Saturday afternoon, Clyde stood in front of the deep fryer at the Dairy Queen, knowing he was using his work as a means of ignoring the worry in his mind. He had already talked to Hector Chavez and discovered that Neil was blowing hot air. Child Protective Services wouldn’t even get involved unless Clyde had custody of Nathan—but Clyde was still anxious. Neil had made a threat, and even if his accusations wouldn’t hold up in court, he clearly wanted to make trouble for Clyde, and he had plenty of power to do it.
“Hey.”
Clyde hadn’t seen Lynda come in, and her soft greeting surprised him.
Her gaze met his, but she looked away quickly. “You get off soon, right?”
“Few minutes.”
She glanced at the time clock, then the parking lot, then the bubbling oil. “I’m sorry about last night.”
Clyde lifted a basket of chicken strips and hooked it on a rack to drain. “I’m not.”
Her hand fiddled with the neck band of her shirt. “I don’t mean I’m sorry about everything. I’m just sorry … it took me so long.”
She was sorry.
Clyde separated two cardboard trays and scooped fries into them. Lynda just apologized for being so strung out on memories, she couldn’t function in the present. He couldn’t figure how to answer her. He looked past the ice-cream machine, through the plate-glass windows, and into the parking lot. “If you keep showing up right when I get off work, I’m going to get the wrong idea.”
She finally exhaled. “You’re not the only one.”
He noticed an old Honda pulling into the lot. “There’s my replacement.”
“Ellery Leach can cook?”
“It’s just the Dairy Queen, Lyn. Anybody can do it.”
“Evidently.”
The teenager swerved into a parking space, loped across the asphalt, and shoved the glass door so hard it slammed against an adjacent table. When he came around the counter and into the kitchen, Clyde felt the instinct to brace himself as though a high wind were about to smash through the restaurant.
“Have you heard?” Ellery’s face was pinker than usual. “It’s all over town.”
Clyde rested an elbow on top of the slush machine. “Guess not.”
Ellery paused with his apron halfway over his head and stared at them. “Everyone’s been talking about it up at the school.” He methodically wrapped the apron strings around his waist, then tied them in slow motion. “You know the Tarron boys have been dropping grenades out there in the lake?”
“Grenades?” Lynda picked at a hangnail.
Ellery rushed his words. “Yeah, and yesterday they blew up a spot down by the cliffs, and a rearview mirror blasted out of the water. Landed on shore twenty feet from where they were standing.”
“A mirror, huh?” Clyde walked to the time clock.
“Turns out the Tarrons found a car down there. It was too deep for them to see it much, but the Lubbock police are checking into it.” He smiled so widely, his braces looked like train tracks, and then he swiped his hand beneath his nose.
Clyde held the soap dispenser toward the kid and gestured to the sink.
Ellery peered from the soap to the sink, then shrugged and began washing his hands. “It’s probably been out there awhile, so you can only imagine the shape the driver’s in by now. Slimy, I bet.”
Lynda gave a disgusted grunt and walked away, and Clyde followed her.
“What?” Ellery called after them, but Clyde only shook his head and lifted his hand in a wave.
Lynda led him out the door, but her steps slowed until she stopped between two red outdoor tables.
“Want to go for a drive?” Clyde no longer felt an urgency to take her out on a real date. He would still do it eventually—court her like she ought to be courted, like she was something special—but after Neil’s unexpected behavior last night, all Clyde wanted to do was be with her, hold her, pretend they were somewhere else.
“I don’t know why I came by.” In answer to his question, she walked slowly to his car. “If you’ve got something else to do, I can head home.”
Clyde slid into the driver’s seat and tried not to smile. In spite of all their problems, he thought it was cute, her showing up when he got off work, yet unable to admit she wanted to see him. “I’ve got nothing else,” he said.
“We could just drive around town.”
Clyde studied her. Crossed arms, tightened lips, furrowed brow. He started the car but then paused with his hand on the gearshift. “I told you CPS won’t get involved. Neil’s way out of line this time.”
She peered out the passenger window, looking away from him, and Clyde felt they were separated by a million miles.
“What about the car-seat thing?” she asked.
“Hector said it could only result in a Class C ticket. Nothing as dramatic as a restraining order.”
She released a heavy breath, then looked at him. “It’ll be all right?”
“It will.”
When he backed out of the parking space and stopped at the street, JohnScott and Fawn pulled in. They were in JohnScott’s truck, with Nathan strapped in his car seat between them.
