Bet on It (60)

Gram had very little interest in hanging out with them. After he got her situated at a table under one of the giant netted tents with some other older ladies, she essentially dismissed them. He and Aja were forced to find a spot of their own. It was ninety-two degrees, and the sun was beating down, making the only halfway appealing spot next to the huge wraparound porch. They were under a giant tree that definitely hadn’t been this big the last time he’d stepped foot on the property, and they had a clear sightline to the food tables.

It was loud. Music blaring, kids running amok, grown-ups singing and talking and dancing. The entire place was alive, and this should have lifted his spirits, but all Walker felt was agitation. When he looked at Aja, the little frown on her lips told him that she probably felt similar. He didn’t bother asking if she was OK; he figured he already knew.

“I told Gram we probably wouldn’t stay very long,” he told her. “We can leave anytime you want.”

“Only after you get your cobbler though, right?” Her tone was playful, and he wished the sunglasses she wore weren’t hiding her eyes.

“Exactly.” He licked his lips, his eyes narrowing in on the desserts table. “As soon as they put the cobblers out, we’re gone.”

“At least it’s nice out today.” She settled back in her chair, stretching out a little bit, allowing him to see more of her.

She was wearing shorts again—little white ones that hugged her wide hips and full ass perfectly. He couldn’t see what kind of panties she wore under them, but he’d sure as hell tried. In his imagination, she didn’t have anything on. It was a much better image to focus on than his memories.

She also had on a crop top that showed the flesh of her upper abdomen. Aja was, in a word, wondrous.

“What do you mean it’s a nice day?” He forced his gaze back to the desserts table, suddenly finding them much less appetizing when faced with something he knew was far sweeter. “It’s hot as hell out.”

“You could probably use a little sun.” She tilted her head back over the chair, face upwards, neck exposed. “I can practically see your hair getting lighter by the minute.”

He’d decided to forgo the cap. It was good for the sun—and a disguise—but it also made his head sweat. Once he’d known Aja was coming, the last thing he wanted was for her to watch him sweat like a pig in the South Carolina heat.

A brief moment of self-consciousness made him touch his hair, raking it back away from his face. “Hush, girl.”

“I’m serious! By the time we leave, your head is going to be all white.”

“I’ll have you know my hair has always been this same exact color.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“For real.” His head jerked up. “You know what, I can prove it to you.”

“How?”

He had multiple baby pictures in his phone he could pull out if he wanted. If he got really desperate, he could even look up Gram’s Facebook page. He didn’t have one and had requested that she not post pictures of him there, but he highly doubted she complied. Neither option felt sufficient though. They wouldn’t give him time alone with Aja, nor would they allow him a few precious minutes of air conditioner.

“There’s a picture of me as a baby inside the mansion.”

“Excuse me?” When she took her sunglasses off, her eyes were wide.

“Yep, if you go in that house right now, you’ll find a picture of baby Wally Abbott in all of his non-white-haired glory.”

Her eyes bugged out in a classically comical way. She nearly tripped getting up out of her chair.

“Let’s go.”

“Oh, you want to see it?” He stayed seated.

“You know I do,” Aja huffed. “Because I definitely think you’re lying.”

He stood up, grabbed one of her hands, and led her towards the front steps. They weren’t supposed to enter the mansion during the picnic. It had been built in the early 1900s. The mayor at the time had found himself dissatisfied with the small two-story home on Main Street that all the previous mayors had called home, so he’d built the sprawling mansion. Six bedrooms, two bathrooms, more sitting rooms than there were asses to sit. Walker had always thought it was ridiculous. No one family needed all that room. And what did it say about them that the person elected to “serve” the community lived on a hill overlooking them all from his plush house while the rest of them struggled to make ends meet half the time? It was ridiculous.

The bathrooms on the ground floor were open, but only to the elderly and parents who needed to change their kids’ diapers. Everyone else had to use one of the three Porta Potties they had lined up in the back.

“Shh.” He put his finger up to his lips as the heavy front door creaked upon their entry.

He took them through the opulent main hallway, bypassing the living and dining rooms until he reached three closed doors. He’d only been in this house four times: Twice during elementary school field trips, once for a child’s Halloween party Gram had forced him to go to, and last as a teenager during a group project with the mayor’s daughter, Lydia. So he didn’t know exactly which room the photo was in. He remembered that the door on the left was a bathroom. As for the other two, well, he made a guess, choosing the one straight ahead, cheering silently when he turned out to be right.