Page 5 of Merry Little Sugar Rush
“Well, you’re here now,” Klint says, reaching over and slapping me on the back. “Gram is practically shooting rainbows and snowflake glitter out of her ass right now.”
I bark out a laugh and shake my head. “That’s an image.”
He just grins. “She’s going to visit Gramps this morning, but she’ll be here this afternoon for a bit.”
I nod, eager, yet a little nervous to see my grandma for the first time since my high school graduation. She flew out and attended the event, and I’ve remained in contact with her since, but not nearly as often as I should. That’s on me.
“You’ll get to meet my wife, Gretchen, and son, Noah, this weekend. She’s still nursing a tweaked knee, thanks to slipping on some ice, but she’ll for sure be here tomorrow and Sunday to work the pay hut.”
“Can’t wait,” I tell him. I’ve kept up with Klint and his family, as well as my youngest cousin, Tasha, thanks to social media. Klint is two years younger than my twenty-nine years, and his wife is just a bit younger than him. They share a five-year-old son, who is the spitting image of his dad and loves to work beside him at the tree farm.
“Tasha gets out of class early today, so she’ll be able to man the hut after two. Before then, we just make sure someone is always nearby. Plus, we have some part-time high schoolers who take care of the concession stand, so we don’t have to worry about that part.”
I nod in understanding.
“Dad will be here any minute, and so will Ray Campbell, our other employee.”
My ears perk up at the name. “Ray Campbell? Really?”
He lifts his chin. “Yep. He’s worked here for probably eleven or twelve years. Helps out year-round with the trees, pumpkins, greenhouses, and mowing. Gramps loves him.”
Of course he does. Ray is a great guy. I grew up watching him work his ass off, raising his family, and giving his all.
But it’s not just Ray I think about when I pull up memories from my first fourteen years of life. It’s his youngest daughter, Joy. She was one of my best friends for several years, right up until we left town. In fact, we tried to remain in contact for a while, vowing to send weekly pen pal letters that would keep us in communication forever. Unfortunately, life happened, and those weekly letters slowly started to grow further and further apart until they stopped completely. Life in high school, with friends and sports, became too much for our young fourteen-year-old selves to maintain, and our friendship eventually died out.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about her over the years. When major life events happened in high school, I’d wonder what she was doing. What sports did she play? Who asked her to prom? Did she earn valedictorian the way I assumed she did, since she was the smartest girl in the whole school?
Is she married now with kids?
I try not to think about that one, because as it turns out, I don’t like that image, even though she was never mine to have. She was my friend, plain and simple. I never pictured her in any other way than a comrade, friend, buddy.
But lately, I can’t help but wonder what happened to the pretty girl I once knew with vivid green eyes, dirty-blond hair, and a sprinkle of freckles over her nose.
“Glad to hear he’s still around,” I reply casually.
“Yep, for sure.” Klint checks his watch. “He should be here in about thirty minutes.”
“His wife good?”
“Oh, yeah. Cindy still cuts hair at the salon downtown, and their oldest, Eve, works there too. She’s dating John Mitchell now, who is Noah’s hero.”
My eyebrows pull together in confusion.
“John’s a paramedic and took care of Noah in the ER last winter when he came down with pneumonia. As far as my son thinks, John is the greatest guy in the world,” he replies with a grin.
I remember John. He was two years older than me in school, but he always seemed like a solid guy, who treated all kids with kindness.
“And Joy?” I ask aloud, my heart starting to pick up a little after saying her name.
“Owns the bakery next door to the salon.”
You couldn’t scrape the smile off my face with a putty knife. Of course she runs a bakery. That girl was always obsessed with making anything and everything she could. First in an Easy-Bake Oven, and then, as soon as her mom would let her use the stove unsupervised, she really started to create masterpieces. Even at such a young age, I remember her always setting aside a little time to bake.
Before I can say anything or ask any more questions, the barn door opens, and my uncle walks in. His eyes immediately seek me out, as a smile spreads across his lips. “Burk.”
“Hey, Uncle Karl,” I reply, meeting him halfway and giving him a big hug.
“Look at you,” he says, stepping back and taking me in from head to toe. I’m a couple of inches taller than he is, and his dark hair is grayer than it was the last time I saw him. His skin is weathered and aged, but he still looks exactly as I remember him from fifteen years ago. “How have you been?”
