Page 89 of Hooked
“I told him if he could climb up the tree, he could climb down. I was too old to go get him. I had arthritis by then.”
“He told a five-year-old that it was up to him to find his way back down a fifty-foot-tall sugar pine,” Jeremy said. “This family has no mercy.”
“It was a damn fool thing to do, bug.”
Tayla’s eyes were the size of saucers. “How did you even get up that high?”
“I had no fear on the way up,” Jeremy said. “When I got to the top branch, I got a little freaked out.”
Gus reached for another slice of pie. “We should have known then about the mountain climbing thing.”
Tayla shook her head. “I guess so.” She held up her hand when Gus offered her another piece. She’d accepted Jeremy’s invitation for dinner, and Gus proceeded to make a delicious tri-tip dinner followed by dessert and all sorts of embarrassing stories about Jeremy. “Does it bother you?”
Gus frowned. “What?”
“The rock climbing thing?”
“I’m his old grandpa,” Gus said. “He doesn’t listen to me. Does it botheryou?”
“A little.” Tayla glanced at Jeremy. “I don’t love the idea of him getting hurt.”
“That’s the truth.” Gus cleared his throat. “But you know why he does it?”
“I think so.” She stole a glance at Jeremy, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. “I know he says it centers him. The way yoga does for me.”
“I’m guessing with yoga you keep your damn butt on the ground though,” Gus said.
“Well, yeah.” She looked at Jeremy. “But I’d never ask him to stop.”
He mouthed the wordthanks.
“Besides, it isn’t my place,” she said.
“Sure it is,” Gus said. “Look at him.”
“Pop, enough.” Jeremy stood and reached for the plates. “Tayla, you want anything else?”
She shook her head. “I’m good. The food was great. Thanks, both of you.”
“The pie came from Daisy’s café. Do you know it?” Gus’s eyes twinkled. “Café Maya. She makes me a fresh blueberry and sour cream every week. That was my wife’s specialty. Did Jeremy tell you that? Blueberry sour cream, and sweet potato. That was my other favorite pie. Every church picnic, she’d bring a sweet potato pie. Everyone wanted her recipes. She only gave them to Maya though. Daisy’s grandma. They were friends.”
“Wait, so Daisy’s grandma—?”
“Maya. She was friends with Louisa, my wife. When Maya and Enrique first moved here, they didn’t speak a lick of English. Enrique worked on the ranch for a while. He was a damn good worker and knew his horses, that’s for sure. We managed, even though I didn’t speak any Spanish back then.”
“Wow. What year was that?”
Jeremy said, “Probably around 1955? 1956?”
“It was 1957 when they moved to the United States. And none of the white teachers in town had classes for the Mexicans who wanted to learn English. The schools had some classes for children, but they wouldn’t take adults. Now, my Louisa’s mother was a school teacher back in Georgia and she had that teacher’s spirit. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do.”
“So she started a class after church on Sunday. And all the Mexicans who wanted to learn English would come to learn at the church. That’s how she and Maya got to be friends. They stayed friends their whole lives. It was hard on Louisa when Maya passed. She passed young.”
“So did grandma,” Jeremy said.
“Not as young as Maya,” Gus said. “Daisy’s mama had all her recipes though, so they kept up the café. And my Louisa’s pie recipes are the ones they still use, isn’t that right?”
