Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
Elliott
The next night, I close the door to Baylor’s bedroom, knowing she’ll be passed out in the next thirty seconds.
We had a big day. She helped me do some things over at the camp, then I took her fishing on the lake.
I make my way back to the kitchen. “Anyone need a beer?”
I open the fridge and look over at my brothers, Ansel and Hollis, Roy, Jimmy, Clyde, and Sam, all sitting at the table, waiting to start the poker game.
In my teens and early twenties, the weekly poker games were always at my uncle’s place.
My siblings and I grew up having the Thermos Crew at our place every Saturday night.
When Baylor was young, that tradition continued.
It was easy to cart a baby around or put a toddler down in a Pack ’n Play.
But now that she’s older, we have the poker games at my place.
It’s just easier for Baylor to go to bed in her own room.
Since she sleeps like the dead, there’s never been a problem with us keeping her up.
“I’ll take one,” Ansel says.
I grab two from the fridge and hand Ansel his before sitting beside him.
Roy picks up the cards to deal because Roy always deals.
He holds the same worn cards he’s used for decades, shuffles them quickly, then hands them out methodically.
My uncle raised four kids, ran a hardware store, and singlehandedly held this family together through shit that would buckle most people, but I’ve never seen him rush anything.
Clyde frowns when he looks at his hand. “Gonna have to figure out my strategy with this.”
“You’ve never had a strategy,” Jimmy says, not bothering to lift his gaze from his own cards.
“Do too. It’s just fluid.” Clyde rearranges his cards in his hand.
“It’s losing.” Sam has already adjusted his chips into several straight towers in front of him.
He brought Marlene’s famous banana bread, half of which sits on the counter, and the other half is in Ansel’s stomach from what I can tell from the crumbs in front of him. I can’t blame him. It’s the best banana bread I’ve ever eaten.
Ansel bounces his leg under the table, something that used to drive me insane when we were younger.
Hollis leans back in his chair across from me, his cards flat on the table. I’m not sure if it’s all the youngest brothers who have a quiet arrogance to them, or it’s just mine. We can’t fault him. He’s the best poker player at this table.
If my sister still lived in Echo Lake, tonight would feel like every Saturday night growing up.
Except we’re all adults now, I’m a dad, and Roy and the Thermos Crew discuss their ailments more than their sex lives.
I’d rather hear about their bunions than when we went through that stage where they openly talked about needing assistance to get it up.
Ansel is still paranoid it’s going to happen with him.
I’m minding my own business when Jimmy lifts his gaze to me. “Heard about your new tenant.”
I really didn’t want to get into this tonight. “Roy rented the place to her, not me.”
My uncle leans back in his seat. “Elliott is acting like it’s a capital offense.”
“You shouldn’t have rented it to her.” And not just because of what she’s here to do. Because of reasons I don’t even want to examine.
Roy rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know who she was when I rented it to her.”
“That’s why you ask questions.” I shoot him a look, but Roy shrugs. Nothing gets under the guy’s skin, which is good since four kids were left on his doorstep, metaphorically speaking.
Ansel grins. “The best part is she’s living in your backyard.” He and Hollis look at one another and laugh.
“We have an entire yard between one another.” I take a pull from my beer, needing this conversation to go another way.
“Come on. It’s hilarious.”
I cut Ansel a look.
“Hollis, back me up here,” Ansel says.
Hollis lifts his beer and says, “It’s a little hilarious.”
“She seems nice,” Clyde says. “Ran into her at Dottie’s this morning. Good handshake. Looks you right in the eye.” He puts his two fingers pointed toward his eyes and back to us. Clyde has never met anyone he didn’t form an opinion about in the first thirty seconds.
“You judge people like it’s a boat you’re buying for the marina,” Jimmy says.
“A firm handshake is important. It tells you a lot about a person.” Clyde nods as though that’s that.
“It tells you they want you to know they have a firm handshake,” Jimmy says.
Sam sets his cards down with care. “She came into the bakery when I was in there yesterday. After she left, Deacon said he might have to name something after her, which would be a first. She’s making an impression.”
All this talk about Emelia is making me itch along my neck. “She’s here to sell us on a development that can change everything about this town.” I frown. “That’s what we should be talking about. That’s what matters.”
Roy peeks at me over his reading glasses. He has this thing—has had it my whole life. He doesn’t tell you that you’re wrong, but he looks at you long enough that no words are needed. “We can talk about both things.” He finally picks up his cards off the table.
Maybe now all Emelia conversation can end and we can get on with this game.
“There’s nothing to talk about. She’s doing her job, and I’m gonna do mine,” I say.
“Which we all thought was running the camp,” Ansel says.
“You’ve appointed yourself guardian of the town,” Hollis adds.
I really hate it when my brothers are on one side—against me. Then again, without Sutton here, it’s always two against one. Roy refuses to ever verbally speak his side, although usually, you get the gist from stares alone.
The table goes quiet for a beat. They all agree with my brothers. Hollis smiles, easy and warm, and he knows his point was made. But if I don’t do it, who will?
“Somebody has to,” I grumble.
“Sure.” He shrugs. “Just making sure you know the difference.”
Ansel tosses a potato chip into his mouth, chomps once, but continues talking. “All I know is that if I had a woman who looked like her living in my backyard, I’d buy a lottery ticket. And you can be damn sure I’d be a tour guide to Echo Lake.”
“I’m civil.” I scowl.
I was civil. In fact, I even thanked her for doing Baylor’s hair. How much more civil can you get?
“You’re civil like a guard dog,” Ansel says, then laughs at his own joke.
“What about you, Roy?” Clyde leans back in his seat and gestures toward my uncle. “You saw her in action last night. What do you think about her?”
My uncle looks at his cards, but he’s not really studying them.
His dramatic pauses are his staple when he wants to pretend to think about something, even though his decision is already made.
“I think she’s carrying more than she lets on.
And I think it wouldn’t kill Elliott to remember that not everyone who shows up here is looking to destroy something. ”
Hollis’s eyebrows lift.
“Let’s ante up.” I toss my poker chips in the middle of the table with the hopes of getting this going.
“Deflection through poker chips. Who thought it would go another way?” Ansel takes a pull from his beer.
Hollis tosses his chips in the pile.
Clyde—and I never thought I’d say this—thankfully launches into a story about a developer who tried to buy the marina from him over thirty years ago.
It takes at least twelve minutes with a lot of pauses and fact changes, containing at least three details that are patently false, but we all listen and nod anyway.
Roy keeps the game moving, and Jimmy curses when he’s the first one out, but drowns his sorrow with the other half of Marlene’s banana bread.
Sam keeps eyeing me but says nothing.
All the while, I focus on my cards and try not to think about the light from the bunkie visible through my sliding glass door.