𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; joseph liebgott

PART NINE

Word count; 2,145

Dianne

Despite the depths of winter still hanging onto Marietta, the sun turned everything orange as it lowered in the sky, casting shadows over the boughs of trees and cars passing by. Up ahead of us, Cowboy ran along the sidewalk, hopping over tiles as part of his own made-up game, something he always did. My fingers had grown numb from being out of my pockets, but for some reason I felt that if I let go of Joe's hand, he'd disappear, and this would all turn out to be a fever dream.

My head inclined, finding him looking onwards, inspecting the streets, the plots of bungalows and suburban lanes. No awe held his gaze, nor surprise, only confusion perhaps - he had heard of areas like these, hell, he fought with men who had lived in these types of houses, unknown to poverty and hunger, but still struggled to gather that it was actually real. That kids cycled down the roads frequently, doors were left ajar when the sun shone. It was another reality.

He looked down at me, pinching the cigarette from his lips with his free hand and tapping ash onto the pavement, "You gotta' stop doing that, Frances."

"Doing what, hon?" I beamed.

"Looking at me like there's something on my face."

Had he said something similar, once?

"There is," I jested, licking my thumb and pushing it to his cheek.

He dodged my fingers, "Hey-"

"Hang on," I tried to stab him again.

He grabbed onto my wrist, only for his eyes to widen as I saw another opportunity; I plucked the cigarette from his fingers, holding it away from me until we went round and round in circles as he tried to seize it back. The laughter burned at my sides, and eventually I returned it, for a moment forgetting that it wasn't just us in the world. Stanley was already by the front door, poking at a note that had been taped above the door handle. Like that, as Joe sucked in a final inhale from his crumpled smoke, a realisation set in.

"I've been thinking about what I'm going to say to him." He said quietly.

"Which is?"

"No idea." He chuckled. "Going to make it up as I go along."

Papa had surfaced in our conversations over the phone frequently; not so much who he was now compared to who he used to be. A musical, lady-charmer, half-pacifist - half because it was his advice that convinced me to partake in Operation Judy in the first place. Secrets rarely divided us, apart from the fact that I never spoke about what had happened in Europe - mostly because protocol forbade me to - and more specifically the reason for my sleepless nights and prolonged days. But Joe knew that he trusted me, and wouldn't reach for a rifle - as if he owned any - at the sight of him.

"He'll like you." I said as we reached the gate of the front garden, carlessly swung shut by Stanley.

"You think?"

For the first time yet, I let go of his hand, and as our views crossed I recognised that I didn't have to say anything more. Papa was already standing at the front door, prodding his walking stick at Cowboy, pretending he were a stowaway who needed to get off of his property. I turned.

"Papa," I walked up the steps, planting a kiss onto his cheek.

"Baby," He greeted, Cowboy behind him now, tearing off his shoes.

"There's someone I would like you to meet."

Naturally, his stare lifted, just as the heavy footsteps reached the wooden panels beside me. Joe extended his palm.