Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Uncle Amos pushed his way through the cluster of people and held his arms out for an embrace. “Well, finally. Bring it on in, Junior. Give us some love, boy.”
I let out a breath and felt myself smile for real. “Amos, it’s good to see you.” I stepped forward and gave him a hug, inhaling his familiar scent—a combination of hay and cows and Charles potato chips—that reminded me of everything I’d loved best about childhood.
After the hug, Amos pulled back and studied me. His gnarled hands clutched my upper arms in a firm grip, proving he was still plenty strong despite the fact he carried a cane these days and was supposedly long retired from running the farm.
“Didja see the sign I left for you?” he demanded.
“The… sign about the Stuffin’?” I was trying very hard not to sound horrified. “That wasn’t for me, was it?”
“Nah, I meant the WELCOME, JUNIOR sign. On the cows.”
“Oh. No. I was checking my email, and I must’ve…” I shook my head. “Wait. On the cows?”
“Last couple years, Uncle Amos has taken to spelling things out by painting letters on his cows’ flanks,” my cousin Ollie explained. “You know, the herd he keeps in the far pasture, out by the new Welcome to Licking Thicket sculpture?”
“Trouble is,” Ollie’s wife Kendra interjected, sounding almost apologetic, “the cows move around an awful lot, and some of ’em even hide in the trees. Joanie Brightly’s still angry at Amos over the sign he put out there a few months ago.”
“Really? What’d it say?” I wondered.
“Probably best if we don’t rehash it.” My cousin Frank, the sheriff, rocked back and forth on his booted heels, lips twitching in amusement. “When the letters transpose themselves… let’s just say that things get a bit confusing.”
I nodded. I was definitely confused.
“Ah, well. It’s real good to have you home in any case,” Amos said roughly, meeting my eyes and seeming to peer directly into my very soul. Amos was the kind of person who seemed jokey and hokey on the surface but actually saw and felt much more.
I squirmed under his inspection.
“You’ll do.” He nodded and clapped me on the shoulder once. “And what’s more, you’ll fetch a high price at the Biddin’ tonight,” he added proudly.
“The…” I looked around at the assembled Nutters, all of whom seemed to take this pronouncement in stride. “The what now?”
“Oh, that’s right. The Biddin’ wasn’t around when you lived here, was it?” Kendra mused. “Well, you know how Aunt Angela—”
“Lord rest her soul,” Aunt Bell intoned.
“—loved the bachelor auction at the big Lickin’ festival every August? The Beautification Corps decided it would be nice to honor her by doing a similar thing for charity every November. We all get involved.”
“Sure do. The Biddin’ raises money for the Castration Society,” Amos said solemnly. “Which I can tell you, after twenty-seven years of marriage, was a cause near and dear to your aunt’s heart.”
“Uh. Okay?” I blinked. “But I don’t—”
Amos clapped me on the shoulder again and turned toward the house. “Wear your Sunday best, and you’ll do fine,” he called over his shoulder.
I stared after him as if anything he’d said had made a lick of sense—then winced at my own thoughts. Lick? Really? Why was it so damn easy to slip back into old habits?
“For the love of Christ,” I muttered.
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Junior,” Aunt Bell snapped. “God Almighty, you’d’a thunk you were raised in a barn.” She turned to follow Uncle Amos into the house.
I gaped after her before turning to my mother. “Did she or did she not just take the Lord’s—”
“You know the rule around here. ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’” Mother patted me on the back.
“Maybe when I was a child, but I’m an adult now. I’m not going to simply go along with whatever cockamamie—”
“I wonder,” she interrupted, tapping her lip thoughtfully, “if the Waldorf’s spa does those caviar conditioning body wraps I’ve heard about. They’re incredibly expensive, of course, but if someone else was footing the bill…”
I snapped my mouth shut and narrowed my eyes in betrayal. “You put Amos up to this, didn’t you? Are you really that determined to win this contest?”
“Charlton Nutter.” My mother pressed a hand to the front of her silk blouse, all affronted innocence. “If you’ll recall, this ‘nice-off’ business was your idea. You are my one and only son. I love you. Nothing on earth is more important to me than my precious child’s happiness. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for him.”
“I know,” I admitted grudgingly.
“But if that happens to come with a 24-karat-gold facial and an eight-handed Swedish massage, then so much the better… Junior.” She pressed a kiss to my cheek and headed after Amos also, leaving a cloud of Opium perfume in her wake. For all of my mother’s designer snobbery and couture tastes, she’d never quite escaped the young bride she’d been in the 1980s.