Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,41

lost ground until we opened up an online store. People still like to buy from local businesses, but it’s nice to have that reach.”

Tug nodded mechanically. “That’s good. I miss that place.”

“Well, don’t be a stranger,” Mom invited. “If you come, let me know. I can have lunch made up for us.”

The look Tug sent me was the same bewildered helplessness he’d shown when he asked why I’d stay with him at a motel while he detoxed. I guessed then he had a hard time believing anyone cared enough to go through that.

Now, I wondered if he simply thought nobody would care about him at all.

Mom and I flipped the quilts we’d brought onto the grass, and the others sort of gravitated to the spot we chose. Before I knew it, she’d given everyone plates and plastic cutlery and soft drinks.

Keylan, one of the two men who had kids in the group, had started up a charcoal fire in one of those tiny tabletop grills. He cooked all the hotdogs. His wife Jennifer placed them in buns and put them on a platter. John’s wife arrived with their kids, a vat of potato salad, and three dozen chocolate chip cookies.

The park filled with the mouthwatering aroma of grilling meat. Everyone seemed to have lugged their supper to the screening. It felt like there were a hundred kids running between the playground and the picnic area.

As the evening wore on, the scent of sunscreen gave way to the sharp chemical tang of mosquito repellent.

The local parks and recreation department ran a couple of games for the kids and gave away prizes, then at dusk, when the food was put away and the kids were exhausted, we settled down to watch the movie on a giant inflatable screen.

I kept an eye on my Dad while the montage he’d talked about was going, and because of that, I barely heard Tug’s sibilant hiss when they got to the big emotional moment.

“Jesus fucking Chrissssst,” he whispered. “What the actual, ever-loving fuck is this movie supposed to be about?”

I turned and found tears streaming down his cheeks. “Tug?”

“No. Jesus. This is a kids’ movie?” He got up and made his way to the outside edge of the crowd.

“Go after him.” Mom gave me a shove. I ducked down and hurried through the seated moviegoers.

I found Tug sitting in one of the bigger kid swings. He had his head down, face covered with both hands.

He must have heard me because he looked up when I got close.

“What the fuck was that?” A sob tore through him. “And why would Dr. Franklin tell a group of emotionally unstable idiots to go watch it?”

“Um. I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.”

“Isn’t that a kids’ movie?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So why does it start out by demolishing the old dude’s life?”

“I… got nothing,” I admitted. “But just so you know, you’re having the same reaction my dad did the first time he watched it.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded and stepped behind him. “They talked about it in the car on the way here.”

I gave him a push in the swing. It didn’t go very far because Tug dragged his feet.

“You don’t want to swing?”

“Not really.”

He stood and made his way to a climbing structure made from red metal tubing with blue and yellow poly resin walkways, chutes, and slides. It had a little platform in the center. Tug walked up one of the slides and sat under its square blue roof. I was not nearly as sure-footed as he’d been, but after a moderate amount of slipping, I joined him.

“Sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry about?” He brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “It’s Pixar who owes me that ten minutes of my life I’ll never get back. I mean, like, warn a guy, will you?”

“You might be a little… permeable, right now.”

“Oh, I know.” He rocked on his butt. “I cry if a firetruck rolls by with the siren going. It’s just stupid.”

“You’re on antidepressants?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel like they’re helping you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Some.”

“It won’t last forever.”

“I know.” He moved to let his feet dangle over the platform edge. “Your parents look good. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when I saw them again.”

I glanced up warily. “You gave me permission to invite them, or I wouldn’t have.”

He shrugged. “How’d you tell them about me?”

“Since you sent the letter to the shop, they were there when I opened it.” When he didn’t look