With both vehicles blocking the entrance, Clyde rolled down his window and greeted his son-in-law. He would never get used to having a son-in-law, or a grandson, or a daughter. He would never get used to having a life at all.
“You already off?” JohnScott grinned at Clyde, then ducked so he could see his aunt Lynda.
“Just now.”
Nathan clapped his hands and squealed. “Cyde!” The baby leaned forward in his seat, slammed his head back, and then he did it again, laughing.
“What are y’all up to?” Clyde asked.
“Neil and Susan are coming over for dinner. We’re just picking up a bag of crushed ice.”
“That right?” Clyde studied JohnScott, wondering why he looked older.
“The Blaylocks are pushing for Nathan to spend more time with Tyler.” JohnScott draped his wrist over the steering wheel. “I know it’s the right thing, since he’s Nathan’s dad and all, but it still feels wrong.”
Fawn opened her truck door and walked around to stand by the passenger side of the sedan, and Clyde heard Lynda huff as she rolled down the window.
Apparently Fawn didn’t want to discuss her problems, and Clyde couldn’t blame her. He blocked out the women’s small talk and lowered his voice. “JohnScott, do you ever feel like Nathan’s got one too many dads?”
“Sometimes, yeah. I love the kid, and I’d give anything to be his kin.” His mouth curved downward. “Besides, it would be a lot easier without Tyler in the picture, babysitting problems or not.”
“Yep,” Clyde agreed. “Sometimes it’s that way with Fawn, only I don’t feel like I’m the one who’s kin.” He cleared his throat, wanting to tell JohnScott about Neil’s threat but not wanting to burden him. “I don’t wish Neil away, but things would be simpler if she only had one of us in her life.”
Nathan kicked his feet and clapped, and JohnScott laid his palm on the baby’s head, running his fingers through his curls. He looked at Fawn and Lynda, then pulled his chin in. “Fawn says her mom’s been moody lately. Crying a lot. So there may be something going on between them that’s made Neil crankier than usual.”
Fawn interrupted. “Hey, have you guys heard about the fuss out at the lake?”
“Sure enough.” Clyde knew Lynda would be ready to hit the trail, but he figured he ought to follow through with the conversation before suggesting they leave. He’d learned it was the polite thing to do, especially with friends and family. “Can’t believe there’s been a car on the bottom of the lake, and nobody noticed it.”
“They say it’s in one of the deepest spots, but the lake is a little low”—Fawn laughed lightly—“and with the explosives those crazy boys have been using out there, things are getting stirred up.”
“Are they just going to leave it down there?” Lynda asked.
JohnScott’s arm hung outside the truck, and he tapped his fingers against the door. “One of the coaches heard they’re bringing a crane to pull it out.”
“When’s that happening?” Clyde glanced around the DQ parking lot, almost expecting to see townspeople scurrying to the lake.
“Sometime this afternoon. They’re rushing it on account of those bones.” JohnScott pooched out his bottom lip. “We can’t go watch because Neil and Susan are coming over.”
“We could go.” Clyde turned to Lynda.
She shrugged. “Free entertainment, I suppose. What kind of vehicle is it?”
“A pickup truck,” JohnScott said. “I wonder if it’ll turn out to be an oil-rig worker. Or a wind tech.”
“I bet not,” Fawn said. “If it was a company truck, it would have been reported missing.”
“Maybe it was,” he answered. “It’d be hidden on the bottom of the lake either way.”
Clyde’s mind conjured up a wacky scenario that he wanted to share with JohnScott, but just then another car stopped on the street, waiting for access to the Dairy Queen entrance.
Fawn bounced around the two cars and back into her seat, and JohnScott lifted his ball cap, then replaced it on his head. “See y’all later.”
Clyde eased away from the parking lot, turning the steering wheel to head out of town. He didn’t care if they ended up at the lake, or at the windmills, or a hundred miles away where nobody knew them. “This could be our first official date if you wanted it to be.”
“No candlelight dinner? No romantic movie? No flowers?”
“Nope. Just me. And a crane pulling a car out of the lake. It don’t get any better than that.”
Lynda sighed dramatically, looked behind them as if checking for witnesses, then unhooked her seat belt and slid next to him. “Sounds like my kind of date.” She reclicked the middle seat belt, tightening it around her waist and anchoring herself solidly next to Clyde.
Suddenly he felt as if one of the Tarrons’ grenades had exploded inside him, sending a spray of anticipation and peace through the interior of his old sedan. He chuckled, put his arm around Lynda, and pulled her snugly against his side. Right where she belonged.