The fish Bobby hoped to catch and cook had not materialized, so Joe was toasting a grilled-cheese sandwich. He was also worrying about Rachel. Her obsession with Carl Bateman was affecting everything.
He wondered whether things might have been different had she gotten professional help when she was a child. There were counselors who specialized in children who had seen traumatic events. It was a specific skill, one he knew neither Bertha nor her sisters possessed. They had done what they could, loving well the child they had been given. They had managed to raise up a woman with integrity, compassion, and a strong work ethic. Considering what he’d witnessed in the hospital, they had also raised a woman who had way more demons than he’d imagined.
He wished it were possible to go back and reach the child that she had been, but it was too late for that. All Joe could do was love her and try to be patient and sympathetic with what he saw as paranoid behavior. With Rachel, of course, her paranoia took the form of aggression. It wasn’t in her nature to be passive. She had already asked the Millersburg police to keep a close eye on Carl and to let her know if there was any hint of illegal activity.
So far, the only thing they could report was that Carl sometimes smoked during the evenings on the steps of the church and had recently taken in an abandoned German shepherd mix.
Rachel had seen both of these activities in the light of suspicious behavior and mentioned it frequently to Joe. Smoking on the church steps? He was probably considering his next crime. A German shepherd mix? She had discovered he had trained dogs in prison. Perhaps Carl was training this one to be an attack dog. He would certainly have the skills.
It seemed to Joe that Carl had become the main focus of Rachel’s life instead of him and Bobby. He was sick to death of hearing the man’s name. At least she had sense enough not to talk about it in front of their son. But when they were alone in bed at night, he often fell asleep with her still musing aloud about what Carl might be doing.
At least she hadn’t tried to go back to the church and confront him. That she did so even once worried him, because he really didn’t know who Carl was or what he was capable of. It felt to him as though Rachel was poking a hornet’s nest. If she pushed this man too far, bad things could happen.
How Joe wished she would get over it and be able to relax and enjoy the process of nurturing a new life. It was such a miraculous time, and he wanted to enjoy it with her—not fret and fume together over an old ex-convict.
He loved her more than anyone or anything on this planet—with the exception of Bobby. He had felt as if their souls were knit together. Therefore, it was especially annoying to him that he experienced so much impatience with her inability to let go of the anger.
He had always tried to fix the things that went wrong—at least those things within his power—and he was now frustrated by his inability to change this situation. All he could do was hope and pray that his brilliant and beautiful wife would soon figure out a way to live on the same planet as Carl Bateman. And hopefully she could do so without another emergency trip to the hospital.
That was one of his greatest concerns. He feared she would simply “go away” again. Stress-induced amnesia… It was so antithetical to Rachel’s strength of character that it was hard to imagine the depth of trauma still within her.
The ER doctor wanted Joe to make sure she saw a counselor. Rachel tossed that idea aside the minute he mentioned it. No need to see a shrink, she said, when she felt fine. There was way too much to do to bother with that sort of thing.
He’d not brought it up again, but it continually niggled at the back of his mind that she was making a mistake in not going. As he waited for Bobby’s grilled cheese to finish browning, he glanced out the window…and was surprised to see his brother coming up the sidewalk. The last thing he’d expected was Darren showing up again so soon.
Joe loved his little brother, but he didn’t enjoy him. There seemed to be a hole inside Darren that couldn’t be filled, no matter how much he attempted to impress people with boasts about his accomplishments.
As Darren entered the house, he was swaggering with confidence and wearing an expensive dark suit and a colorful tie. It was not a good sign. Darren had probably just made another “great business deal” he wanted to tell Joe about. Of course whatever it was would soon fall flat. That was how Darren lived. He would then expect his big brother to bail him out of whatever difficulties he’d gotten himself into. Evidently Darren had not remembered that Joe no longer had the financial wherewithal to pick up the pieces.
“I thought you might have gone back to Atlanta,” Joe said. “Isn’t that where you’ve been living recently?”
“Not anymore,” Darren said. “I’ve moved for good.”
Joe wasn’t surprised or even particularly interested. His little brother had always been a nomad. Months would pass when Joe wouldn’t hear from him, and then Darren would pop up in some new city. There was a restlessness to Darren’s lifestyle. He would stay in a place until a deal fell through or the cops began to suspect that his latest dealings were a little shady or a girlfriend started pushing for marriage or maybe because he simply wanted a change of scenery. Joe also suspected sometimes that Darren moved for no other reason than he was short on cash and the rent was due.
“Aren’t you going to ask where I’ve moved to?”
“You aren’t staying at Dad’s?” Joe turned off the flame beneath the skillet. ‘“Not after today.”
“So, where have you moved?”
“I leased an apartment in Sugarcreek today.”
“Where?”
“It’s upstairs over an old commercial building on Main Street.”
Joe couldn’t figure out why Darren seemed so pleased with himself. “I thought you were broke.”
“I am,” Darren said cheerfully.
Joe’s heart sank. His brother never took his situation in life seriously. He slid Bobby’s sandwich onto a plate decorated with cartoon figures. “Do you have any plans? I really can’t help you this time, Darren. I honestly don’t have any money to give you these days.”
“That’s okay,” Darren said. “I thought I’d go into business with you instead.”
“Me?”
