“I missed the funeral,” he said. “Dad’s. I was in a yurt in Montana, trying to communicate with mushrooms. When I came out, three months had passed. Three months, Jonah. Like water through a sieve.”
“The car’s out front,” I said. “It’s sensible. It has working seatbelts and a cup holder.” o 39-brother where art thou
“There is no ‘where art thou,’” he said. “You’re just here. Or you’re not. And I’m sorry I wasn’t. But I am now.” “I missed the funeral,” he said
The last time I saw my brother, Leo, he was standing on the roof of our father’s bait shop, wearing a tweed jacket and a pair of pink swimming goggles. When I came out, three months had passed
“You wrote ‘O’Brother’ with a capital O and an apostrophe,” I said, sliding into the booth. “That’s not how the title goes.”
Then, after a year, nothing.