“Ask your Jesus.” He mutters as he throws another look past my shoulder. I turn. The kiss was well timed indeed. Joseph is trudging up the hill to where we stand, gloved hands shoved in the pockets of his wool coat. He saw that. His eyes move down to his boots in the thick snow. His hair is covered by a knit hat and his neck is surrounded by a scratchy gray scarf that looks warm but uncomfortable. When he gets closer I see a patch of skin near his jaw that was turning red from the friction. I try not to think about his skin too much.He extends an arm to his brother, trying not to display animosity for what he just saw. “John.”It’s a short embrace. They part. Joseph looks at me like he’s looking through glass at something untouchable, like a toy on a shelf that won’t be shared.