Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Chapter Nine

Traveling with Joel is both the easiest and most difficult thing. His quiet nature makes it easy to lay low, allowing myself to focus on my thoughts without interruption. His silence is also the same thing that makes it difficult. The silence let's me think too much, and my list of questions just keeps continuing to grow. If I had no sense of respect, I would be asking all of them at once. But I know that if I'm ever going to get the answers I want, I'm going to have to play things smart. Joel is a cautious and reserved person, he doesn't strike me as the type to lay everything out.

He walks a few paces ahead of me, probably in effort to keep me from asking questions. Last night after he read the notes, I still didn't get anything useful out of him. My mind keeps reeling, trying to figure out what he knows. But I keep coming up with nothing. The best idea I have so far is that he has some sort of issue with the Fireflies, and that makes two of us.

After walking most of the day, he stops off in a wooded area to the side of the road, unloading his gun and backpack against a tree. Finally. My feet ache and my back hurts from walking nonstop. My backpack finds its place against a tree as well, and I raise my arms to stretch my weary muscles. Joel glances at me before averting his gaze, and I can't hold my tongue any longer, I can't help it.

"So what were you doing all the way in Boston if you live out past Omaha?" I ask, my voice creaky from not using it all day. My arms lower themselves back to my sides, and his silence makes me think he's probably not going to answer.

"I had to tie up some loose ends, let people know I wasn't gonna be comin' back." He says as he takes a sip of water from his old canteen. My mouth forms a small 'O' shape as I recall that he was in fact supposed to come back after his job.

"James told me about that. What kind of job was it? I hope it was worth it, you and your partner were gone for what, almost a year?" I immediately regret asking as I see his jaw tense. Without knowing it, I may have just crossed a boundary. He puts his canteen away without answering me. My gaze falls to the ground and I shake my head,

"You don't have to answer." My voice is weak and I pick my bag up to find somewhere else to take a break. The tension is palpable and heavy between us, almost suffocating.

With my bag almost dragging the ground, I find a shaded spot about twenty feet away from him and sit down so that my feet can find some reprieve. I wipe my hands over my face, trying to reinvigorate myself and to relieve some of the stress I'm sure is apparent on my features. Resting my head against the bark I let my eyes close and I focus on the sounds of nature opposed to overthinking the grumpy man's silence.

The songs of birds faintly carry through the air, and if I concentrate hard enough, it's almost like the world never ended. The peace of the woods in the middle of nowhere is unparalleled after spending years in a busy, crowded QZ. My body takes a deep breath and I open my eyes, fingers fiddling with the grass below me. There are tiny white wildflowers sprinkled throughout the grass, along with dandelions.

Without a second thought, I pick them and made a rough arrangement in my hand. The white and yellow compliment each other beautifully and as I admire my rudimentary work, my chest aches with longing. I miss doing this every day, I miss my small field of colorful flowers; they always brought me joy. Now, the beauty of flowers serve as a bittersweet reminder of what used to be. I break off a large piece of grass and tie it into an ugly looking bow around the stems of the dandelions and put the flowers in the side pocket of my backpack.

As I put the flowers away I notice Joel looking at me through the trees. His eyes almost look soft, not as guarded as they always are. But I don't hold his gaze. Instead, I keep to myself and rest my eyes for a few minutes longer, until he breaks the silence for once. His boots rustle around in the tall grass and I hear the unmistakable sound of his rifle being slung over his shoulder.