“Beau Abbot.” I give in. It’s not like I’m here on a secret mission and I’m content with the fact that I made her work for the information.
Her face changes from a mild curiosity to a sharp interest, and I get nervous. Maybe I should start asking some questions of my own. “Do you know Beau?” Or does everyone here have those eyes?
She laughs at me. “You could say that.”
Before I can follow up with the one woman in the South who chooses to hold her answers close to the chest, Eve comes over.
“Hey, Momma Abbot.” She kisses the woman on her upturned cheek and turns to me. “Sonia, this is Beau’s Mee-maw, Patsy. That means his grandma, to us Northern folk.” I nod in appreciation for the confirmation of the definition I had assumed from context.
“Another Yankee? Why can’t we keep you carpetbaggers away?” Mee-maw Patsy affectionately swats her daughter-in-law on the side, no real animosity in her tone.
“We’re just here to steal all your men with our Northern succubus powers. And drink all your sweet tea.” She extends her hand out to me and I reflexively return the high-five.
Where was I when the North was handing out succubus powers? I feel cheated.
“As long as she’s not here to hurt Beau or take him to the North. I went to New York in 1985, and the crowds were too much.”
Ugh. This whole trip has been the opposite of casual, no-feelings, fun vacation at every turn. Can’t they tell I’m not ready for any of this? That I don’twantthis?
“It’s not like that. We’re casual.” I’m proud of myself for getting the answer out amongst all my turmoil. I don’t even beat myself up for not defending New York. She’ll understand.
Well, maybe not. She’s not the most forgiving city.
“Hmm. Tell me about yourself,” Patsy says.
I look at Eve, worried about that tone, but she gives me a thumbs-up and then flees.
“Well, I work at an auction house...”
“The mulch is mine,” Beau says when he strides into the barn, a bag of what I assume is mulch slung over his shoulder.
As excited as I am for him that he solved the great mulch fiasco, and how happy I am that the mulch is making his muscles flex and bulge with its weight, I currently can’t really appreciate any of that because I have both arms clutching a camel’s reins as he tries to pull me around the barn and I try to keep him in his designated corner.
Beau throws the mulch in a corner and walks over to me. “Were you able to get any work done?”
“About thirty minutes’ worth.”
“I’m impressed you got that much done.”
“Help me with this camel,” I beg, my pride forgotten now that I’m getting dragged around the barn like a dachshund getting walked by a bodybuilder.
“You were excited about him. You know they’re stubborn.” Beau pets the animal like they’re old friends. The camel stops for Beau, of course.
“I respect that they don’t feel the need to cater to the humans that take care of them.” I can respect the camel and still curse him, right? Because that’s where I am.
“Just tell him how much you respect him.”
I give him the stink eye. A stink eye perfected by mimicking the look Ramses the camel gave me when I told him he had to stay in his corner and wait for his handler to get back from a lunch break. Beau’s lucky I didn’t include the spit that Ramses pointed in my general direction.
Beau takes the reins and I heave a sigh of relief. It’s short-lived when I see how well-behaved Ramses is for Beau.
It’s very rude, is all. I gave him so much respect.
“The mulch holiday debacle is sorted, then?” I ask him, enjoying petting Ramses now that he’s a well-behaved camel. Even if it’s not for me.
“All taken care of. I threatened to buy my mulch from a seller up North and then I threatened lawyers and I don’t know or care which threat worked, but they ‘found’ us some more and some of the crew are getting that mulch around the trees as we speak.”
“Congrats on your mulch.” I wonder if Hallmark makes a card for this situation. I think not, but maybe they sell specialist farm-themed cards in agrarian regions.
