SUN LUNCH 06
“What do you mean you aren’t coming with us?” I said to Hunter as my turkey sandwich choked at my throat.
Mini throw up.
“Checked in with Ma.” Hunter held the rope tied to the boat while Grampa backed up the truck and lowered it into the black waters. “She got called in to work, so I gotta go watch the Harp. No go for me.”
Gramps hit the brakes hard, and Ol Nessie glided into the water like a cat sliding across fresh Pledge-sprayed floors.
“I’ll swing back and pick y’all up in three days.” Hunter broke his train of thought and raised both eyebrows my way. “Why? Scared?”
The thought never crossed my mind.
“Me, heck no.”
“THWACK!” shouted Hunter. “Heh heh heh.”
Yep. My first trip without brother tonsils – short for pain in the neck Harper – and he still fouled things up.
Only now, the thought of going on a fishing trip . . . into Bayou Vivrè . . . with a Loup Garou . . . with Grampa Grump . . . alone.
I had only one thing to say about that–