Page 66 of Main Event

“I was growing.”

“You were twelve and eating me out of profit.”

Andi laughs. Not the controlled one. Not the public one. A real laugh. The sound hits me square in the chest.

Mr. Hanley looks pleased with himself and points toward the crates. “You pick from that box. Freestone. Sweet enough to make you confess things you didn’t do.”

Andi walks to the peaches and starts choosing with the same care she brings to everything, even fruit from a roadside stand. I watch her lift one to her nose, inhale, and smile faintly.

Mr. Hanley leans toward me. “That one’s too good for you.”

“I know she is.”

He grunts. “At least you ain’t stupid.”

“No, sir.”

“Your daddy been back here lately?”

The question lands soft, but it lands. I look at the peaches. At Andi turning one in her hand.

“Not in a long time,” I say.

Mr. Hanley studies me for a second. He knows enough not to ask more. Mountain people can be nosy as sin, but the good ones know where the fence line sits.

“Well,” he says, “you tell him I asked when you see him.”

“I will.”

He lets that be enough.

We leave with a paper bag of peaches, two glass-bottle sodas, a container of boiled peanuts I do not remember agreeing to, and Mr. Hanley’s repeated instruction that Andi should not let me choose produce without supervision.

Back in the truck, she sets the peaches carefully in her lap.

“You were greedy?”

“I was twelve.”

“That feels like a yes wearing a hat.”

“I was a growing boy who needed food.”

“You were eating that man’s profits.”

I pull back onto the road. “I brought him business today.”

“You bought six peaches and peanuts you didn’t ask for.”

“He upsold me.”

“He bullied you.”

“He has earned the right.”

She looks at me, softer now. “You came here as a kid.”

“Every summer for a while.”