Page 2 of Red Flags Only

Unfortunately, a lot of things make Chrissy upset, and they aren’t all avoidable.

“Jove Rogue has lost his mind!” she screeches.

I wince, squeezing the phone tight to my head through the piercing noise even though I’d really rather not. Chrissy doesn’t like the clattering sound it makes when I drop it, though, and I know from experience that whatever headache this causes is nothing compared to what she’ll give me if she has to hear the clunk of phone on floor.

“Did Jove ever have possession of his mind?” I ask when the ringing in my ears stops.

As far as I’m aware, Jove Rogue is a maniac masquerading as a maniac. He’s been slashing tires and setting buildings on fire since the third grade. Why she thinks thatnowis when his mind has gone, I have not one single clue.

“Do you know that he went to Grandpa Ferris’ house, hopped into his tractor, and used it to flip grandpa’s car in the driveway? It’s completely totaled!”

My brows furrow as I contemplate that, keeping half of my focus on the task at hand.

I lay double-sided tape down on a large square of brown cardstock, then use it to press a smaller, forest-themed piece of scrapbook paper onto it, making an adorable little pouch to fill with stickers for Jupiter.

“Why would Jove do that?” I ask.

“He’s cracked, that’s why!” Chrissy all but screams. “Grandpa probably stole his parking spot or something three years ago and this is some sick form of revenge.”

“More likely that your grandpa stole his brother’s parking spot,” I point out, reaching for my big color-coded file folder full of stickers.

Jove’s maniac is, as far as I’ve ever been able to tell, mostly confined to defending his brother – whether that defense is appropriate given the “offense” or not. Jove’s justice-o-meter is broken, and the rest of us pay the price for it.

Thankfully, I’ve never personally had to pay his price, likely because I avoid the Rogue brothers like the plague – a task that’s fairly easy considering I so rarely leave my house to go any further than the mailbox. Even my job as owner of Bandera, West Virginia’s best, and only, plant nursery only requires me to venture as far as my backyard. The closest I ever get to a Rogue brother is when I accidentally run into Mars at Taco Bell, and I may or may not have taken to hiding behind the soda machine if I see his car pull into the parking lot.

The more distance between me and a Rogue brother, the better.

“Who cares whose parking spot he stole?” Chrissy curses in my ear. “He should be in jail!”

Well. Yes, probably. But who’s going to put him there?

No one has anyevidencethat he’s ever done anything illegal, except for that one time when he set the courthouse on fire, but he was a kid when that happened and they don’t usually give kids life in prison for things like that… I don’t think. They didn’t givehimlife in prison, at any rate.

“Is your grandpa’s insurance going to cover the car?” I ask.

My thumb abandons its job of flipping through stickers to find the perfect ones for my beloved pen pal and moves toward my mouth instead. I halt its progress just before the nail makes its way between my teeth. Not today, thumb. I’m breaking that habit. With purpose, I force it back to the sticker folder.

“Of course it’s not going to cover the car!” she snaps again. “It was 40 years old and hadn't run in 30. That’s not thepoint, Lyra.”

Um. Except. Isn’t it though?

“So Jove junked your grandpa’s junker?” I ask, pulling out a harp sticker and putting it in the to-send pile, where it joins a planet Jupiter, a monarch butterfly, and a rosy maple moth. “That’s not so bad. Last week he slashed Muffy Goodman’s tires and stole her spare. She was late to work, and I heard she got fired because of it. I guess it wasn’t the first time she’d been late.” I mean, sure, Muffy kind of sucks. She took the last chocolate cake from the grocery store bakery last month – out of my shopping cart, where it had been for the entire 20 minutes I’d been in the store. Still. Ruining an already useless car seems pretty tame in comparison to costing someone their job, no matter how sucky that person is, if you ask me.

Which, of course, Chrissy didn’t.

“Muffy Goodman deserved what she got,” Chrissy hisses. “My grandpa didn’t.”

Ah.

Right.

I remember that not only did she not ask my opinion, but she’s also got a long-standing arch nemesis thing going on with Muffy. Something about… something? I can’t recall. Chrissy has a long-standing arch nemesis thing going on with just about half of Bandera.

“Of course he didn’t deserve that,” I try to defuse. “I just meant-”

“You just meant that you’d rather defend a complete lunatic than be on my side,” she interrupts, scoffing. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re always on everyone’s team but mine.”

I’m…

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