There's a thing my family likes to call a 'Pennsylvania goodbye,' though no one else in the Commonwealth has ever heard of it, so it must only pertain to us. The definition of a Pennsylvania goodbye is as follows:
There isn't one.
Uncle Blake is the first to announce he's leaving, but by the time his clan actually exits the house, it's been over an hour since he made the statement. A little after that, Grandpa Mason has to toss his wife over his shoulder, stopping her mid-sentence while talking to Great Aunt Stephanie.
At the beginning of these events, we all act like we'd rather be anywhere else. We have better things to do—companies to run, planes to catch, games to practice for—but by the end of the night, our true colors are revealed. Dinner turns into dessert, one conversation bleeds into the next, and some of us have to be forcibly removed from the premises.
Payton and Grace are the last to leave, their expressions forlorn, as they'll be catching a redeye back to New Orleans for training season. I made fun of Uncle P about retiring, but apart from Grace, I'm the only one who knows the truth. This will be Payton Arlington's last season playing in the NFL. He hopes to win another Super Bowl, so he'll have a ring for each finger.
With the house empty of extended relatives, Mom and Dad begin the cleanup process in the kitchen. Freya lends a helping hand, then disappears to her bedroom to gossip on the phone with her friend. Arabella hasn't been seen since she finished her cherry pie, but that's typical for her. She's probably huddled on the beanbag in her room, reading a book. Kendall and River are cuddling on the couch, reviewing the Formula One schedule for autumn. In September alone, River will be racing in Italy, Singapore, and Abu Dhabi. Kendall is due the first of October, so my brother-in-law's calm exterior is beginning to crack.
Speaking of brothers...
"I miss my brother," I state, following Brooklyn onto the porch.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The night is dark and warm, without so much as a sporadic breeze to offer relief from the heat. There's a new moon, and the stars are blocked by a thick layer of clouds. Without the lights to guide our path, I wouldn't know up from down.
"Sean, right?" Brooklyn asks, taking my hand. He kisses the back of it, then swings our arms as we walk around the house. "He's an underwater welder. That's a dangerous job."
"They have the highest fatality rate of any occupation," I confirm, a chill skating down my spine. "He mainly works in the North Sea, which is a hazard in and of itself. Most deep-sea welders only labor for one season each year. Sean is supposed to take the winter months off, but instead, he transfers to the Gulf of Mexico."
Brooklyn pauses for a moment to process my words, then asks, "Does he do it for the money?"
"Well, he does earn over a hundred dollars an hour," I muse, slowing our pace as we approach the rental car. "But I think Sean likes the anonymity. On those oil rigs, no one cares what his last name is. No one questions him about his family. The people he meets and the friends he makes stick around because they like him. They're not seeking an inside scoop."
