Gravy Patterson's Arc

Chapter 3 of 11

May 24 came up clear and cool. Gravy was out in the yard before the dew burned off, stacking dry wood beside the pit. The long table was already set. He kept glancing at the road, waiting for the first truck to roll in. Then he heard tires on gravel, too early, and the engine cut hard at his gate. Preston climbed out with a basket of poutine balanced on one arm and a fat wallet in his other hand. He set the basket down right on the property line, like a flag. He fanned the bills out so Gravy could see them. "I'm buying my spot back," Preston said. "Or I stand here all day and tell every truck that pulls up what kind of man you are." Gravy walked to the gate slow. He pointed past Preston, to the wooden sign he'd hammered in at sunrise. OPEN MAY 24 Weekend. Behind it, the fire pit, the long table, the pretzel baskets already out. "You're late," Gravy said. "They're already coming." Preston shoved the wallet at his chest. Gravy let it fall in the dirt. Then Derek's truck turned in, and another behind it, and another. Preston looked at the line of headlights and his jaw went tight. Preston kicked the basket over, gravy splashing across his own boots, and got back in his truck. He spun out hard enough to throw stones at the gate. Gravy picked up the wallet, walked it to the road, and dropped it in the ditch. Derek stepped down from his cab with a case under his arm. "He gone?" Derek asked. Gravy nodded once and turned back to the fire.