“Come on, big brother. Let’s go halfsies on it!” They say there’s a fool born every minute, and that fool is my brother Jonah.
“Forget it. No more harebrained schemes.” They also say a fool and his money are soon parted, and that fool is me. Ever since childhood, Jonah has been chasing one crazy scheme after another. All that time, I’ve been chasing right after him, from Bangor, Maine to Bahrain. I bought into his “foolproof” lottery ticket system, which left me with a $500 credit card debt and five free sno-cones. I helped him buy into that ice cream parlor in Derwent, Alberta (population 100, not big ice cream consumers).
Now we were stuck together in the “most verdant fruit orchard in the Middle East,” nothing but a single suitcase and a scraggly tree on a patch of bone-dry earth to our names.
“Just look at the brochure, though!” He waved the time-share advertisement in front of my face. “Anyplace in Hawaii has to beat this dirt farm. And you deserve some time to yourself, big bro…”
In hindsight, I should have at least made him promise me the first turn.