Feels like Trouble (Lake Fisher 4)

“I’m fine,” I say. “Thanks for the hoodie.”

He doesn’t reply as he rushes toward Junior and talks him down off the tractor. They have a slightly heated conversation as Barbara-Claire and I watch. Finally, Junior holds up his hands and gives up.

Barbara-Claire and I find that little sticks have already been set up in the field, with little red streamers on the tips that blow in the wind. The sticks show the layout for the maze, so the planning part has already been done for us.

“Let’s get to work, Clifford,” Grady calls out.

I shoot him the middle finger. He grins as he starts up the tractor and proceeds to move hay bales into place, guided by Junior. Barbara-Claire and I help to adjust the bales, and we change Grady’s direction when the turns need to happen, but for the most part, Grady does most of the work with the tractor.

At lunch time, Barbara-Claire runs down to the tackle shop on the corner because the local civic group is supposed to be there today selling barbecue and Brunswick stew. She comes back with four plates, along with bottled drinks, and we settle down to eat on some of the hay bales.

“Do you know who cooked this?” Grady asks.

One thing you always ask when you’re at a cookout in the South is who cooked the food. It’s just good common sense.

“Shy was behind the grill when we drove past this morning,” Junior says with his mouth full. Shy owns the tackle shop, and people will stand in line all day long to get a plate of his barbecue.

Barbara-Claire is as appalled by having seen the food in Junior’s mouth as I was. “Ew!” she cries out as she throws a napkin at him. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

After I eat a few bites of pork, I open my container of stew. I look around for a spoon, but I can’t find a fourth one. “Do we have any more spoons?” I ask as I dig through a pile of napkins.

Grady pulls his spoon out of his mouth, washes it off with his bottle of soda, dries it on the corner of his shirt, and holds it out to me. “You can have mine,” he says. He thrusts it toward me without looking at me, then he waves it from side to side when I don’t immediately reach out and take it.

I wave my hands trying to ward him off. “You go ahead,” I say. “I can wait.”

He gets up and comes and sticks his spoon in my container of stew, then walks back to where he was sitting. “I don’t have cooties,” he says. He glares at me.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. Heat creeps up my cheeks as Barbara-Claire looks from me to Grady and back again. “What?” I ask her.

“It has been years since I’ve seen the two of you be nice to one another,” she says. “I like it. You should do more of it.”

“I’m sorry I got everybody into this mess,” I say. “I really am.” I wince a little.

“Why are you sorry?” Grady asks.

I rock my head from side to side. “It was my idea to paint the building.”

Grady nods. “I wasn’t completely against the idea.”

“You were drunk,” I reply.

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

I scoff at him. It’s a rude noise that comes from deep in my throat. “Yeah, that’s why you got a tattoo with me, painted a building, and talked about getting married. All because you weren’t drunk. Right.” I nod my head like a dashboard dog. My face is absolutely burning with embarrassment.

“When we met up with you in the bar parking lot, I was pretty drunk right then,” he admits. “But as the night went on, I got sober.”

“He’s right,” Junior chimes in. His mouth is still full, so Barbara-Claire throws another napkin at him. “He wasn’t drunk the whole night. By the time we got to the lake here, he was nearly sober.”

“A sober man doesn’t get a stupid tattoo and go graffiti someone else’s building,” I complain.

Grady stares at me. His glare is hot and soft all at the same time. And it settles deep inside me when he says, “He does if he wants to,” very quietly.

Barbara-Claire goes instantly still. She has a fork half-way to her mouth and she just holds it there. She looks from him to me and back again. “He was actually kind of sober,” she says, her voice quiet. “Not the whole night, but at least the important parts.” She shakes her head. “Don’t know why I didn’t realize that before,” she whispers.

“Anyway,” I say loudly, “I’m sorry I got you all in trouble.”

We finish eating in silence. Then we get back to work.