But for the rest of the afternoon, I think back to what Grady said about being sober. Why on earth would he have gotten a tattoo, hung out with me the whole night, committed a crime with me, and even let Junior drive his Jeep if he wasn’t drunk? It makes no sense. None whatsoever.
5
Grady
I may have been a little too honest when we were sitting around talking during lunch. The truth is that every decision I made the night we painted the side of the building, I did with full awareness that I was doing it. The only part that’s a little hazy for me is the ending of the night. Junior had passed me and Evie another pint jar filled with moonshine after we painted t
he building, and we’d taken a few swigs. Maybe a few more. Then he’d dropped us off at her grandmother’s house. Then I found myself naked in the azalea bushes while the sun came up behind Ms. Markie’s head. Ms. Markie said it was an attack of my conscience. I have a feeling she was right.
Around dark, Junior and Barbara-Claire announce that they have to leave, which is fine with me. We only have a few more corridors of the maze to build. We can easily get it done by tomorrow afternoon. The job was more time consuming than back breaking, if I had to describe it to someone.
Barbara-Claire walks over close to Junior, and they giggle like children. They didn’t have their kids with them today, and it’s rare to find the two of them without their three babies. They take them everywhere with them, except on date night, which happens every Saturday night. The rest of the time, they are chasing around three brilliant little girls with dark eyes and quirky smiles. They call me Uncle Grady and I adore them. I hope the feeling is mutual.
“We have to get back to the kids,” Barbara-Claire says as she stands up, dusts her hands off, and surveys the work we did today. “Are you two going to be okay if we leave?” She looks from me to Evie and back.
“Yep,” I reply.
“You’re not, like, going to try to kill one another after we’re gone?” She quirks a grin at me. “Grady, I’m not sure you could take her.”
The thought of taking her shoots lurid thoughts straight into my brain. And then to my dick. I shake my head to brush those thoughts away and shift my stance for quite another reason. “Y’all get out of here,” I say firmly. “Tell the girls I said hello.” I adjust one of the bales because it’s sitting a little crooked. “Thanks for the help today.”
Junior gives me a quick salute and they walk back to their car hand in hand.
“They ever make you a little sick to your stomach?” Evie asks, her voice quiet as she watches them leave. She has her hand stuffed in the pockets of my hoodie as she stares at their receding taillights.
“What? What do you mean?” I look over at her and see her staring longingly toward their vehicle. Does she want that? Has she ever wanted to be married or to raise a family? Has she ever wanted to pick someone she could go home to every day?
“They’re just so happy,” she says. She plucks at a piece of hay that’s sticking sideways out of a bale. “It seems so weird to me.”
I snort out a laugh. “She was throwing shit at him on Tuesday when I was at their house helping him fix their washing machine.” I mime things flying by my head. “Her flip-flop clipped him right on the side of the head.”
“I saw her get after one of the kids last week, when we were in the car. She said you’re not officially a parent until you’ve swiped blindly behind you in the car with a flip-flop trying to make contact with a child.”
Then Evie laughs, and the sound of it makes me stop in my tracks and stare at her. The corners of her mouth lower slowly.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I shake the notion away. It’s strange, and I couldn’t describe it even if I wanted to.
She stares at me. “You were looking at me funny.”
“You don’t have to call me funny-looking,” I tease.
She smiles again, and some little bees in my stomach immediately take flight. Then they tickle my dick. Never understood how bees in the belly can go straight to your dick, but that’s how it works.
“Hardy har har,” she counters with a roll of her eyes. “Hey, Grady?”
“Yeah?” I nudge a crooked bale of hay with my knee, lining it up with the rest because I have a feeling that if it’s not perfect, Mr. Jacobson will have something to say about it.
“I’m really sorry I got you into trouble,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I can paint the barn by myself, if you have other things to do, another time.”
I shake my head. “I messed it up with you. I can help fix it.” I glance down at my watch. “But not tonight. I have somewhere I have to be.” I raise my eyebrows. “In twenty minutes. Shit.”
“You got a date?” she asks. She picks at the hay with her fingernails.
“No.” I don’t say more than that.
“Oh, okay.” She looks relieved, which is weird. She looks around the field. “I think we’re almost done.”