Chapter 18 Presley
PRESLEY
Truck or Treat.
When I first heard people talk about it in high school, I was sure I was mishearing them. Then I saw a poster. Still, I convinced myself it was a typo.
It’s not.
That is really what this town calls it—Truck or Treat.
It was explained to me then, and a couple of times since, that the name came from Hickory Hills being a small, rural ag town, where most of the residents drive trucks.
The name fits—there is no denying that—but I’m still not entirely convinced that it wasn’t a typo that someone thought was cute and then leaned into.
Because the residents of Hickory Hills take the truck part seriously.
“Question,” I say, watching as Jace removes Otis from his car seat. This time, there isn’t a fight with the buckle. Jace has become a lot more adept at the process.
“Answer,” he throws over his shoulder.
“Why don’t they combine the Fall Festival and Truck or Treat? It seems silly to have these two big events back-to-back.”
Newton field is lined with every kind of truck you can imagine. All of them decked out in their Halloween finest. It’s a similar setup to last weekend, a lot of the vendors appearing to even be in the same exact spots, making me wonder if they even bothered tearing down in between.
“They’re not usually back-to-back like this,” Jace answers, placing Otis on the ground and closing the car door.
“To infiminee and beyond!” Otis squeals, running in a circle around Jace.
“It’s infinity, Little Man.” Jace laughs, correcting him for at least the third time already this evening.
At some point he’ll realize we’re just not going to get that word right for a little while.
“Most years the Fall Festival is the first weekend in October, picking up right after the farmers’ market closes.
This year they moved it because of the way fall break fell for both Knox County and the ones surrounding.
I get the impression from some things Miss Belle said that it was not a popular decision. ”
Makes sense, on both accounts. I can understand why they would want to work around the school schedules, giving everyone maximum chance at attending and participating. That said, back-to-back weekends is a lot. Even for a small town that thrives on this kind of stuff.
“C’mooooooon…” Otis takes Jace’s hand, tugging him with all his might, completely ignoring our conversation.
I sigh, trying to steel myself for this. I’m not sure I have the energy.
“Slow down,” Jace instructs gingerly. “Gotta wait for Mama. That big skirt of hers takes some effort.”
“Ha-ha,” I retort.
He has a point; my skirt is heavy. It’s not like I went full-on hoop skirt, but the layered, ruffled petticoat does add some heft to it.
Not to the point I can’t walk, but there won’t be any running in this thing either.
If Otis decides to do the forty-yard dash tonight, Jace is going to have to be the one going after him.
Unless I’m quick enough to catch him with my shepherd’s crook.
It’s plastic and rather flimsy, but should be enough to at least slow him down.
“Didn’t say I disliked it,” Jace replies, taking my hand. Stealing a quick kiss, he winks, looking too cute for his own good in the legit Woody costume he managed to find last minute on the Internet. Butterflies erupt in my chest, making any indignation I felt melt away.
“And personally,” he whispers, keeping his face close to mine so that his words stay between us, “I’m looking forward to exploring underneath it later.”
Good Mother Goose…
The cool evening air blows, hitting my skin as it heats up, making me shiver.
I squeeze Jace’s hand, unable to find the words to respond, but it doesn’t matter.
He can clearly see the effect he’s having on me.
His impish grin takes over, only for a split second, then fades just as quickly as he morphs back into parent mode.
Errr, I mean…uncle mode? Shit, I don’t know what to call the relationship between him and Otis. Cute, loving, and more than I could ever ask for. That’s what it’s been.
“Lead the way, Little Man. What are we hitting up first?”
Otis tugs again, this time taking us with him. We let him set the course, his bright orange plastic pumpkin swinging from his other hand. I’ve got a reusable shopping bag slung over my arm to dump his collection into if the bucket gets too heavy, but for now, it’s all him.
“What’s that?” Otis asks, after visiting half a dozen trucks, only remembering to say trick-or-treat at a couple of them.
He points to a long table filled with brightly colored apples, all dipped in something, making them almost too pretty to eat.
“The red ones are candy apples and the brown ones are caramel apples,” Jace explains, picking up Otis and depositing him on his hip so he can see. “And then, Miss Dolly here rolled some of them in extra goodies. Nuts, M I drive past it every day.
It’s not going to look different just because we’re going super slow and trying not to sneeze.
“No, it’s fine. It’s part of the experience.”