Page 98 of Agency

“Hey what?” he growled back like an upset rottweiler.

For a moment, we stared at each other. There was a long, pregnant pause, as we both seemed to silently weigh the other on unseen scales.

“You ever going to tell me your real name? Because I’ve told you mine.”

Jaw clenched and working, he stared at me.

“Or is that something that you keep close, too?”

He was still pissed off, that was for damn sure, but I could see from the look in his eyes that I’d given him something else to think about. Grim-faced, he returned to his wood chopping, and the steadythunk-chunkfollowed me into the kitchen.

Minutes later, after I was already ensconced within the kitchen and sprinkling a tiny bit of salt into my coffee, Andrew and Morgan came driving up in the Durango. I watched through a crack in the boards covering the living room windows as they piled out of the SUV and immediately went to the rear hatch. After a moment’s bending, they both emerged with straightened backs and armloads of brown, paper-bag-clad groceries, and I retreated to the kitchen. Laughing, joking, and generally being the exact opposite of Jericho in every possible way, they carried their light mood in through the front door and straight to me.

“Hey hey hey,” Andrew said as he came in from the living room, arms laden with grocery bags, and Morgan in tow. They bustled past me and placed the bags on the kitchen counter and began to unpack everything.

“That’s a lot of food for just a couple days,” I said as they began to unload vegetables, chicken, thick steaks, eggs, bread, extra gallons of milk, boxes of cereal, and more.

“Think this is a lot,” Morgan said, “you should see what’s still in the trunk.”

“Fuck me, this was expensive,” Andrew said, grinning from one ear to the other even as he continued to produce more and more fruits and vegetables. “But, we’re growing boys. We need our calories.”

“I prefer ‘strapping young lads’,” Morgan said.

Ah yes. The banter had returned.

“Seriously, though,” I continued. “Why so much food?”

“Because we’re a thirty minute drive from the nearest grocery store,” Andrew said. “If we run out of milk, we can’t just send Morgan down to the corner store with a five dollar bill pinned to his jacket.”

“You mean people did that with milk?” Morgan asked with an equally wide grin. “My nana only did that for her cigarettes.”

“Southie must be a hell of a place,” I said.

“You got the ‘hell’ part right, at least.”

Outside, thethunk, chunkhad continued, and now Andrew glanced in Jericho’s direction before looking back to me. “How’re you guys getting along?” he asked, his voice lowered as if his boss might overhear us.

“We’re not,” I said between sips of coffee. I raised my mug, saying, “Though, I do have to admit, he was right on adding salt to the coffee. It’s definitely better.”

Anotherthunk, chunkfrom outside.

“It’s amazing how you can tell he’s pissed just by the way he’s chopping wood,” Morgan said, already putting produce away in the refrigerator. He shut the fridge door, saying, “I’ll grab the rest.”

“Need any help?” I asked.

“Honestly, it’s only two more bags, despite what Andrew said. They’re just the heaviest.”

Outside, the wood-chopping had stopped. Jericho began picking up pieces from the ground with one hand and piling them into the crook of his other arm. One after the other, his armload continued to pile higher and higher as I kept drinking my coffee. Morgan went out through the front, and Andrew continued unpacking and putting away the groceries.

“This is hard for him, you know,” Andrew said. “Jericho, I mean. Real hard.”

“I know.”

“This is literally the last place in the world he wants to be.”

“I know that, too.”

“And do you know why he’s here?”