FALL

Chapter Three: A - fternoons/ffections

Summer vacation was something Jonathan never liked ever since he turned ten. The word vacation may as well have been a sin itself in the Keeny home. He toiled away in the small cornfield, root crop plots, and the few orchard trees they owned by himself from just before dawn until just after dusk. Pulling weeds, harvesting anything that seemed ripe enough, and being a literal scarecrow by scaring off the crows. So, it was a shock and ill omen to hear his grandmother calling loudly out to him from the house.

He could see the battered pickup truck parked near their porch long before he walked up, there was no one inside the vehicle. Did they have company? His answer came in the form of bumping into a brick-built man when the door opened as he was about to walk inside, "Pardon," An entirely thick Cajun French accent was followed up by deeply accented English, "my mistake, you must be Jonathan." The man was well into his aging years with strands of silver hair only shining brightly when the sun caught his short golden hair. Clean cut as a five o'clock shadow would allow him to be, he dressed in tan trousers, suspenders, and a plain white shirt. The man did not smile like his voice suggested he should have been, instead, he shuffled around allowing Jonathan inside before placing his fingers to his lips and whistling out a sharp short note, "Garçon!" It was yelled out in a pejorative manner.

As if ritually summoned from the opposite direction Jonathan had come, Leonard came nearly sprinting out of the cornfield. He ran right up to the porch, his chest laboring to catch his breath, "Oui, daddy?" He was wearing a similar outfit to his father and with his hair combed back his visage looked like it belonged in a church.

"Nous l'avons trouvé," Jonathan stood in the hall watching them interact with one another. He spied the blond nod at the words spoken, "... wipe that saleté de vous." Mister Broussard turned away from his son giving Jonathan a curt nod in passing before going down his hallway towards their kitchen.

Jonathan had watched the older man vanish through the doorway and could hear muffled speaking from within, he turned to see Leonard vigorously wiping the dirt from his clothes and trying to kick off any lingering dust on his shoes. His smile was a mile wide when he caught Jonathan staring at him but before the blond could open his mouth Jonathan stalked down the hallway into the kitchen. His grandmother was sitting at the wooden table with Leonard's father and whom he assumed was Leonard's mother.

"We have company, as you can see." He was weary whenever his grandmother sounded sweet, as it often turned venomous later on, "Go wash that dirt off." Her gaze told him she'd not tell him to do something twice right now, he turned without a word to wash up.

When he came back Leonard was standing behind his mother with a hand on her shoulder, she looked almost smaller than Jonathan did. In a fragile sort of way, her hair was much greyer nearly all silver tied back into a loose braid that disappeared down her back. She wore a simple white blouse that covered her arms and neck along with a plain dark brown skirt that covered her feet when sitting. They were a picture-perfect-looking church family, no wonder his granny let them inside. They likely had appealed to her religious nature – or maybe they were just that religious too. He recalled Leonard nearly swearing when he fixed his own busted finger but yelling out 'holy hell' seemed just as bad now. As much as he hated company perhaps this could be a blessing, maybe his grandmother would make friends and she'd stop harassing him so much. If there was a god he'd pray to that effect – or a devil he could sell his soul to for it.

As Jonathan came to stand next to the table – there was only enough seating for three as they'd used a chair last winter to heat their home – his grandmother spoke up gesturing out, "Jonathan. This is Mr. and Mrs. Broussard and their eldest son, was it Leonard?" She butchered the way he said his own name, pronouncing the N and D sounds too heavily.