San Joaquin Valley, California
“Your lack of words, Boston, is making quite a racket right now.”
Common sense told Scott not to attempt a conversation with his younger brother until tomorrow. Fatigue was fogging up his brain and robbing him of his patience. Twilight had faded to a moonless evening and the soft light filtering from the kitchen provided little assistance in illuminating Johnny’s face for Scott to read. All he had to go on was the reflection in his younger brother’s low quiet voice, which at this moment possessed a hint of sarcasm. Working in his favor was Kinsey’s well-known response to being awakened from a sound sleep that no one wanted to be responsible for. Scott had read about Australia’s Tasmanian devil; who would have guessed the creature was his cousin.
“I’m trying to think where to start, Johnny. We are staying put; I’m sick of traveling. I want life back to normal too.”
Scott ran his hand through his hair, thinking, ‘What’s normal?’ “If you want me to sit here and tell you nothing has changed or will change, I can’t do that, brother. Look at us. Look how life has changed for us over the past year…look how life has changed for us over the past month.”
“Money changes people, big brother.”
In the stillness, Scott’s weary mind had two disjointed thoughts. ‘When did the swing develop a squeak?’ ‘He’s not talking about us, he’s talking about Kinsey.’
Scott understood there were still hurdles to clear with his grandfather. Tomorrow, he anticipated maneuvering around a few barriers Murdoch will put up when discussing the vineyard. However, with his younger brother’s last statement, he now realized the wall Johnny had placed in his path and the time it will take to scale it. ‘He’s going to hate the thought of the vineyard, travels to Boston, my grandfather…”
“Little brother, we’ll work together as a family to make certain any changes are for the best.”
The swing’s squeak, which had begun to knock on the door of a headache for Scott, stopped only to be replaced by his brother’s raised voice.
“Who decides what’s best for half-pint?
The reply matched the volume of the question. “Well, maybe Kinsey should. You’re the one that admires her independence.”
“Not as much as I use to.”
Scott rubbed his temples. ‘Add women’s suffrage to the wall my brother’s building.’
“Johnny…”
“Fair suck of the sav!” Kinsey’s Aussie accent was as thick as molasses. “You drongos’ earbashing’s enough to wake the bloody dead. Rack-off.” Knuckle-punching Johnny’s shoulder, the Hacienda Devil stood and announced, “I’m going to bed.”
“Well, little brother,” Scott rose to leave, “you let me know when you observe any new changes around here that should be addressed.”
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