Life was much easier when you could blend in with the crowd—which didn’t take as much effort in a city of millions. She steered the subject away from her own upbringing and back to Andie. “I gather you’re not involved with the goat farm anymore?”
“Nah, it’s my brother’s thing,” Andie said. “He was happy to take over after our parents retired, and I was happy to let him have it. The goats have to be milked every twelve hours, so you’re basically married to the farm. You can’t ever go on vacations or take a day off. I’d lose my mind if I had to live like that.”
It sounded awful. Mia could understand why Andie had wanted something else for herself. “But your brother doesn’t mind it?” Mia couldn’t resist asking about him. He’d been on her mind ever since their last encounter. She was dying to know more about him.
“No, he does not.” Andie shot Mia an appraising look. “I don’t know how much you actually talked to him, but Josh is sort of a recluse.”
“Really? We only chatted for a few minutes, but he seemed normal to me.” Both times she’d talked to him, in fact. Friendly, even. He certainly hadn’t struck Mia as antisocial.
Andie’s eyebrows shot up. “My brother chatted with you? For a few minutes—as in more than one? That’s impressive.”
“I sort of bumped into him,” Mia explained. “Like literally, in Birdie’s yard. Crashed might be a better word. There was a spider in my apartment and…” Once again Mia skipped over the part about being half naked. “And I’d hit my head and was bleeding, so Josh offered to get me a Band-Aid while Birdie went to save the spider and…” She trailed off, reddening as she noticed the look of amusement on Andie’s face. “Anyway, he seemed nice.”
“He is nice.” Andie said. “He’s just—” She hesitated, and Mia got the impression she was choosing her words carefully. “I think he likes being tied to the farm a little too much. When he came back from college, he—” Andie pressed her lips together and shook her head. “He sort of threw himself into it, to the exclusion of everything else. And he had a good reason, I guess, but now I think he uses the farm as an excuse. He avoids going into town and doesn’t have any kind of social life. The guy talks to his goats more than he talks to real, actual humans.”
“That sounds like a lonely life.”
“That’s what I keep telling him, but what do I know? I’m just his little sister.” Andie glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Shoot, is that the time? I’ve got to get back to work.” She got to her feet and chucked her empty cup at the trash.
Mia knocked back the last few drops of her latte and followed Andie to the door. “It was really nice talking to you.”
Andie threw a smile over her shoulder as they stepped outside into the sunlight. “We should go out for a drink or something. I can introduce you to the highlights of Crowder nightlife—such as it is.”
“I’d really like that,” Mia said.
“Dope. I’ll get your number from my aunt.” Andie waved goodbye as she headed for the parking lot. “See ya!”
Mia watched her go, feeling more optimistic about her one-year sentence in Crowder.
And more intrigued than ever about the reclusive Josh.
Chapter Seven
On Friday, after an interminable week of deadly dull orientation sessions and tedious faculty meetings, Mia came home to find a jar of pickled okra sitting by her door with a note taped to it.
If you’re free, come for dinner Saturday night at 6:00. I’m making my famous chicken fried steak.
—Birdie
Mia carried the okra inside and set it next to the three unopened jars already in her pantry, which was beginning to look like it belonged to one of those end-of-the-world preppers. At least she’d be well supplied with spicy okra in the event of a food shortage.
After maneuvering her bra off through her sleeve and tossing it onto her bed, she poured a glass of wine and made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner. While she ate it, she thought about the really good Hawaiian place she used to order from back in Los Angeles, and how much she missed their kettle corn.
She was halfway through her sandwich when Birdie called. Mia still had her listed as “Helen Fishbaugh” in her contacts, and she made a mental note to update it.
“Did