Page 34 of Little Etheldreda Riding Hood

“Hey Red, we know you can work on the stage, but have you ever considered working on the stage?“ the old Gobelin says. “Ginger might accidentally be on to something. We don’t mind being your first audience, if you need to warm up.”

“It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make, huh?” I ask him.

I look down at the flannel button-up, work boots, and old jeans I’m wearing and grin. “You’re right, it probably would take forever to get out of this. But I’m actually here to rebuild the stage.”

“Oh, shoot,” the lady says. “You’re Zach’s girl…I’m sorry, my memory is horrible.”

I don’t bother to argue with the description.“ Just call me Red.”

She sticks her hand out over the bar. “Ginger. Nice to meet you. Sorry, I got you mixed up for someone else. Do you need anything?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Today, I’m just really going to organize the supplies.”

“They put everything out back. There’s a door right there where the stage used to be. It will take you right out to the courtyard.”

The courtyard, it turns out, is a really pleasant name for the shittiest back patio I’ve ever seen. Just outside the door is a small dock with a ramp that makes me think this had to have been a store of some kind at one point. Weeds grow between the cracks in the pavement and several tall stacks of sand bags are stacked in various places haphazardly here and there. Just outside the dock is the stack of wood I requested from Pearl’s. I check through everything against the original request she printed to confirm we got everything and go to work sorting it all out. It’s cold, but the building keeps most of the wind off of me. It’s been a while since I worked with wood and it feels good to do some physical labor.

I’ve been outside maybe ten minutes when the crunching of gravel alerts me that I’m not alone. I stand up, brush my hands off, and turn around to face my visitor, only to find myself watching the pig family making its way across the parking lot toward me.

Porshetta moves towards me immediately and nuzzles my hand, demanding pats. I scratch her the way Darla did until she dismisses me with a toss of her head and then I move onto Brad–no, not Brad…Chad. I would have scratched the baby pig too, but by the time Chad had tired of my scratches, she was running laps of the back length of the club.

“What brings you guys out this way today?” I ask Porshetta. She just blinks back in response.

I dig into my bag and come out with two small apples and some saltines. “Hopefully these are all pig friendly foods,” I say aloud to myself, because it’s not like the pigs are going to answer, and hand an apple each to the bigger pigs and a few crackers to the baby when she stops to investigate.

I turn to get back to work when Porshetta makes a loud grunting noise and steps between me and the door. It swings open and the old Gobelin stands in the doorway.

She grunts loudly at him and he takes a step back, pulling the door partially closed and sticking only his head out.

“Ah fuck, seriously? Look, don’t shoot the messenger, Porshetta, I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”

Porshetta doesn’t back down, but she doesn’t look like she’s going to charge at any moment either.

“Hey Red, some old dude out here is looking for you. Says his name is Jim.” I want to roll my eyes at his description. Uncle Jim is at least a decade younger than this gobelin.

“Thanks! I’ll be right there.”

I run a hand over Porshetta’s back. “Thanks girl. It’s always good to have a friend in my corner.” She nuzzles my hand demanding scratches, so I scratch her a bit before dusting off my hands and heading inside.

Uncle Jim is sitting at the bar looking slightly uncomfortable. I tap him on the back and at least for a moment he seems to forget whatever has him looking so off.

“Red!” he says with a smile. I give him a hug and settle on the seat next to him.

“How are Mae and the girls? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just passing through and Mae and I thought it’d be a good thing if I stopped and checked on you.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “Darla told me you’d be here.”

“Yeah, they had a fire and so I’m rebuilding the stage to earn some extra money. I don’t have anything full time yet, but I’ve got a part-time job next door working overnights for the Korean restaurant.”

He lets out a long breath, “Oh thank God, I thought you might be…I wasn’t sure how I was going to tell Mae if you were…”

Uncle Jim’s terror of all things girl is only matched by his terror of all things sexual—well, publicly at least. I laugh and shake my head, “Remember back in ninth grade how they put me on the xylophone because I was so bad in marching band that I could never keep the rhythm? I could never stay in step so the band director just gave up on me. I don’t think dancing for any reason is a good idea.”

He chuckles a little and looks down. “So, uh. There is something else I wanted to talk to you about really quick before I get back on the road. Morgan is…”

I groan.

Jim holds up a hand. “I know, but you need to hear this one. Willa and Morgan have had a few very public arguments. It’s probably wedding planning stress. You know how people’s business gets blown all over town, well, some of the younger guys in the shop say Morgan’s been talking about you a lot lately.”

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