The door to his truck whines as he opens it and climbs out. “What are you two doin’?” he asks, motioning for me to toss him the ball. I do and he shoots and makes it.
“Playing HORSE,” Ty informs him. “I just won.”
I start to object, to point out the game isn’t over, but he flashes me a look so sinful I nearly melt into the driveway.
“I made baked spaghetti,” I say instead. “Where’s Lindsay?”
“Home. She’s not feeling good.” His eyes settle on me and I read between the lines.
“Did you two fight all night?”
“More or less,” he sighs.
Before he can expound, Cord’s truck hits the gravel and comes to a stop next to Jiggs’. Yogi stands in the back, takes in the scene, before lying back down as Cord and Becca get out of the truck.
I wait for a smile, a grin, but they don’t come. Flashing Becca a questioning glance, she shrugs.
“Hey,” Ty greets them. “You guys hungry?”
“I hear you’re a great cook,” Becca says, pulling me into a quick hug. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”
“Sure,” I say, taking in the worry lines around her eyes. “It’s through the door to the right. Want me to walk you in?”
“No, that’s okay,” she says and heads off. I get the distinct feeling she wants a few minutes alone, so I let her go.
The boys are in the midst of a conversation when I turn around. Jiggs looks at Ty, and I see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He doesn’t look at me, and it’s clear he’s making a concerted effort not to.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my eyes trained on my brother because I know he’ll break way before my husband.
Ty turns his back to me, his head twisting back and forth. “Damn it, Jiggs. You could’ve called me instead.”
“How was I supposed to know you hadn’t told her? This isn’t a bad thing, you know.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” I demand. Although I know the answer, I want to hear it from them.
I want to hear it from Ty.
I watch his back tense, his shoulders stiffen, his lungs drawing in a deep breath before he turns to face me. His eyes are dark, his jaw set firmly in place. “Blackwater called. The mine is reopening this week.”
Goose bumps ripple across my skin as I begin to shuffle backwards. “You aren’t going though, right?” I look from Ty, to Jiggs, to Cord, and back to Ty. My mouth goes dry as they fail to respond.
“E . . .”
I fire a look at Jiggs. “Are you going back?”
“Of course,” my brother says. “I’m a miner, Elin. My wife is having a baby. I need a job.”
“Are you going, Cord?”
“Yes,” he sighs and places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s normal to be worried. The last time you dealt with that place, your husband came out on a stretcher.”
“He was almost killed!” I say, pointing to Ty. He’s watching me, a wariness settling over him.
“Do you have any idea what I felt when they called and told me you’d been hit by that timber? That you were on your way to the emergency room and they didn’t know how bad it was?” I ask, tears burning my eyes. “I thought, ‘This is it. This is the accident we all wait for. The one my mom waited for when my dad mined, the one my grandmother prayed to avoid every morning when Grandpa left for the fields. It’s happened to me.’”
I squeeze my eyes closed. “I got there and they wouldn’t let me see you. They said you were in surgery, and I kept thinking that I didn’t get to tell you goodbye that morning. You left without waking me up, do you remember that?”
He nods, reaching for me. I take his hand and let him pull me to his side. His arm stretches around my shoulder, holding me close.
I look at Jiggs. “You guys can’t go back down there. You just can’t.” Glancing from Ty to Cord and back to Jiggs, I reiterate it again. “None of you can go back there.”
“We get it, Elin, we do,” Jiggs says. “We were down there when that thing fell on him. I was scared to beat all hell. There are no other jobs here.”
“You could go back to school. You could—”
“And go into debt? And get a degree that we can never use? And how are we going to pay the bills while we are doing that?” Ty asks.
I’m too numb for the tears to fall. My shoulders slump, my mind vaguely remembering the spaghetti in the oven, but I can’t even bother to mention it.
“We’ve applied everywhere,” Jiggs says, shrugging. “No one is hiring. For every opening, there’s fifty applicants. This is all we have, not to mention my wife is wanting me to move to fucking Florida over the job market. This is a good thing, Elin. This is what we’ve been hoping for.”