Moose and Goose

Chapter Thirty-six

Jerome is breathing heavy as he hikes up the hill to her house. She's walking alongside him with sweat dripping from her brow, but not at the alarming rate as his. She wishes she brought water along, but turning back is out of the question.

"So, why is Justin in a different frat house than you," she asks to keep his mind busy. He's wearing a loose-fitting shirt and calf-length shorts, but the sun seems to target him as if it has a vendetta against him.

"Because he likes sports, drinking, and sex; I don't," he says. They reach the flat terrain, and he draws in a shaky breath that fills his fiery lungs. "We're almost there, right? The sun's so bright – and I'm sweating bullets – and I can't see."

"I can't see that good either. I don't have my glasses," Judith reminds him, and he sighs from fatigue. "I told you I could walk myself, but you insisted on coming along. I don't know if you realize this, but I've beaten up, like, five people on my solo walks, so I think I'll be fine."

"Don't be facetious." She clears her throat while looking down, her grin now gone. "Okay, I think this is it."

They stop in front of her house, and she wrinkles the skin between her brows at the black Buick Electra parked behind her Dad's car. She approaches it, examining her reflection against the smooth and shiny hood.

"Is Wayne here?" She peers through the windshield and at the car seat in the back.

"Who's Wayne," Jerome asks through labored breaths. They sound like asthmatic wheezes. She looks at him, and her eyes widen at his sodden shirt gripping his clammy skin like flypaper.

"He's my brother," she answers, trailing off as she examines him with concern. "Do you want some water? Here, come inside."

Judith walks him to the porch. She pounds the door three times and waits alongside him for an answer. Stevie opens it with his usual look of disinterest evident in his low-hanging lids. He looks at Jerome from head to toe, then at his sister, who doesn't say anything. She can hear laughter not far behind him, and when he steps aside with the handle in his grasp, she steps in with him behind her.

Cynthia and Charles are sitting on the couch with their focus locked on the TV screen. They look soulless as they watch DuckTales. Stevie shuts the door, walks around them, and they follow him into the kitchen.

"Mom," Judith calls for her before she reaches the dining room frame. Wayne is sitting at the table, his infant child in Sheryl's arms and his wife beside him. Her dark hair is high and stiff, styled in the manner of a beehive. She's has a stoic demeanor toward her mother-in-law and child, but when she locks eyes with Jerome, she straightens her posture to look down her nose at him.

Wayne has long dreads reaching his lower back and skin almost as dark as his flannel sweater.

"Judith," she acknowledges her without looking away from her granddaughter. Rembrandt and Wayne turn their attention to her. "What're you doing here?"

"Say you're sorry," Jerome mumbles when Judith looks at him with drawn brows. She returns her gaze to her mother, then glances at those around the table staring at her.

"Can I please go outside," Stevie asks before she can utter a word. His tone is laced with the frustration of someone trapped in a cage. "You let Vera go play with Olive when she's the one who broke the vase in your room."

"Stevie, I don't wanna hear it. Go to your room!" When he makes a squeaky noise as if to argue, she shoots him a dark look. All eyes fall on him and see that his eyes and mouth are wide with disbelief. He lets out an exasperated groan and stomps away, sadness on his face. "Now, back to you. Why're you here?"