Brady Remington Landed Me in Jail

The baby chair wasn't a baby chair. It was a wooden chair that had been carved by someone to look like an actual baby. Viola swears that she found it at an auction, but I knew there was a reason why Grandpa constantly tried to burn the thing. And yet, it always stayed where it had been placed and kept over the years, right at the table. The chair had a head where ours was supposed to rest against. A bib had even been carved into the chair, but Brady only said it warmed his back. The entire thing was wood, but it still looked like a baby.

I had taken the chair against the wall when Brady swooped in and dropped into it. The screen door squeaked again, and then Viola rushed into the living room. Just as my grandfather lifted his foot to step inside, Viola shook her head and closed the door on his face. Neil didn't look shocked as he stared at his wife of forty-three years. He just readjusted his John Deere hat and pushed one of the overall straps back in its rightful place on his shoulder.

Viola placed her hands on her hips. "Oh no. You said you had things to do outside. You do those things outside, I got the inside today."

Neil didn't blink. He turned around and went back outside. It wasn't long before he heard his truck go past.

Brady chuckled. "He didn't want to peel the potatoes, huh?" Then he reached over the table and helped himself to five pancakes.

My grandmother cleared her throat and took her chair. "Now, you two—what happened, Brady?" She looked at him sharply and pointedly.

I would've choked in his place, but Brady finished swallowing his bite of pancakes and smiled. "What do you mean, Viola?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You had my granddaughter scurrying out of here at some ungodly hour this morning. You better tell me why I had a heart attack when I went and found her gone this morning. It had better been worth it."

Brady raised his fork for another mouthful.

Viola cleared her throat and leaned closer. "You come clean with me or don't you think I won't call Deputy Dog. He'll tell me."

He lowered the pancakes and frowned.

"I think we should pray before we eat."

"Brady. Talk."

"About what?" Brady asked, but Viola had him in her sights and she wouldn't let him out. Slowly, she got up and reached for the phone on the wall.

"Fine. Fine. I got into a fight." He sent me a furtive look that was noticed by all of us.

My grandmother slid her eyes to me, but slowly replaced the phone back in its receiver.

I coughed and raised my linked hands. "Can we please pray before Brady eats some more? We're supposed to pray at meals."

"Fine." Viola folded her hands and resumed her seat.

Brady wiped at a bead of syrup that lingered on the corner of his mouth before he folded his hands and bowed his head.

I prolonged the prayer longer than the normal twelve second chant. It lasted a good minute or two before Viola grew impatient and ended it with a final 'Amen.'

Brady tried to hide a grin as he reached for more of his pancakes, but Viola slapped his hand away. "Brady. Talk."

"I can talk. I can talk about a lot of things, Viola. What would you like to hear about? I can talk about how we went to Ned's. Did you know that Bob growls now?"

Viola grumbled, "I don't know why he named that damn station after his dog in heat. It makes no sense to me. And Bob. Who names a stupid Bigfoot? He wasn't supposed to keep the damn thing after all these years."

I relaxed after that and enjoyed a bowl of oatmeal as Brady dodged more questions. He kept her entertained with comments about Ned, Neil, and even the dog that Ned had named his gas station after. An hour later, I excused myself to my room and shut the door with a long drawn out sigh. I felt like I'd run a marathon. Collapsing on my bed, I curled into a ball.

This was where Brady found me an hour later when he landed on top of me and I shoved him off before I saw the door was shut.

"Thank God," I muttered.

"Thank who?" Brady snuggled underneath my blankets with me. "It's just me."

"Get away." I pathetically shoved at his shoulder.

Brady batted my hand away, wrapped both of his arms around my waist, and threw his leg over mine. I was trapped in place. Then he moved to lay behind me and rested his forehead on the back of my neck.

"You can thank me now, you know," he mumbled.

My skin tickled from his breath. "Thank you for what?"

"I distracted Viola. And she went outside to work in the garden."

We both knew what that meant. She'd be out there for hours.

"You didn't have to do that."

Brady yawned and I felt his chest rise and fall against my back. His arms tightened, but he still mumbled, "Yeah. I did. And you know it."

Tears pricked at my eyes, but I ignored them. He was right. I'd thought about confessing, but then breakfast happened and Brady was being questioned instead of me. That was how it was. My grandmother hadn't even wondered what I might've done that I shouldn't have.

His arm rested heavily on my waist. "Brady?"

His deep breaths answered me. He'd fallen asleep. Here's my confession to myself: sometimes Brady scared me. It wasn't him in particular, but how he affected me. I knew if anyone could coax me into doing things I shouldn't—it was the guy holding me. I felt a yawn coming and as it broke free, I turned in his arms. Instead of slinking out from underneath them—I snuggled into his chest and felt my eyelids close.

I pushed the fear at bay and enjoyed just having Brady close. For now.

CHAPTER SIX