Hume didn’t have car services you could call for a ride. I’d practically drunk myself under the table and was more than willing to stretch my legs. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to, but I’m offering all the same.”
“Do you know how to drive stick?”
She flashed a goofy expression. “Do I know how to drive stick? Come on, you’re talking to Ernest Palmer’s daughter.”
“Fair.” I smiled, tipping my ball cap. “That would be very kind of you.”
Edison tossedme his keys and we were off. I’d nursed my last beer, so I was more than capable of driving us home. In the passenger seat of his truck, Edison was mostly quiet, occasionally reminding me to turn left or right.
“You know I’m from here. I don’t need directions to the Castle Farm.”
“You’ve been gone a long time. I don’t want you getting us lost.”
“I know Hume like the back of my hand. You could drop me off in the boonies and I’d find my way home like the family dog. Remember my dog Yeti Spaghetti? He was lost for weeks. We put up flyers. Daddy went out looking for him, even had some of the guys on the ranch help. But try as they might, they could not find that dog. And then a month later, here comes Yeti all matted and tangled a little worse for wear but no harm no foul.”
“And you’re just like Yeti.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Shit you could blindfold me, spin me around three times and point in the direction of a map and I guarantee you I’d be able to locate Hume every time.”
“Bullshit.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No because you’re full of shit and alcohol.”
“Who’s driving whom, Miss Daisy? Because I know how to hold my liquor.”
“And I don’t?”
“Seeing how you are currently a passenger princess the answer would be no.”
“I haven’t had dinner. So I was drinking on a light stomach.”
“No, you’re a lightweight.”
“Oh you got jokes. Turn right at the stop sign.”
Slowing the car to a stop in front of the Castle now Birch Farm, I marveled at the sight. The house was the same but different. A modest two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch. Stamped concrete replaced the dirt pathway. The façade was now a crisp white, not the dingy, peeling gray paint Mr. Castle preferred. Illuminated porch lights were like a beacon welcoming you home. Back in the day the house would disappear into the night sky and you couldn’t see the structure until you were practically right on top of it.
When we were kids, the farmhouse was considered haunted. Back then the vegetation was overgrown and there was a pile of old newspapers next to the front door. Sometimes Mr. Castle would be sitting on the porch, his one-eyed dog lying next to him. If you got too close walking past, he’d yell at you. One time he threw a rock, and it hit me on the arm. Dial turned around and cussed old Mr. Castle out. Claiming she was going to tell her dad and we were all going to come back and kick his ass. Dial didn’t snitch, but after that Mr. Castle never threw shit at us again, although he still read us for filth.
“Do you remember daring me to ring the doorbell?” I asked.
“I remember double dog daring you and you marching right up those steps and pressing the bell.”
“Yeah and when Mr. Castle answered the door with his pistol on his hip, I tripped down the stairs and you jumped in between us to defend me.”
Edison shrugged my praise of valor off. “Mr. Castle was scary to look at, but he was in Figs and Twine all the time. Nicest man you’ll ever meet.”
“Be that as it may I still thought you were so brave. He could have broken you in two.”
“And for you, I’d have let him.” Edison climbed out of the truck. He stumbled a bit on initial contact with the ground, but it appeared the air blowing on his face during the ride home had given him a second wind.
“I’m coming in,” I announced, slamming the truck door behind me.
“Are you asking or inviting yourself?”
