twelve years earlier
Charlie’s jalopy was wrapped around a tree, steam rising from its busted radiator, driver’s door hanging open. His chainsaw was sitting in a snowbank. Joseph whistled through his teeth, but he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even get out of his own truck, a newer red Dodge four-wheel-drive diesel, to investigate. Palming the wheel, he turned around expertly, reversing so the rear bumpers of the two trucks were close. Joseph had a tow bar and winch assembly; once it was detached from the tree, he could tow Chuck’s manual-transmission beater back to the farm. Slinging the chainsaw in beside his own tools, he set about hooking up the winch to the smashed vehicle. The hood of Charlie’s truck yawned obscenely, displaying a tired, crusty engine.
Each of Joseph’s exhales linge
