He looks up from the linoleum in front of him long enough to give me an apathetic smile as he shrugs. “If you say so. I’ve never looked at either of you long enough to find a difference. As soon as I see you coming I turn around and walk in the other direction.”
“Really?” I shoot him a smile dipped in acid. “You usually have your head so far up your own ass I’m surprised you see anyone else at all.”
“Are you two going to start brawling like your granddads?” Officer Martinez asks.
My head snaps back around to the dark oak desk where officer Martinez sits watching us with concern. “Clyde punched George Adler?”
“Why else do you think I’m sitting here?” Tate asks me.
“Not just punched,” Officer Martinez says before I can answer Tate. “They were rolling around on the marble floor at city hall in front of the clerk. Kicking, punching, biting.”
“Biting?” Tate and I say in unison and then glare at each other before turning back to Martinez who nods vigorously.
“Oh yeah. Well, there’s no mark but George swears Clyde bit him.” Martinez chuckles but tries to cover it with a clearing of his throat. “I bet they’d have pulled each other’s hair if either of them had enough of it.”
He can’t hide his chuckle now so he excuses himself and heads down the hall mumbling something about going to see what’s taking the arresting officer so long. I turn back to Tate. “What did your grandfather do to get Clyde so upset?”
Tate rolls his eyes. “Oh please, everyone knows Clyde is an angry drunk.”
I open my mouth to combat that claim only it’s true. I could say something like “but it’s noon, not cocktail hour,” but for all I know Clyde had a couple before he left the house this morning. He usually carries a flask in his back pocket, so I don’t really have a leg to stand on. “Well George isn’t exactly known for his empathy and good cheer. At least not where we are concerned. He’s attacked my family verbally as far back as I can remember, so I’m sure he’s the one who escalated it to physical abuse.”
“Your granddad once came to one of my hockey games to yell insults at me,” Tate reminds me, those dark green eyes of his narrowed with disdain. “I was freaking twelve years old and he was in the stands chirping me like I was an NHL star on his most hated team.”
I vaguely remember this story. I would have been twelve too and my uncle Bobby was the coach of the local team that Tate was on. “Yeah but didn’tyourgrandfather used to show up to practices and scream obscenities at my uncle because he thought you weren’t getting enough ice time?”
“Tate Adler. Maggie Todd,” a voice booms from nearby and Tate and I both jump to our feet. Another police officer marches toward us. He’s big, burly, and frowning. Beside him is Ethel, the town clerk. She’s a tiny little silver-haired lady in a T-shirt with an airbrushed cat on the front. She’s smiling at us, but it’s awkward. The officer glances from Tate to me and back to Tate again. “You had a killer season last year, Tate. First time I can remember that a Burlington defensemen has led the division in shorthanded goals.”
Tate smiles, his shoulders go back and he nods. “Yeah, it was a great season. Although personally, I’d have liked to win the division.”
“That’s what this year is for, right?” The officer chuckles and I want to groan in disgust at this love fest but instead I bite my lip and read his name on his shirt.
“Officer Humphries, can you tell us what’s going on with our grandfathers please?” I interrupt with a polite smile.
“We’ve got them back there in separate cells so they can calm down. So far neither one wants to press charges against the other,” Officer Humphries explains. “I just finished taking Mrs. Morris’s statement since the incident happened directly in front of her.”
Tate smiles warmly at Ethel. “I’m so sorry you had to witness that. Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Morris?”
Ethel smiles at him like she’s a schoolgirl looking at her crush. “You can call me Ethel, Tate you sweetheart. And you don’t need to apologize. We all know George and Clyde don’t get along, but I certainly never saw them come to blows. I guess it was bound to happen eventually, but I didn’t expect it at the sign-up for the farmer’s market of all places.”
The fall farmer’s market. Of course. I sigh heavily and lift my eyes to the popcorn ceiling of the police station lobby. I asked my dad if he would head to city hall today and sign us up for a booth. The market runs year-round but has seasonal sign-up sheets as a way to help rotate vendors. He has been complaining we aren’t letting him do enough so I gave him this task. He probably wasn’t up for it though and didn’t want to admit it to me so he asked my grandfather, Clyde, to go.
My dad had a stroke in the spring – thankfully not severe, but it did affect his balance and his energy levels, which is a huge problem for a farmer. My uncles Bobby and Ben, who own a construction business, have begrudgingly jumped back into farm work part-time to help out, but it’s not exactly working out. My uncle Bobby forgot to sign us up for summer and we missed out on valuable income from the busiest market season. And now this.
“What, exactly, happened?” Tate asks gently and folds his arms over his chest, which is ridiculously broad.
“Well today was fall sign-up and everything was going smoothly, but then we got down to the last spot.” Ethel raises a hand to her chest like she’s having palpitations. Dear God, leave it to Clyde to traumatize the sweetest woman in Vermont. “George and Clyde were the only ones left in line. George was technically before Clyde. Clyde said George flirted with Katherine Oleson, who let him slip in line behind her, in front of Clyde. George denied it and Clyde called him a lying sack of…doo-doo. But he didn’t use the word doo-doo. And then George gave Clyde a rude gesture with his hands and Clyde yelled something I don’t dare repeat. And then…they just started throwing punches. It happened so fast I don’t even know who started it.”
Now Ethel is fanning herself like she’s about to faint. I step a little closer. “I’m so sorry, Ethel. Truly.”
“It’s not your fault either, honey.” Ethel stops fanning herself and pats my shoulder. “But the fact remains. We have one booth and two farms.”
“I suggested to George and Clyde that they should have to share it,” Officer Humphries says and Tate and I both tense up like we’ve been simultaneously poked with a cattle prod. He notices. “Yeah they both had the same reaction. Why do your families hate each other so much?”
“There’s not enough hours in the day to explain that to you, sir,” Tate mutters.
“His family stole some of our acreage,” I say confidently.
“Your family ran a tractor through our fence,” Tate counters.
