Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“Archer and Colt are over there if you two want to say hello.” Mother points to a small table farther along the grassy hill.
“Gladly.” I eyeball Patton hard.
The red summer sun beats down on our heads as we walk with Junie’s arm in mine, hell-bent on stealing everyone’s energy.
“Your mom’s nice,” she says. “I didn’t think she’d welcome me so easily. I’m not… I’m not like the rest of you guys.”
“Looking like you do right now, Sweet Stuff, no one would ever know.”
A blush colors her cheeks, and she looks determined as we approach Archer.
He nods at us both and even gives Junie an almost-smile.
This is Arch at his nicest, though I don’t know how much of it is an apology gesture and how much is because Colt’s sitting right beside him. The boy brings out his humanity more than anything.
“This is Colton,” I say, nodding at the kid. “My nephew.”
“And a sculptor.” Colt smiles up at her with a freckled grin I’m sure will melt her heart. “Are you here with Uncle Dex?”
“I am,” she says carefully, sending me a quick glance before bending over the woodwork items on display. “Did you make all these?”
“Sure did,” he says proudly. I’m not sure kids are ever in the cards for me like Archer, but I don’t think I’d mind if they turned out like Colt has. “Do you want to buy anything? I’ll give you the family rate if you’re with Uncle Dex.”
“Colt, ease off. Stop selling and tell them about your work.” Archer leans back, tucking his hands behind his head and letting little Colt do the talking.
We listen to his little spiel, how he likes to challenge himself and how sculpting helps him blow off steam.
I check out the assorted items on the table. They’re a little rough around the edges, but the kid has more talent in his pinky finger than I ever will for woodwork. They’re mostly simple, everyday things.
A blocky-looking cardinal Mom almost died over.
A giant pencil as big as my hand, painted a dark green.
A saguaro cactus, probably inspired by camping in Arizona with Archer last winter.
“How about this?” I ask, holding up a giant cookie. He’s painstakingly carved in all the chocolate chips.
“Uncle Dex, if you’re buying it,” Colt says with a twinkle in his eye, “that’ll just be fifty bucks.”
Junie bites her lip to stop herself from grinning.
“Fifty?” I toss the cookie and catch it again. “Kid, that’s highway robbery, even if the cost of damn near everything is like a runaway train these days. I’ll give you twenty.”
“Forty.”
“Twenty.”
“Thirty.”
“Twenty-five. Final offer,” I growl.
He stares at me numbly before holding out his little hand. “Okay, deal!”
“Demanding little brute. But I can’t blame you, knowing where you get it,” I say, tapping him on the forehead with the cookie while I lock eyes with my brother.
Archer holds out a basket with wadded bills and I drop my cash in. Then I slide an arm around Junie’s waist and hand her the cookie.
“For the Sugar Bowl,” I say.
The tension in her body dissipates as she looks up at me.
“Oh, nice! It’ll be right at home on the wall,” she promises. “I love it already.”
“You better,” I tell her. “It cost me a whole twenty-five dollars.”
She and Colt laugh together, and for the first time, I think maybe this day won’t end in disaster after all.
We wind through the park, visiting every booth, a couple dozen or more artists plus a few food vendors lined up in neat rows.
Junie’s in her glory, snacking and encouraging me to spend my money on craft beer, laughing in pure delight at everything she sees.
Shit, how does it come so easy?
If I just had half her excitement, the whole world might feel lighter.
As the afternoon draws on and the art show winds down, I sit by the river on the grass. Junie talks to Colt, listening to his latest obsession with some cartoon where Lucifer’s daughter runs a hotel for redeeming souls.
The girl has more patience than I do, especially when Patton drops down beside me.
“You’re still here?” He whistles in mock surprise. “Old Dex would’ve left as soon as he could get away with it to get home to his spreadsheets and punching shit.”
Looking at Patton, it’s clear he’s had more than a few of those craft beers. I don’t blame him—they were decent beer—but there’s no point cussing him out. It’ll just roll right off him.
So I tuck my hands behind my head and say, “Figured Mom wouldn’t mind the company. How often does the entire family ever spend a whole evening together?”
“She can’t stop talking about it, dude. This. You. Her.” He waves a hand at Junie. “It’s nice seeing you as an almost-married man, you know? Maybe that’s what the family needs. Maybe it’s what we’ve been missing for a while.”