sure.”
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”
Danny hung up the phone and stared out the window. Their backyard stretched back about fifteen yards before the tree line. Green leaves shimmered as the breeze blew through them, branches bobbing and bowing. Danny loved the sound leaves made. He believed it was the most peaceful sound in the world, even better than music. It was like the trees whispered. Danny was a person who valued peace. Ever since he was little, he struggled with random panic attacks. Little things never seemed very little, and during the night when he couldn’t run from his thoughts, all those small problems built on each other like Lego pieces until he cowered in fear that they would collapse and crush him. The anxiety peaked during his second year of med school. He would get rashes and the skin on his hands cracked. That was when he dropped out and eloped with Miranda, giving up on his father’s dreams of having a doctor in the family. When Danny got up the courage to tell his dad what he had done, his father listened earnestly and then embraced his son.
“You did what you thought was best. I just want you to be happy, son. I believe in you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
Knowing his father was proud of him no matter what reduced Danny’s anxiety ten-fold. He still took the meds, but only during particularly frustrating design projects, like when the client couldn’t make up their mind about anything or kept sending the design back with ridiculous requests. The charter school people seemed like folks who might be just those types. Danny opened his work site and fiddled around with colors for a few minutes, but he was not in the mood. He would come back to it. Danny stood and stretched. When he went back out the living room, he saw Marty crossing the street towards the house. His neighbor stopped to say something to the twins. Danny opened the door and called out to him.
“Hey, Marty!” Danny said, raising his hand in greeting. “What brings you over?”
“I got the wrong kind of flour in the store,” Marty admitted, indicating the paper bag in his arms. “The girls are going gluten-free now. I was wondering if you wanted to trade Miranda’s mix for what I got.”
Marty lifted the bag to show Danny. Miranda was known for her cooking and baking skills, and had recently been selling her homemade gluten-free flour mixes, vanilla extracts, granolas, and whatever else she concocted. It was a great source of income as well as healthier stockpile options than what they could get in the stores. Danny took the flour bag from Marty and examined it.
“Whole-wheat,” he said. “And a good brand.”
“Yeah. And I can’t return it ‘cause Val opened it. I didn’t want to just toss it. Is it something you would like? Could use?”
“For sure. For a trade, I won’t be able to give you the same amount in Miranda’s mix, ‘cause it costs more to make it and she doesn’t have a ton.”
“Right, that’s ok.”
“How does six loaves’ worth sound?”
“Sounds good.”
Danny led the way and the two men went into Danny’s stockpile room. One of the rules of prepping was to never let non-family members see your stockpile, but Marty was like a brother to Danny. They had been neighbors since they were both newlyweds, and had been there when the others’ children were born. Danny was Harper’s godfather, and Marty’s 26-year-old sister Tammy (who lived with Marty and Valerie) often babysat the boys. Danny knew he could trust Marty with his life.
“Your stockpile is looking real good,” Marty remarked as they stood in the
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”
Danny hung up the phone and stared out the window. Their backyard stretched back about fifteen yards before the tree line. Green leaves shimmered as the breeze blew through them, branches bobbing and bowing. Danny loved the sound leaves made. He believed it was the most peaceful sound in the world, even better than music. It was like the trees whispered. Danny was a person who valued peace. Ever since he was little, he struggled with random panic attacks. Little things never seemed very little, and during the night when he couldn’t run from his thoughts, all those small problems built on each other like Lego pieces until he cowered in fear that they would collapse and crush him. The anxiety peaked during his second year of med school. He would get rashes and the skin on his hands cracked. That was when he dropped out and eloped with Miranda, giving up on his father’s dreams of having a doctor in the family. When Danny got up the courage to tell his dad what he had done, his father listened earnestly and then embraced his son.
“You did what you thought was best. I just want you to be happy, son. I believe in you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
Knowing his father was proud of him no matter what reduced Danny’s anxiety ten-fold. He still took the meds, but only during particularly frustrating design projects, like when the client couldn’t make up their mind about anything or kept sending the design back with ridiculous requests. The charter school people seemed like folks who might be just those types. Danny opened his work site and fiddled around with colors for a few minutes, but he was not in the mood. He would come back to it. Danny stood and stretched. When he went back out the living room, he saw Marty crossing the street towards the house. His neighbor stopped to say something to the twins. Danny opened the door and called out to him.
“Hey, Marty!” Danny said, raising his hand in greeting. “What brings you over?”
“I got the wrong kind of flour in the store,” Marty admitted, indicating the paper bag in his arms. “The girls are going gluten-free now. I was wondering if you wanted to trade Miranda’s mix for what I got.”
Marty lifted the bag to show Danny. Miranda was known for her cooking and baking skills, and had recently been selling her homemade gluten-free flour mixes, vanilla extracts, granolas, and whatever else she concocted. It was a great source of income as well as healthier stockpile options than what they could get in the stores. Danny took the flour bag from Marty and examined it.
“Whole-wheat,” he said. “And a good brand.”
“Yeah. And I can’t return it ‘cause Val opened it. I didn’t want to just toss it. Is it something you would like? Could use?”
“For sure. For a trade, I won’t be able to give you the same amount in Miranda’s mix, ‘cause it costs more to make it and she doesn’t have a ton.”
“Right, that’s ok.”
“How does six loaves’ worth sound?”
“Sounds good.”
Danny led the way and the two men went into Danny’s stockpile room. One of the rules of prepping was to never let non-family members see your stockpile, but Marty was like a brother to Danny. They had been neighbors since they were both newlyweds, and had been there when the others’ children were born. Danny was Harper’s godfather, and Marty’s 26-year-old sister Tammy (who lived with Marty and Valerie) often babysat the boys. Danny knew he could trust Marty with his life.
“Your stockpile is looking real good,” Marty remarked as they stood in the
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