Page 16 of Riding the High

“You’re the best, Bev!”

This sheriff gig is going to take a lot out of me, but as long as I leave this place better than I found it, I’ll be satisfied. Even if that means I have to make nice with Brent.

The rest of my week flows effortlessly, with Brent knee-deep in last year’s expenses, and by mid-afternoon on Friday, as I’m driving to pick up Mabes from the ranch, I find myself actually looking forward to our Vegas weekend. I haven’t been awayin … forever. The last time was a few years ago, when Wade and I went to watch Nash in one of his playoff games.

I pull up to the big house and see my girl on the porch munching on a huge ice cream cone next to Harley, our family dog. My mama is playing Johnny and June through a Bluetooth speaker softly as she rocks and reads on the double porch swing; the trees are swaying behind the house. I suppose I should be appreciating how settling it is, but the only thing I’m thinking isthere goes Mabel’s lunch.My mother raises her hands when she sees me, as if to say she’s not guilty of giving my eight-year-old an ice cream the size of her head.

“We’ve talked about this,” I say as I shut my truck door.

“It wasn’t me. Pop made it for her,” Mama replies, standing to give me a squeeze.

“She helped me weed the whole back garden,” Pop says, coming through the door with an ice cream of his own, even bigger than Mabel’s.

“Don’t be such a hard-ass. A little ice cream won’t kill her.”

“That’s another dollar in my boot, Great-Pop.” Mabel reminds him. He owes her a dollar every time he swears. We all do.

“I put ten in your boot when you got here. I’m all paid up.” He winks.

“You guys really don’t get the idea of the swear boot, do you?” I ask my grandfather as I shake my head, leaning against the old wooden porch rail. “And Mama, please try to keep the sugar to a minimum when I’m gone this weekend.”

“What do I always say?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest and reclaiming her seat beside Mabel. “When she’s here, she’s my girl. Not yours.” She grins at Mabel and I remind myself to be grateful I have my family so close and willing to help. I watch my daughter wink back at my mother. Then I laugh and lean forward to ruffle her hair. When the hell did sheget so grown-up? A pang of guilt hits my chest for leaving her this weekend. I don’t like being away from her, even if I know she’s going to have the best time with her nana.

“You’re going, Cole,” my mama says sternly, reading my mind.

“We’re going shopping for my dress,” Mabel says as she finishes her ice cream and begins crunching down the cone.

“Are you now?” I ask.

“Yeah, her mama called, said she has to work and probably wouldn’t have time to take her before your swearing-in.” Mama eyes me carefully, signaling this means Gemma is missing her weekly visit again. She’s been talking about taking Mabel shopping in Lexington for two weeks. I eye Mabel, who doesn’t seem to care that my mama will be the one taking her. I tell myself that with all the people around her that love her andarethere for her, maybe she won’t notice if one isn’t.

I pick up Mabel’s backpack and put it into the truck.

“We’ll be back in two hours,” I call, backing out of the driveway. I sigh as we drive home. I’m fucking exhausted. The idea of foregoing this whole trip, getting a good long run in, then sitting my ass on the couch with a pizza and some TV flashes through my mind before I give my head a shake. Fuck, what am I? Forty-nine instead of twenty-nine? Maybe I need this weekend after all.

We get home in just under ten minutes. Our house is on the other side of town, near Cave Run Lake, and is the place I feel the most comfortable. It’s not a huge property, but sits on the curve of a tree-lined court with a big pie-shaped lot. Sycamores and catalpa trees frame the yard and create a sense of privacy for our inground pool during the summer. It’s the perfect place to raise Mabel. She can ride her bike, draw with chalk on our long concrete driveway, and even venture into the court without worrying about any traffic. Most of my neighbors are retired and treat her like the little princess of the street. Our house is a smallish red ranch-style brick home with a big front picture window,three bedrooms and a double garage. The best part is that it’s all mine. Paid for from years of saving and the inheritance my dad left each of us kids when he died. He wanted us to spend it while we were young, and I couldn’t think of anything better to invest in than a stable home for Mabes.

Mabel drops her backpack on the bench in our entryway the moment we get in the door.

“Wash up,” I tell her as I toe my boots off before heading to the kitchen to start on a late lunch.

I hear the familiar buzz of my phone on the kitchen counter as I enter and start pulling out some meat, cheese and fruit from the fridge. When in doubt, a little smorgasbord will do the trick.

There are multiple messages from pretty much everyone I know, including Ginger.

VIXEN

Is this what I can expect from the good sheriff this weekend?

She’s attached a video of some kind of Vegas male stripper show. A row of about ten “cops” dance a choregraphed routine before ripping their fake uniform shirts from their bodies. I laugh. Christ, this woman never ceases to surprise me.

I don’t want to know what you searched to find this. But to answer your question, this is exactly what you can expect. But I’m a better dancer.

VIXEN

Don’t forget to pack those handcuffs and your dancing shoes then, twinkle toes.

Do you know me? I’ve been packed for two days.

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