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“We’re not painting today,” Mr. Jacobson says as he stretches, lifting his arms over his head. His shirt lifts, showing a strip of his stomach, and he reaches down to scratch it as he yawns.
Grady looks toward me. “Why aren’t we painting?” he asks.
“Got more important stuff to do,” Mr. Jacobson says, his voice curt. “Fright Night is coming.” He jerks his thumb toward where three tractor trailers are pulling into the lot. Their gears grind and whistle as they downshift and pull over near the open field. “I need y’all to set up the hay maze.”
When we were younger, the hay maze was most people’s favorite part of Fright Night. It’s set up so that you have to go through it after dark, guided by nothing more than the light of a glow stick that Mr. Jacobson gives you. Around each corner, different things pop out at you. It might be a zombie, or a guy in a mask, or it might be a kid blowing bubbles wearing makeup that makes her look like half her face is gone. No matter what, it’s simply terrifying, and most of the people in town lived for it every year.
“What do you need us to do?” Grady asks.
Mr. Jacobson pulls out a diagram. “Unload those hay bales, then set them up in this pattern.” He points to the diagram. It’s a series of twists and turns, all meant to confuse people and help them get lost. “In that field,” he says, pointing toward where the tractor trailers are. Someone is unloading pallets full of hay on skids using a forklift. Mr. Jacobson points to where an old red tractor sits next to the field. “If any of you knows how to drive a tractor, you’re welcome to use it.”
Grady raises his hand. “I do.”
Grady mows grass for a living, and he also does landscaping, not to mention that he worked in the tobacco fields with his granddaddy from the time he could walk.
“You break it, you buy it,” Mr. Jacobson says.
Grady nods.
“You can get started. Come and get me if you need anything. I’m going fishing.” He reaches back for his fishing gear, which is stored behind him on the golf cart.
“What about covering the graffiti?” I ask. “Can we do that first?”
He shakes his head. “The maze is more important. The painting can wait.” He stares at me. “You got a problem with that?”
“No, sir,” I reply, my voice quiet. The man still scares the pants off me and I’m almost forty years old.
But in reality, I want to go and paint the building before I do anything else, mainly because the more people see it, the more people will know that I pretty much begged Grady to kiss me. It’s written right there on the wall for everyone to see.
Mr. Jacobson walks off, carrying a bucket, a tackle box, and a fishing pole.
Grady heaves out a breath. “We had better get started.”
I nod and follow them toward the field. My shoes are already wet from the morning dew, and the early fall air is cold. I hunch my shoulders like Barbara-Claire did when she arrived and stuff my hands in my jean pockets.
“Did you bring a coat?” Grady asks.
I shake my head. “It’s supposed to be warm today.”
“Not ’til after lunch,” he replies. He unzips his hoodie and holds it out on a hooked finger toward me. “Go on,” he says. “Take it.”
“No, you’ll need it.”
He shakes his head. “You know I run hot.” He drapes the hoodie around my shoulders, and I have no choice but to shove my arms through the holes. Grady’s cologne, which is minty and fresh, like cut grass and warm skin, sneaks up my nose, and I lift the shirt so I can sniff the sleeve. “Clifford, if you say one word about it smelling bad, I’m taking it back and you can freeze to damn death,” he says, his voice suddenly clipped and cold.
I’m startled by the vehemence in his tone. “It smells good,” I say quietly. “I like it. Thank you.”
He stops for a moment, like someone pressed his pause button, and stares at me.
“What?” I say.
He shakes his head, reminding me of a dog with water in his ears. “Nothing,” he replies.
“Grady, can we talk really quickly?” I ask, my words rushed and my voice already sounding winded even though I haven’t done a damn thing yet today.
“No,” he replies. “Got to get Junior off that tractor before he breaks it and we end up having to pay for that too.” He stares at me for a second. “You okay?”
I have all of his attention in that second, and it’s a heady feeling.
