Page 48 of Bourbon Bliss
Cassidy turned to me. “Because, Juney. He made his intentions with you known. That means the Bodines have to dunk him in the lake. It’s what they do.”
“They did it to Dev,” Scarlett said. “Right off my dock.”
“But I’m not… He’s not… I don’t understand.” An odd sense of warmth spread through my chest and up my throat. “They’re doing that forme?”
George was lying down—or at least, on his back beneath the large arm of the trebuchet. The Bodines were still holding him down.
“You bet they are,” Cassidy said.
The ridiculousness of what I was seeing seemed to fade, replaced by a simple realization. The Bodines were throwing George in the lake because he wanted to date me.
I hadn’t been this happy since George said he wanted me to meet his rabbit.
“We ready?” Tom stepped up, ready to release the rope.
“This is surprisingly elaborate,” I said, more to myself than anyone else nearby.
“They’ve outdone themselves with this one,” Cassidy said.
“Go!”
The shout came from several of the Bodies—I wasn’t sure which—and the men all jumped back. Tom released the rope, the weight on one end went down, and George went up.
And up.
And over.
George yelled as he flew through the air in a tall arc. The trajectory was impressive. The men all cheered as he fell, whooping and hollering and high fiving.
“Wait,” I shouted, fear making my heart race. “Is he intoxicated? He’ll drown!”
“Don’t worry, Juney, we already thought of that,” Jameson hollered back. “Nash and Buck are both out there in boats, ready to rescue him.”
“He’ll be fine,” Gibson said, flashing me a rare smile.
George hit the water with a splash and the cheers resumed. I raced down to the edge of the lake, and sure enough, Nash and Buck were both rowing toward the figure bobbing in the water.
His white helmet was visible; he was probably fine.
15
June
The trebuchet became a Bootleg lakefront phenomenon—for the rest of the afternoon, at least. A steady stream of people lined up, the cold be damned, to take a turn—until Freddy Sleeth belly-flopped so hard he came out with two black eyes and a broken nose. Then my dad and Mayor Hornsbladt declared it too dangerous for human projectiles and made Tom take it back to his place.
A procession of mourners followed his tractor as Tom towed it back to the Hammond Farm. It looked like a funeral march. Men removed their hats out of respect. Tom managed to turn everything around that night by throwing a big bonfire and launching an old Volkswagen Beetle across his field.
George had not only survived the inaugural lake launch, he’d become even more of a celebrity for it. The story grew in the telling, and within a few days, people were saying he’d been thrown clear to the far bank. Some had him skipping across the surface like a rock. Still others said he’d sliced into the water like an Olympic diver, barely making a splash.
The truth was, he’d come out of the water disoriented, but sober as an entire church choir. And he flinched whenever any of the Bodines got near him.
What he didn’t realize was that he was one of us now. He wouldn’t get launched into the lake again, as long as he didn’t do anything to hurt me. Which was such a strange and archaic thing, I couldn’t understand why it made me so happy. What business was it of theirs who I dated, or how our relationship turned out?
For once in my life, I didn’t overthink it. This was Bootleg Springs. It was how we did things.
George called the next Friday morning to let me know his assistant, Andrea Wilson, was driving out to Bootleg that afternoon with his pet rabbit. That made me inexplicably happy as well. Although it was clear to me the ideal pet was a pot-bellied pig—for a variety of reasons—George’s rabbit was obviously important to him. And his excitement over seeing his small mammal, and introducing me to her, was infectious.
In other words, I was excited too.
