Charlie was quiet for much of the trip; he spoke little, and even when he did, his voice was low and distant. He spent most of his time brooding while I took to staring, dumbfounded, out of the window. The clouds were like shimmering balls of cotton; the sun seemed ten-times brighter up there, and the streets and vistas of the world below seemed too fantastic to be real.
“Why can’t you just enjoy the trip, Charlie?” I asked him.
He shrugged, “I miss my home,”
“I don’t miss mine at all,” I admitted to him, “Nevada sound much more exciting.”
“I guess,”
“Is it your brother that has you down then?” i pushed.
“He’s not a nice person, Wendy. He’s a bully. I was happy to see him leave,”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a banker?” Charlie’s face was such that he wasn’t convinced.
“A banker? That doesn’t sound too bad?” i suggested.
“He doesn’t work for a bank, Wendy. He collects money,”
I laughed, “A loan-shark?”
“Worse!” Charlie warned, “People that don’t do what Marcus wants get dead.,”
That didn’t sound fun at all!