Page 102 of Plentywood
The open sign was off when I walked through the front door. Jill peeked through the opening to the kitchen and smiled, placing a small, old-fashioned crockery bowl in the space before coming around to the dining area.
“Let me take your coat, Ben,” she said, motioning to the nearest table. “I saved you a bean casserole. It’s hot out of the oven,” she added.
“You’re a dear,” I replied, rubbing my hands together and blowing on them. “You going to join me and eat something, too?”
“Just coffee for me,” she answered. “You want a cup?” she asked, holding up the pot.
I nodded and waited for her to be seated. We both sipped on the steaming coffee and gazed at each other. She smiled nervously before clearing her throat.
“Nothing?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I confirmed.
Her lips pursed as she appeared to not like my answer. “He’s sliding backward again.”
“Agnes said he isn’t working,” I offered. “Hasn’t been seen around town either.”
“He did finally text me he was fine. Whatever that means,” she revealed, while I took another bite of her delicious recipe.“Maybe my threats to hate him for the rest of his life got him to respond.”
Jill and I simultaneously looked down at the tabletop. Neither quite knew what to say about the current situation. After another minute, she broke the ice.
“Have you gone out to see him yet?” she asked, raising her hand immediately after asking. “I know. I know. It’s none of my business and I’m pushing, but I’m just concerned,” she confessed. “Even after Mark died, he’d let me come over to visit. He won’t open up to me this time.”
“Tell me about your brother,” I inquired, shifting the focus. “I know he was a superstar in this town but tell me something about him that maybe nobody knows.”
I figured she might need a minute to dig up a little known factoid, but she was preloaded with an answer. “He was controlling,” she stated.
I found her answer surprising. I hadn’t expected such a direct analysis of her own brother, but I had asked the question.
“How so?”
“Mark had strict rules that he lived by. He wanted things a certain way, and he refused to compromise about them,” she said. “But I don’t mean to infer that he was unkind. That wasn’t it. But he really didn’t like to do things any way but his way.”
“How about you?” I asked. “How’d you fit in with a younger brother that was so particular?”
“We all just did what Mark wanted. Life was easier that way. Besides, he was usually right.”
“And Hunt? How did he deal with Mark?”
Jill’s brow furrowed as she thought about my question. “That’s odd,” she began. “I never thought about what Hunt did to keep Mark happy and in control.”
“You’ve used the word control twice now, Jill.”
“Mark was the planner. We all just went along,” she said. “I loved my brother very much, but it was just easier to give into him. He was the baby of the family. And when our parents died, despite me being older, I let him make the decisions. He was better at those things.”
“And Hunt? Did he depend on Mark to make all the decisions?”
It took exactly a half-second for Jill to answer. “Oh God, yes,” she replied. “Hunt was lost during college. He almost didn’t finish because he missed my brother so much, but of course, Mark insisted he stay and get a degree. Mark was an adult by then and wanted to set up a home as soon as Hunt returned. Hunter loved him so much that he did whatever Mark asked.”
“And then Mark died,” I whispered.
Jill’s eyes misted over as she gazed at me. “And then Mark died,” she parroted.
I leaned forward and waited for Jill to return from whatever memory she was recalling at that moment. “And what happened to Hunt after Mark died, Jill?”
“He was a mess, of course,” she replied. “He was completely lost, for sure.”
“Why do you think Hunter was so lost?” I pushed, knowing the answer the second I asked it.
