“No IRS, Jonathan.”
“Just a little trouble, and I took care of it.”
Rock shook his head and immediately asked, “Where’s Clark?
How is he?”
“Right here.”
Martha turned toward the back seat of the pickup and carefully helped out a frail figure.
Clark’s face was still pale, but a hint of life had returned to his blue eyes.
Wrapped in Martha’s plaid shawl, he was still a bit unsteady on his feet, but he insisted on standing on his own.
“Uncle Rock…” Clark’s voice was much softer than usual.
“I’m sorry, I…”
“Silly kid.”
Rock stepped forward with Dio in his arms and pulled Clark into the embrace as well.
He could feel the boy’s thin frame trembling slightly, like a stalk of wheat swaying in the wind.
Perhaps he had learned about his future from Giorno, or perhaps he felt like a burden tonight…
In short…
“It’s not your fault,” Rock said gently.
“It’s not anyone’s fault.”
“As long as everyone’s okay.”
Wiping the corner of her eyes, Martha suddenly noticed a cigarette butt on the ground.
Rock didn’t smoke.
“Is this…?”
“A wolf,” Rock said offhandedly, crushing it under the toe of his boot.
“He helped clean up the mess.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but when he caught his wife’s warning look, he wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.
Besides, his younger brother already had enough secrets.
The night wind swept through the ruins, kicking up a few charred barn planks.
“Let’s go.” Rock placed one hand on Dio’s shoulder and supported Clark with the other.
“We can still grab a late-night snack back home.”
“Oh no!” Martha suddenly gasped.
“Good heavens!
My blueberry pie is still in the oven!”
In the kitchen, the sweet aroma of blueberry pie filled the air, with used dishes cluttering the dining table.
Dio leaned back in his chair with a satisfied look, a speck of jam still stuck to the corner of his mouth, while Clark slowly sipped Martha’s special hot cocoa, his face considerably rosier than when he had arrived.
“It’s getting late.”
Rock stood up and put on Jonathan’s cowboy hat, its brim casting a shadow in the light.
“Dio.”
Pouting, Dio slid sluggishly off his chair, casually slipping the last cookie into his pocket.
Watching Dio’s movements, a hint of hesitation flashed in Clark’s blue eyes.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but lowered his head again, his fingers mindlessly twisting the tassels of the shawl.
*Hmm…*
Naturally, such behavior couldn’t escape Martha.
She wiped her hands and pulled another blueberry pie wrapped in aluminum foil from the oven.
“Rock, wait.”
“Sweetheart, is there something you want to say?”
The tips of Clark’s ears instantly turned red.
He stole a quick glance at Dio and Rock, his voice as quiet as a mosquito’s buzz.
“I…
I want to…”
“Why don’t you let Clark go over to your place tonight too?” Martha suddenly looked up at Rock, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“Isn’t he supposed to inspect the wheat fields with you tomorrow anyway?”
Jonathan, who was drinking coffee, nearly choked.
“Wait, honey, Clark just—”
Met with a sharp glare from his wife, Jonathan instantly swallowed the rest of his words, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the night sky outside the window.
“Can I really?” Clark’s eyes lit up all at once, but then dimmed just as quickly.
“But my body…”
“Cut the crap,” Dio interrupted suddenly, his red eyes flashing with impatience under the light.
“If you’re coming, hurry up.
Stop dawdling.”
Looking at the two boys, the corners of Rock’s mouth curled up involuntarily.
He reached out and ruffled Clark’s hair.
“Your mom’s right.
The three of us still have work tomorrow, and it’s about time you got some sun anyway.”
“Yay!” Clark cheered, almost jumping out of his chair, only to lose his footing and nearly tumble to the floor.
Martha quickly caught him, shaking her head in a mix of distress and amusement.
“Be careful, son,” Jonathan finally couldn’t help saying, his rough hand patting Clark’s shoulder.
“Remember to listen to Uncle Rock.”
“I will!” Clark nodded forcefully, his curls bouncing with the motion.
He turned and wrapped Martha in a tight hug.
“Thank you, Mom!”
Martha’s eyes turned slightly red.
She kissed Clark’s forehead and said, “You three remember to come over for pancakes tomorrow morning.”
Leaving with the two children, Rock held Dio’s hand with one and Clark’s with the other.
Their three shadows stretched longer and longer along the country lane.
Dio awkwardly tried to shake off his father’s hand, but it was held all the tighter.
Clark, on the other side, bounced along as he was led, occasionally pointing up at the stars in the night sky and gasping in wonder.
“Dio, look!
That’s the Big Dipper!”
“Idiot, that’s Cassiopeia.”
“Huh?
But clearly…”
Listening to the boys’ childish bickering, Rock looked up at the star-filled sky after the rain.
The Milky Way spanned across the heavens, countless stars quietly shimmering.
In some invisible dimension, perhaps countless parallel The World were running simultaneously—
In one The World, Clark became a tyrant; in another, Dio fell into darkness…
But right now, on this ordinary Kansas night, he was just a regular farmer walking two kids home.
“Pick up the pace, boys,” Rock squeezed their hands tighter.
“There’s still half a tub of ice cream waiting back home.”
“I want chocolate!”
“Pineapple is king, idiot Clark!”
The night wind carried the boys’ cheerful squabbling, startling an owl napping on the fence.
It flapped its wings and flew toward the moon, leaving only three figures on the ground, gradually fading at the end of the farm lane.
And behind them…
The lights of the Kent house shone softly, like a star that would never go out.
Standing by the window, Martha’s fingers absentmindedly traced the folds of the curtain, just as Clark had played with the tassels moments ago.
Moonlight passed through the glass, casting dappled light and shadow across her weary face.
In the distance, the beam of Rock and the kids’ flashlight had shrunk to a tiny speck of light at the end of the wheat field.
“Sigh…”
The sigh was almost inaudible, but it made Jonathan, who was clearing the table, stop in his tracks.
He set down the soapy dish, wiped his rough hands on his apron, and walked over behind his wife.
“The boys are growing up, honey.” Jonathan placed a broad, warm palm gently on Martha’s shoulder.
“They’re bound to have their own secrets.”
“But…” Martha turned around, her blue eyes brimming with worry.
“Rock keeps everything bottled up inside.” Her fingers tightened around her apron.
“Just like when he suddenly left town back then, and then suddenly came back.”
“He just doesn’t want us to worry, honey.
We need to trust him.”
Jonathan picked up the picture frame on the table.
Inside was a family photo taken during last year’s Harvest Festival—
Rock stood in the middle, pressing down on the heads of the two squabbling boys on either side, his smile even brighter than the sunlight behind them.
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Taking the frame, Martha gently ran her fingertips over the three children in the photo.
“But he’s always like this…”
“Leaving alone, coming back alone.”
“You know, we watched him grow up too.
How old was Rock when I married you?
Twelve, right?”
“Which means he’s stronger than we think.”
Jonathan wrapped his arms around his wife from behind, resting his chin on top of her head.
“Don’t worry.”
“We’re all Kents.
Trust between family doesn’t need many words.”
“That’s enough.”
The wind chimes outside the window clinked softly, and Jonathan looked out into the night.
A scene from memory rose in his mind—
On that rainy afternoon twenty-one years ago.
Not long after he was newly married, he welcomed Rock, who had fled here because his uncle was an abusive alcoholic.
The twelve-year-old boy had appeared at the farm entrance dragging a suitcase, soaked to the bone yet without saying a single word.
Like a lone wolf driven out of the pack…
A lone wolf.