stalls. I ain’t as young and spry as I used to be.”
I snorted and relented, though I kept my eye out for tattooed mountains. “You? The man who was jogging after me a minute ago and dandling Paul’s baby on his lap a few minutes before that?”
“I’m just plain worn out by it all,” he claimed, but the twinkle in his eyes said differently.
We walked among the stalls for a minute in silence, watching the crowd of giggling children and coffee-sipping parents—of note, none of the children were adorable, dark-curled babies, and all of the parents were of average size.
“Parrish,” Beau complained. “This is the part where you’re supposed to spill all your sad secrets to your favorite uncle, boy. You’re missing your cue.”
I laughed. “Me? Secrets? You’ve got the wrong nephew. I’m an open book, Uncle Beau. And I’m happy as a clam. Never been better.”
“I believe you believe that,” he said wryly. “Alright, then. If you won’t come clean, our stroll’s gonna become an inquisition, and just you remember you brought this on yourself.” He cleared his throat. “What’s been going on with you the last couple days, Parrish? You’ve been jumpy and distracted.”
“What? No. I’m—”
“My knees might be frail, but my eyes aren’t.”
I winced. I hadn’t thought my distraction was interfering with my work, but apparently I was wrong. “I’m sorry, Uncle Beau. I’ll work harder. Promise.”
“Parrish,” he sighed. “If Licking Thicket were the point I was trying to make, you’d be in Outer Mongolia right now, missing it entirely.”
“Huh?”
He sighed. “What happened back in Malachi’s tent?”
“Oh, that.” I cleared my throat. “I was super clumsy and knocked into—”
“Into Diesel Church, who looked at you like you were the ghost of Christmas past, present, and future all rolled into one? Yep, I saw. What I don’t know is why he looked at you like that, or why you turned red and looked like someone had kicked your puppy.”
I stopped dead in the path. “Wait, you know that man? The tall one with the tattoos?”
“Diesel,” he repeated. “’Course I know him. He’s a friend of Malachi’s. Helped him source some of the pieces for the restaurants.”
My heart beat faster. “And his… his child?”
“Child?” Beau frowned. “Nah. You’re barking up the wrong tree. Diesel lives alone. Been to his place over at the junkyard a time or two, and it’s not real child-friendly—”
“You’ve been to his house?” I screeched. I’d low-key considered hiring a private detective to find the guy, and all along Uncle Beau knew him?
“The question is, Parrish, how do you know him?”
“I don’t!” I insisted. “Didn’t even know his name. But I ran into him once before, and I was… I was rude,” I admitted.
“You were?” Beau shook his head, as astonished as if I’d told him I could fly. “But you’re never rude.”
I laughed. “I think you have too much faith in me, Uncle Beau.”
“I think I have just the right amount of faith in you, son.” He patted my arm comfortingly. “That’s how I know that whatever misunderstanding you and Diesel might’ve had, you’ll set it right.”
I chewed my lip and nodded. “I’ll have to apologize.”
“Sure enough, and do him a favor to make up for it, if you can. And maybe bring him a casserole.”
“A casserole?” I eyed him skeptically. Not a car? Not a telegram? “Really? For Diesel?”
“Trust me, Parrish.” Beau nodded sagely. “No one’s ever gone wrong with an apology casserole.”
2
Diesel
It wasn’t so much that Stewie wasn’t a good person. He was. The guy had agreed to help me out for not much more than a promise of free parts for his broken-down washer and dryer. But when the guy advertised his legal practice on the back of a bathroom stall door at the tractor supply store, it didn’t necessarily mean he was all that great a lawyer either.
“I’m just sayin’, Diesel, that this doesn’t look good, man. You know,” Stewie said, flapping his hand around to encompass the old house, the salvage yard, and my old beat-up truck. A few of the chickens had gotten past the fence and were wandering around looking for treats. “All this won’t exactly impress the caseworker as much as the Kensingtons’ mansion and racing stables will, and Judge Merriman didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the results of your initial home visit from last week. If the Kensingtons’ attorney hadn’t made that comment about being a Vols fan, and if Merriman hadn’t been a proud Alabama alum—Roll Tide!—we might be having a very different conversation