Page 89 of Confessions of the Funny Fat Friend

She walked over the unkempt buffalo grass to the big front stoop. “This would be a beautiful common area for an apartment building—you could set up some benches and people could actually get to know their neighbors.”

I pictured the peeling paint over the cement done up freshly, maybe even covered with a wooden deck, and rocking chairs lined along the building. Add some hanging plants, and it could be a beautiful place to pass an afternoon with a glass of sweet tea.

She walked to the side of the porch, looking around the back. “The playground is dangerous, but if you took it out, there would be plenty of room for a big community garden and maybe even another sitting area?”

I put my arm around her, loving the way she dreamed. “Imagine it being a senior living building,” I said. “Grandpa would love it here, closer to home.”

“I love that!” she said, twisting in my arms to give me a kiss.

Tires crunched on gravel, and we looked over to see Linda Macomb walking our way. I lifted a hand and said, “Hi, Linda.”

She peeled off her black sunglasses, revealing light blue eyes. “Tyler Griffen, is that you? I haven’t seen you since you were scoring touchdowns!”

I chuckled, turning to Hen. “Linda, this is my girlfriend, Hen.”

Hen smiled, shaking Linda’s pale hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, darling. Let me show you around.”

We went into the school, and it was about as rundown as I’d expected. Even though the hardware store had taken out most of their stuff, there was a layer of dirt on the floor an inch thick. All the windows were dirty and cobwebbed. But I’d been right—this place had been built in the early 1900s. So much detail had gone into woodwork back then, before the minimalism trend hit.

As we walked outside, Linda asked, “Thinking of buying it?”

Hen glanced at me, her eyes full of curiosity.

“It’s a pipe dream,” I said. “I travel too much to ever be able to do it justice.”

“That’s a shame,” Linda said. She reached into her purse and handed me a business card. Her photo on it had to be from ten years ago. “Call me if anything changes.”

I assured her I would, and then Hen and I got in the truck. From the schoolhouse, it was a right turn and an easy shot out of town.

“It’s so different from Emerson,” Hen said, gazing around as we drove down the dirt road that led to Griffen Farms. It was a beautiful fall day, low sixties, and the sun was shining. All the cottonwood trees had brown and yellow leaves, and even the grass was turning from green to yellow. Something about this place just made my heart feel lighter.

“It’s home,” I said.

“I bet you get so homesick when you’re on the road.”

I nodded, squeezing her hand. “The air’s just different here.”

She smiled, then her look changed to surprise. Pointing out the windshield, she asked, “Are those llamas?”

“Alpacas,” I said. “When I was about five, the Deans decided alpacas were better than cattle. They’ve had ostriches, emus, even camels one year. It’s always fun to see what they’ve got going.”

Hen giggled. “Who would have thought? Camels in Texas.”

“We’re full of surprises.”

“Any camels on your farm?”

I shook my head. “But Dad did buy a goat one year because he was tired of mowing the lawn.”

She laughed. “Don’t mention that to my dad. He would actually buy one.”

“It’s all fun and games until you see goat hoofprints on your car.”

“They jump?” she asked, seemingly surprised and amused.

“Oh yeah. And they’ll headbutt you if you’re not paying attention.”

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