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Unnoticeable to everyone except his patients. No more friends or loved ones. Just work and as much anonymity as possible. Compared to the rest of the planet, Josiah was just a speck, no more than dust to eventually be blown away. But now he was beginning to see the stars as Michael did, and he wasn’t sure if he was happy or angry.
Being unnoticeable gave him comfort. Being seen... Well, maybe it depended on who saw him. He didn’t want Seamus to see him ever again. He didn’t mind if Michael saw him, though. Elmer, either, but Elmer was his patient and friend, and he amused Josiah with his stories and grumpiness and determination to walk again. Josiah didn’t even mind if Hugo saw him, because Hugo was a friend, too. Not dangerous.
No, the important one was Michael, and that terrified him on the deep down level of a man who craved affection. Who remembered how it felt to be in love and who wanted to feel it again one day. But Josiah’s heart was still too bruised by Seamus’s betrayal. Maybe neither of them had ever said “I love you” to the other, but Josiah’s affection for the man had been real in the beginning. Then fear had overtaken affection, and survival had overtaken fear.
Josiah wasn’t sure he’d survive his affection being metastasized like that again. Keeping his distance from Michael, just being his friend, was the safest route forward.
He spent the weekend mostly in his trailer reading, doing his best to avoid Michael, who couldn’t stray too far from the main house anyway. He took a few long walks around the barn and yard and a bit into the old fields, unwilling to walk the road alone even in daylight. Michael’s comment that he could drive into town or go do something elsewhere stuck in the back of his mind, but why waste gas money when he was content right here?
Content behind a metal front gate that Michael cleaned of rust, greased and got working again. He knocked on Josiah’s door Sunday afternoon with a key. “We used to keep the front gate locked all the time but I guess Dad got out of the habit,” Michael said. “I’m gonna start keeping it locked while I’m at work.”
“Okay.” Josiah added it to his meager key ring, which only had his car key and the trailer key. “What if someone stops by with a package or something?”
“There’s a bell you can definitely hear from inside the house. Dad put the sign in the barn somewhere, so finding it is my next mission. I don’t suppose you want to help me dig around in old tools, dust, and spiders?”
Despite his dislike of spiders, Josiah had yet to get a good look inside the big barn, and he was curious. Glances in from the driveway only gave him a small view of a riding lawn mower and what looked like a wooden door of some sort. “Um, I guess so.”
“Cool.”
“One sec.” Josiah put on his sneakers, then joined Michael outside. The day was slightly overcast but no call for rain. Just clouds and the occasional gust of wind.
The barn was two stories, and he imagined the top was the hayloft, like in most barns Josiah had seen around these parts. The upper hayloft door still had a wood post and pulley attached above it, likely for hauling up bales of hay in the old days. As they went inside, he could see the way the place had once been divided into stalls up front, likely for horses. Various pieces of equipment lined the walls, and many of the stall doors were missing. A lot of the stalls were filled with what Josiah would generously call junk: twisted hunks of metal, plastic five-gallon buckets, parts of old bicycles, and any manner of detritus he couldn’t describe without examining it further.
A lot of it was covered in a thin layer of brown dust, with the occasional streak that suggested someone had touched it somewhat recently. Likely Elmer in the weeks before his stroke, since Michael hadn’t been in town, and he couldn’t imagine anyone else skulking around the barn.
“Does your dad ever sell any of his stuff?” Josiah asked. “This stuff, or his finished art?”
“Sometimes.” Michael toed at a stack of rusty rotary saw blades sitting in the dirt outside a stall. “We’ve had pickers stop by over the years because they see the stuff along the front fence. Sometimes Dad will sell from the barn, but it’s tough because he’s got an idea for everything. Always has. But he will occasionally sell his finished art if he believes the person buying it truly appreciates it.”
“Sounds like a real artist. Only selling to those who love it.”
“Yeah. He even agreed to set up a small booth at the Founder’s Day Picnic this year. Said he made things all summer to sell to the locals.”
“Wow, really? That’s amazing.”
“Yeah. Not sure who convinced him it was a good idea, but apparently he said yes.” Michael poked his head into a stall and shone a flashlight around. This one was full of cobwebs, what looked like stacks of blankets or grain sacks, and not much more. “His workshop is farther in the back, so if he’s got a stash of finished things for the picnic, it will be back there.”
He followed Michael deeper into the barn, which was lit by a scattering of exposed bulbs on the ceiling. The atmosphere was incredibly creepy in a slasher film kind of way, but Michael’s calm, stoic presence kept Josiah’s imagination at bay. “So did Elmer do this collecting and art making and selling when you still lived here?”
“Not the selling, but the other stuff. He’s collected junk my whole life, and he told me about selling the other night while we were watching some random antique show on TV. I was impressed he got rid of anything and that he was doing the picnic. Said if anyone stopped by interested in buying stuff to make sure I went through him before making any sales.”
Josiah laughed, then sneezed twice in a row thanks to the grime. “Sounds like him. We’re looking for a sign, right?”
“Yep. I asked Dad where he thought he put it, but all he could remember was one of the stalls.”
“That doesn’t really narrow things down.”
“Nope. Especially if he buried it under more junk. If nothing else, I’m sure I can find a piece of plywood or something to paint on. We’ll just lean it against the fence near the bell.”
We?
Michael poked around in a few more stalls but seemed as reluctant to really dig as Josiah was. Not that Josiah was afraid of a little dirt, but the stale, slightly musty air was getting to his lungs. His eyes stung a bit and his nose was watering. Finally, they passed all the stalls and moved into a more open area with a ceiling that went straight up through the second floor to the actual A-frame roof. A ladder on the wall went up the hayloft. The rest of the space was full of different kinds of equipment, some covered in tarps so Josiah couldn’t identify them. But he did recognize a blowtorch and welder’s mask resting on an uncovered table. All around them were more piles of things and what looked like partially finished projects.
“Is welding in here a good idea?” Josiah asked. “I don’t know anything about it except that it takes flames and shoots sparks.”
“Dad usually welds up by the front barn doors. I dragged this back here about a week and a half ago, since I knew he wouldn’t be using it for a while. Didn’t want anyone to see it from the road and get big ideas about stealing it.”
“Got it.” He gazed around the cavernous space, grateful it was a tad easier to breathe in here. A few windows dotted each wall and they looked clean enough to have been opened recently. “Is this where you kept the cattle?”
