Chapter 110

Tuesday, Aug. 7

I went straight to the club for our workout, avoiding the madness that I was sure was plaguing our house with my grandmother, aunts and cousins vying for bathroom time and breakfast with the rest of my family. I texted Mom that I would get something from Tia Connie after lifting, but never received a reply.

The early arrivals at the range were jogging out to the 300-yard sign and back to get loose. You could tell the guys were ready to get the season started by the way everything seemed to become a competition. Neither offensive nor defensive players would concede even in what was supposed to be a light jog. About the third time someone took off downrange, it turned into a flat-out sprint. Even the linemen were pushing each other.

I mentioned to Jed while we were stretching that I was going to skip tonight’s skull session to take out Staci Patterson. One of the guys who was not on the cabana crew was having trouble keeping straight who I was supposed to be seeing.

“How many girls you goin’ out with, anyway?” I was asked.

“You don’t have that many fingers,” Chuck cut in with a laugh. “Probably not enough toes, either. Hell, all the other cheerleaders are waiting in line hoping for their turn.”

“That’s not exactly true,” I said. “Several of those girls are dating players. I’m not about to cut in on anybody’s territory. And the cheerleaders are supposed to have a no-poaching policy for their teammates, as well.

“I’ve just got a few friends who just happen to be girls who like to go out to eat once in a while. My hands are more than full. There’s no way I’m looking for more.”

“You must have to go out to eat every damn night,” Chuck cackled.

After running, snapping and huddling, those of us not on cabana duty got our lifting in. I grabbed a couple of breakfast tacos, showered and dressed in the change of clothes I’d brought in my gym bag.

It was after 9:30 when I pulled into my spot in the carport. Aunt Karen was on the patio in the lower half of Kacie’s bikini, giving the International Space Station a show. I waited in the car until she covered up. I headed straight to the back door, averting my eyes the whole way, and mentioned we could go for a drive as soon as she was ready.

Grandma, Aunt Patty and the girls had headed over to the new house to begin organizing things. The bedroom furniture was supposed to be delivered today. If everything could be assembled, they’d be staying there tonight.

I headed to the kitchen so I wouldn’t see my nearly naked aunt skip through the family room on her way to my room to put on some clothes. She came out wearing one of Kacie’s jogging shorts combos with a tight tanktop. At least she wore a sports bra underneath it. I don’t think I could have handled having my aunt driving with her high beams on the whole way.

She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail with what could have been one of my sister’s scrunchies (it seemed they all had the same kind) and a Prairie Star CC golf cap. I wondered if Kacie was aware of just how much of her wardrobe our aunt had claimed as she appeared to be reliving her teen years.

“Let’s go!” Aunt Karen chirped as she slipped her shades into the neckline of her tanktop.

I made sure the house was locked up, sent Mom a text that I was being abducted by her sister-in-law and headed to my car. I insisted on driving to a place I regularly fueled up and filled the tank.

Tossing my aunt the keys, I grabbed a squeegee to clean the windshield and asked if she wanted anything to drink from the convenience store. She decided she could last a little while without one and moved to the driver’s side, where she began adjusting the seat and mirrors.

I climbed into the passenger seat — still a weird feeling even after my sessions with Kacie — once I’d finished the windshield, and directed her to the westbound highway. I’d been looking for an excuse to get back to Lineshack BBQ and this was likely to be my best chance until after football season.

We’d just passed the city limits sign where the speed limit jumped up significantly. My aunt was coming up on a semi that was going to take some time to get up to speed. With a look over her shoulder to make sure the left lane was clear, she downshifted, changed lanes and floored it to get past the rig.

My favorite state trooper was parked in the median maybe 50 yards ahead. He pulled out behind us and waited until Aunt Karen was back in the right lane to hit his lights.

The rig moved to the left lane as we pulled onto the shoulder. Aunt Karen killed the ignition, set the parking break and waited for the trooper. I opened the glovebox to grab the insurance card, glad I’d moved the box of condoms. My aunt did not need to know about my activities away from home.

The poor guy looked like his world had been turned upside down when he looked at her license. It took him a full minute to realize she wasn’t the teenager who’d handed him a learner’s permit two weeks ago, even after she removed her shades. The nearly 20-year age difference should have tipped him off.

“So you’re not the one who was taking her driving test last week, then,” he sort of asked, looking back and forth from her to me.

“Tis strange - but true,” Aunt Karen said, “for Truth is always strange, stranger than Fiction.”

“Say what, now?” he asked, growing even more confused.

“It’s a quote from Byron,” she said. “I teach Literature of the Romantic Period. I usually don’t even make in through the first week of a semester without having to use it on some student.”

I half expected the trooper to ask who the hell is this Byron fellow. Instead, he issued my aunt a warning for an unsafe lane change even though there’d been no traffic behind us for hundreds of yards.

“Just be more careful, Miz Robinson,” he said as he prepared to let us go.

“Doctor,” Aunt Karen said.

“Pardon?”

“It’s Dr. Robinson,” she said. “I spent eight years earning the title, I deserve to be addressed by it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled like a chastened schoolboy. “Have a good day.”

“Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick!” my aunt swore once the trooper was out of earshot. “You’d think the man had never met a woman with more brains than boobs!”

Not one with boobs like yours, I thought. I’m pretty sure I drew blood from biting my tongue so I didn’t actually say that out loud.

“He seems to have a thing for blondes in convertibles,” I said as she pulled back on the road.

I alerted my aunt to the turnoff once we got there, then she enjoyed a leisurely drive through the curves of the two-lane state highway until we reached our destination.

“This is the kind of place Daddy would eat at every day if Momma would let him,” Aunt Karen said as we walked up to the pit. “He’d probably work a deal where he could eat for free in exchange for all the mesquite wood they could chop.”

We made our selections, getting a good assortment of brisket and sausage, while Aunt Karen added a smoked chicken breast. Sadly, they were out of the bacon-wrapped quail until next year, but the pitboss said he expected to get some dove to prepare the same way once the season opened in September.

Aunt Karen lived up to her part of the bargain and paid for our meal, including a couple of slices of coconut cream pie. We loaded up with side dishes and sweet tea, then waded through all the farmers and ranchers to find a place to sit.

We’d made a substantial dent in our lunch when my aunt hit me with her news.

“I’m probably not going back after my sabbatical,” she said. “I’ve talked to Momma and Daddy about it. I’m ready to come back home, or at least to where most of the family’s going to be.”

“What are you looking to do?” I asked.

“I’m not sure if I want to continue teaching college,” she said. “There’s just so much politics involved and the whole publish-or-perish mentality. Unless you have tenure, it’s too much of a balancing act trying to keep everybody happy. And some people won’t be happy if ‘the wrong sort’ of people are happy, no matter what you do.

“I’m set financially thanks to everything Daddy’s put in trust for the kids and grandkids, so there’s no rush to find a job. I’ve been thinking about having a baby. Momma’s battling with herself between ‘traditional values’ and her desire to see me reproduce. And the clock’s ticking pretty loud, now.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, “but don’t you need a willing coconspirator? Or at least an anonymous donor?”

Or some stupid, horny, teenage boy? But I wasn’t going to suggest that.

“There’s a candidate,” she said cryptically. “We’ve just got to make him more willing.”

“We?”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with,” she said with a smile.

We both moaned in pleasure at our first bite of the pie.

“Don’t tell Momma, but I think they stole her recipe,” Aunt Karen said.

“Maybe she stole theirs,” I said as I shoveled another forkful toward my face.

“Better not let her hear you say that,” she said. “You’d be living with that girlfriend of yours permanently.”

“I don’t think Morgan’s parents would go for that,” I said.