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Carson found Grandad in the back of the house, with a rake in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and a worn cowboy hat atop his head.
Carson grinned. Grandad hadn’t changed, and likely never would. Carson crossed the patches of stubby grass and reached the edge of what must have been a former garden before Grandad noticed him.
“Hey, Grandad,” he said.
The old guy started, then looked up from where he’d been frowning at a collection of rotted tomato plants.
“Carson!” he said, his smile wide on his leathery face. The man’s brown eyes mirrored his own. “I was wondering when in the Sam you’d get here.”
Carson chuckled. When his grandad took over raising Carson and Rhett, he’d curbed his cursing. So instead of saying “Sam hell” he started saying “Sam.” The habit had stuck ever since.
“I told you I’d be here by lunchtime.”
Grandad perched the rake against his hip, then swept off his hat and scratched at his few wisps of remaining hair, somehow managing not to singe his head with his cigarette.
They weren’t really a hugging family, but Grandad’s grin was like the strongest hug Carson could ever get.
“So, what? You expecting me to feed you now?” Grandad said with a chortle.
“Do I need to rake this mess of a garden before I earn my food?” Carson teased.
“I think I can scrape something up.” Grandad plunked his hat back on. “A boy like you needs something in his belly.”
Carson and his brother had always been “boys” to Grandad.
“I have a feeling that I’m going to be doing all the cooking this week,” Carson said.
“Yep, you’re right.” Grandad headed toward the back of the house, which had seen better days—much, much better days. “That’s why I taught you to cook, boy. I’m in my payback years. Collecting on all the time I spent on you boys.”
Carson clapped a hand on his grandad’s bony shoulder. “We’ll count today as day one then.”
Grandad stomped his boots on the back patio, which needed a good sweeping, then propped the rake against the wall of the house. Carson glanced around before following him into the house. Cracked planters lined the patio, as if someone had once had this place decorated with flowering plants. Beyond the rotted garden was about two acres of field. Edging the property was a brown, splintered fence that served as an ineffective barrier to any horse, or cow.
Carson stepped inside the dim interior of the home.
The place smelled musty, and his first impression was that the whole house probably needed to be gutted. New carpet, new paint, even new counters and cupboards in the kitchen were needed. The musty smell likely came from the well-worn carpet and the threadbare couch and overstuffed chair.
“Come on in, don’t be shy,” Grandad said, moving about the kitchen after turning on an overhead fluorescent light that washed everything a dull yellow.
Well, the countertops and the linoleum were, in fact, technically yellow.
“Are you thinking of getting any animals?” Carson asked.
“Maybe a horse, but that’s all I can care for by myself until you get here,” Grandad said. “I’ve got to get that garden into shape before summer hits and it’s too late to grow.”
Carson perched on a rickety stool, knowing from experience not to get in Grandad’s way when he was in the kitchen. It was either Grandad or Carson who prepared meals, not both together. So he watched Grandad move about, opening cupboards, pulling out two cans of chili, then a box of soda crackers from another cupboard.
Carson thought about the chili Evie had mentioned from the diner on Main Street. He wasn’t picky though, especially when he was hungry.
As Grandad warmed up the chili in a cooking pot, he said, “After we eat, I’ll give you a tour of the place, then we’ll head over to the rodeo. I’ll go through my plans for the arena and see what you think. See if you can use that education of yours to give me some pointers as well.”
“All right,” Carson said. “What about this house? Got any plans to, uh, fix it up?”
Grandad chuckled as he stirred the now bubbling chili. “That’s what you’re for, boy. You’re young and strong and here for a week. Don’t be thinking you’re going to be taking long naps and watching the telly.”
Carson scoffed. “Do you even have a TV?”
Grandad used the wooden spoon he was stirring with to point to the far side of the room, where a wide, flat box was propped against the wall. “Right there, son. And you’re gonna install it. Don’t think I’m going to live here in the dark ages.”
