking my head. "Absolutely not." I smoothed my hand over her forehead, letting my thumb follow her hairline. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing. Just this guy I dated in high school, and he was… decent, I guess. It was easy. We were good friends, he asked me to go out, and I didn't have any good reason to say no."

  "Not wanting to is reason enough." T
he interjection was out before I could help it, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying any more. "Sorry, keep going."

  She shrugged. "We broke up after I went to the army, and that was fine. I wasn't upset, just felt bad that he was. I got back and everyone gave me some space for a while, but now everyone's decided I'm too old to not be interested in finding someone. Aaron decided he wanted to go out with me again. So I'm just supposed to date him, when no one fuckin' asked me what I wanted. Or cared, once I said something." She was scowling, her words just becoming sharper and more frustrated. I just nodded encouragingly, sensing that we were at the 'shut up and listen' part of the story. She was looking to vent, not have a bitchfest, so I just stroked her hair and waited for her to continue.

  "Everyone acts like I'm unreasonable because I keep turning him down. That no one better is going to come along around here. That I'm too masculine, and that it turns guys off, around here. I don't want to date someone just because they won't try and make me quit my job. But I'm never really interested in anyone, and he's a nice guy, so everyone acts like there's something wrong with me." She sighed deeply and turned her face into my stomach, closing her eyes as she pressed into it. It was the weird sort of thing drunk people did, but also really cute. "Maybe there is something wrong with me," she mumbled, so quiet I could barely hear it.

  "Hey, hey." I ran my fingers through her hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, an alarm was going off. All of this was sounding really familiar. I'm pretty sure my Livejournal at seventeen, had I not purged it long ago, would have echoed a lot of her feelings. But I didn't want to project myself onto her, and this definitely wasn't the time for it, either way.

  "There's nothing wrong with you." I tipped her chin up so that she would look me in the eye. "There's nothing wrong with you. Who cares if you don't want to date this guy? You don't need a reason, you don't owe anyone anything. Not wanting to date someone is enough of a reason. Honestly, it's creepy that he keeps pressuring you—your family too, when they know you don't want to. It's creepy, and it's wrong." I stroked her hair. "There's nothing wrong with you."