Page 31 of Ginjuh

“And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Zach.” He said. “You’ve been old enough for the truth for a few years now, but I always talked myself out of telling you. And your dad knew it would break your heart, so he didn’t tell you. If that ain’t kindness, I don’t know what is. Your daddy loves you, son. He wouldn’t have let you go on the way you have, coming out here, being happy with a lie when you didn’t even know it, if he didn’t love you.”

I nodded.

“Now,” Grandpa said, clearing his throat, “if you decide that you want to keep comin’ out here and workin’, you and Austin are welcome to come back tomorrow morning to do so. I certainly won’t mind. I’ll do less than not mind. But I’ll understand if you don’t. You have a right to be as upset as your daddy is. But I don’t want you leavin’ here unless you can promise me you won’t think no different of your daddy or grandma.”

“No, sir.” I shook my head. “I mean, no, I don’t think less or different of them, sir.”

“Good.” He gave a sharp nod.

“And I’d still like to come work.”

Grandpa straightened up and took a shaky, deep inhale of breath.

“All right then.” He breathed out.

“Do I have to call you ‘Mr. Pelton’ now?” I asked, a lump in my throat.

Grandpa closed his eyes and sighed.

“Because I—I mean, if it’s okay—I still think of you as my grandpa.” I chewed at my lip. “So, I’d like to keep calling you ‘Grandpa’ if that’s okay.”

Grandpa cleared his throat, taking more time than usual, sounding more rheumy than usual, before he spat off the porch.

“I suppose that’d be all right.” He replied simply, looking away.

“Yes, sir.”

Grandpa cleared his throat a few more times but didn’t spit, his eyelids fluttering as he composed himself. He sat back in his rocker, the joints of the chair creaking as he nudged the chair into motion with a push of his toes against the boards of the porch.

“That boy doin’ his fair share?” Grandpa asked, looking out at the fields. “Y’all done a good job, but I don’t know how much is you and how much is him.”

“He’s doing his part, Grandpa.” I nodded, looking out at the field. “You did good on your first hire.”

“Well, thank you.” He chuckled. “Mr. Mankins is an okay fella. When he told me about Austin, and I was already thinking about doing this corn maze thing, well, it just seemed like a good fit.”

“I think it is.” I agreed. “You might consider hiring more of the high school kids to do a haunted corn maze thing, Grandpa. When it’s still light out, you could give hayrides to the young kids with the tractor and a family-friendly walk through the corn maze. Then when it gets dark, it can turn into a haunted corn maze. My friends would love it. Charge five bucks a head for the hayride and walk through during the day, ten bucks at night. You’d clean up every weekend, Grandpa.”

Grandpa cleared his throat and spat.

“I think you got the right idea, son.”

“I think it might work.” I shrugged. “Some of my friends might even be willing to work for free if they get to jump out and scare their friends in a corn maze.”

Grandpa chuckled.

“Well, let’s get things goin’ tomorrow with the Brush Hog and we’ll see where we are.” He suggested. “But I don’t see how it’s a horrible idea.”

We sat there a few moments longer before Grandpa said anything else.

“That boy sure seems to like you okay.”

I blushed and looked away.

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s awfully damn skinny, though.” Grandpa chuckled. “Needs a belt, too. Tell him if I see his ass hangin’ out, I’ll put my foot in it.”

I laughed. “Yes, sir.”

“He works out this fall,” Grandpa said, “well, maybe I’ll hire him to help you in spring and summer. I don’t know that I’ll be able to help as much as I have last couple years, son. I’m startin’ to feel my years.”

“Grandpa,” I said, “I’m sorry you couldn’t have kids.”

He stared out at the fields.

“I’m not.” He finally said. “That curse was the biggest blessin’ of my life, Zach—even if it took me too long to figure it out.”

He reached over and patted my knee.

And we sat and watched the sunset together in perfectly content silence.