Wendy calls Joe

Wendy called Joe to tell him that she was grounded and that her mama knows about last night at the farm house. Joe I want be able to see you for a while. “Why Joe ask her mama found out about last night. What you mean she found out? She asked why I was late coming home last night, and we got up talking and one thing lead to another and I told her about me you having sex and losing our virginity’s to each other. Now why would you do that? It’s not like I meant to, but I was not going lie to my mama Joe. I wouldn’t want to lie to her either.

"Damn, I was wanting to see you tonight," Joe groaned, kicking at the dirt beneath his boot . The phone felt hot against his ear as he paced the length of his on truck. He could hear Wendy sniffling on the other end, the muffled sound of her wiping her nose with her sleeve. The clock on his old trucks radio showed 12:05 p.m. he was helping his Daddy out the shop today.

Joe's grip tightened on the phone, his knuckles whitening as the memory of last night flashed through his mind—the way Wendy’s hands had trembled against his chest, the smell of hay mixing with her strawberry shampoo, the way she’d whispered his name like a prayer. His throat went dry.

"I know," he muttered, voice rough. The shop’s tin roof creaked under the noon sun, and he could hear his daddy’s wrench clanking against metal in the background. Wendy’s breath hitched over the line, soft and shaky, and he pictured her curled up on her bed, phone pressed to her ear, knees drawn to her chest like she did when she was upset.

Joe asked Wendy is your mama going to tell your daddy? Wendy said no that it was going to stay between me and her.

Joe let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. The phone crackled between them, carrying the weight of everything unsaid.

"Okay," he murmured, leaning back against the truck’s fender, the sun-warmed metal pressing into his spine. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

Wendy was quiet for a long moment, the only assound her uneven breathing—like she ywas holding back tears. Then, softly: "Joe?"

"Yeah?" His thumb traced the edge of his belt loop, rough denim catching on his calloused skin.

She hesitated.

Joe could hear her swallow hard over the line, the way she always did before saying something that scared her. A crow cawed somewhere behind the shop, sharp and sudden, and the wrench clanking stopped—his daddy must’ve stepped inside for a drink.

"I just…" Wendy’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "I don’t want you to be mad."

Joe exhaled through his nose, watching a dust mote swirl in the sunlight slanting through the shop door. His boot scuffed against the gravel, sending a pebble skittering. "Ain’t mad," he said, softer than he meant to.

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of cicadas and the creak of the shop’s rusted weathervane turning in the breeze. Then, so quiet he almost missed it:

"I love you, Joe."

The words hit him like a punch to the ribs.Joe’s breath caught in his chest, the words hanging between them like the dust motes suspended in the late morning heat. His thumb stilled against his belt loop, the rough denim suddenly all he could focus on. The shop’s screen door whined faintly as his daddy moved inside, the sound distant, unimportant.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the crackle of the phone line and the hammer of his pulse in his ears. Then, his voice came out low, rough with something deeper than the Carolina heat scraping his throat.

"Love you too, Wendy."

The admission left his ribs aching, like he’d been holding the words in too long.

When will I get to see you again? Wendy says I don’t know but when I do you will know. Joe swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling in his chest like a stone. He could hear the tremble in her voice—that same shaky breath she took before jumping off the Miller’s rope swing into the creek last summer. His fingers curled tighter around the phone.

"Alright," he said, voice rougher than the gravel under his boots. "But you call me soon as you know, hear?" A quiet sniffle, then a whisper: "Promise."

The shop’s screen door banged shut behind him, his daddy’s shadow stretching long across the oil-stained concrete. Joe turned his back, lowering his voice. "Your mama… she say how long?"

The screen door banged again as Joe’s daddy called out, "Boy, supper’s on!" The smell of fried chicken and collards drifted through the humid air, mixing with the scent of motor oil. Joe shifted his weight, kicking at a loose bolt on the ground.

"Gotta go," he muttered into the phone, voice thick. "Your mama ain’t… she ain’t gonna keep you from me forever, alright?"

Wendy’s breath was shaky. "I know."He could picture her chewing her bottom lip, the way she did when she was trying not to cry.