“Yep. Hey, you think you could make one of those grilled-cheese sandwiches for me? It looks good.”
Joe handed the one he’d just made to his brother and began buttering a fresh one for his son.
“What do you mean, go into business with me? That’s crazy talk.”
“Actually, I thought I’d be the one funding you this time. At least for a little while.”
“Get serious, Darren. What are you talking about?” Joe didn’t know what was coming next, but he was certain he wouldn’t like it.
Darren polished off the grilled cheese in four bites, wiped his hands and mouth on the paper napkin Joe handed him, and then took out his cell phone and pulled up a photograph, which he showed Joe.
“I rented this,” Darren said. “It’s so close you can walk to it, and I’ll be living there.”
With spatula in hand, Joe glanced at the photo. To his astonishment, it was a picture of a storefront in downtown Sugarcreek where a small restaurant had once operated. It had stood empty for months.
“You rented this?” Joe asked. “Why? And with what?”
“I sold my Lamborghini.”
“You sold your car? What are you driving?” Joe asked.
“I’ll walk until we get on our feet.”
Darren without a nice car was unimaginable. His brother always managed to drive an impressive vehicle even when he was flat broke.
“I have a great name for the place,” Darren said. “We’ll call it ‘Miracle Micah’s Home Plate’!”
“First of all, please drop the ‘Miracle Micah.’ Around here, I’m Joe. What on earth have you done, Darren?”
“My car bought us six months of rent and all the used restaurant equipment the old owner left behind,” Darren said. “Ta-da! Joe’s Home Plate! Don’t you remember our last discussion? Mom’s recipes? Joe’s Home Run Burger. Joe’s Slider. Joe’s Fastball? We had it all planned out. The only thing we needed was money, and I found some. The upstairs apartment was part of the deal. You know, I’ve always wanted to be the kind of business owner who lived above the shop.”
“You’ve always wanted to be the kind of business owner who made millions of dollars without having to work for it,” Joe said.
“Well, yes,” Darren agreed. “But next to that, living above the shop sounds like a lot of fun.”
“You actually sold your car?” Joe said. “To rent a restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“But you loved that car.”
“Yes,” Darren said, “but I love you more.”
Joe stood still at the stove, watching the second grilled cheese fry. His little brother had been the bane of his life when he was a teenager—the polar opposite of himself. Clumsy. No athletic ability. A bit of a momma’s boy. He’d followed Joe around like a puppy for most of his young life. Joe had not minded giving Darren the occasional infusion of money in the past because it kept Darren out of his hair. Now his brother was wanting to—what? Go into business together? Run a restaurant together?
“This is crazy,” Joe said. “I know how to fry a decent hamburger, but I don’t know anything about running a restaurant, and neither do you. Can you get your money back?”
“Look,” Darren said, “I know I’m not as smart as you, and I know I haven’t been a big success in business…yet. But this is a good idea. I can feel it deep down in my bones. I’ve got it all figured out. You can display your trophies and awards and put up old photos of yourself, and I’ll take care of advertisements, and…”
“But we need to actually manage to cook something that people will want to eat!”
“That’s the easy part,” Darren said. “First of all, this place is dying for a good burger. Even the tourists who come here must get tired of eating mashed potatoes and noodles after a while. The location is perfect—all those people walking around and looking at the World’s Largest Cuckoo Clock? We’re almost right across the street from it, Micah. We can rig a fan to blow the smell of frying meat and onions across Main Street, and they’ll follow their noses.”
“Let me say this again,” Joe said. “We know nothing about running a restaurant. We’d have to hire staff. How would we pay them?”
“We’ve got me and you,” Darren said. “Rachel would pitch in when she could. I bet Lydia would provide the desserts. Customers would crowd in just for her pies alone. You’ve got family, Micah. And friends. You told me once that that was the genius behind so many of the business successes of the Amish—they can depend on their families and friends to help out. Won’t you at least give it a try?”
Darren’s voice had become choked with emotion as he tried to convince him of the merit of this ridiculous idea.
“Joe’s Home Plate.” Joe had to admit, the name had a nice ring.
“Just think about it,” Darren said. “What do you have to lose? It’s my money we’re gambling with for a change. Who knows? Maybe after all the deals I’ve had go bad, it’s time for something to actually work out for me. I’d like to at least try.”
“Bobby!” Joe slid the second grilled-cheese sandwich onto a plate and sat it on the table. “Come eat your lunch!”
Darren watched him carefully, waiting for an answer.
The idea had been running through Joe’s mind ever since that first night Darren brought it up. And even though he knew it was crazy, he had continued to think about it.
“I should have my head examined,” Joe said. “And I know I’m going to regret this…but I’ll give it a try. You’d just better not run out on me when things get tough. Running a restaurant is hard work.”
“I won’t run out on you!” Darren jumped up, grabbed his brother by the arms, and began dancing him around the kitchen.
Bobby’s eyes grew wide when he came into the kitchen and saw his uncle’s excitement. “What are you doing with my daddy, Uncle Darren?”
“Let go.” Joe disengaged himself. “You’re scaring my son.”
“We’re going to have a family business, Bobby!” Darren whooped. “It’s finally going to happen. I’ve dreamed of something like this forever. I’m finally going to get to work with my brother!”
“Um…can I have a peanut-butter sandwich?”