Page 33 of Just One More Thing
“Keep it in your pants this weekend, Wayne.”
We head toward The Green. The noise thickens—music, laughter, a cheer near the doughnut toss, someone yelling about raffle tickets. The kind of night where everyone knows everyone and nobody’s in a hurry to leave.
Wayne scans the booths, shopping for chaos. “What are we bidding on? Fishing trip? Key to the city? Dinner with the mayor?”
“Good evening, Jake.”
Thelma Robinson.
Thelma puts the coo-coo in cougar.
“And who are these fine strapping young men?” she purrs.
Introductions are made. She immediately latches onto Wayne’s bicep with both hands. “Oh my goodness,” she says. “You’re so big I can barely get two hands around it.”
That’s it. I lose it. Ryan turns away, shoulders shaking.
Wayne, for once, looks rattled. “Hey, guys,” he calls as we keep walking. “Wait up.”
I’m still laughing when I hear it.
A squeal. High-pitched. Familiar.
I turn.
Mo.
She’s in a dunk tank.
Perched on the narrow seat above the water, arms crossed tight over a soaked Holey Moley tee, hair plastered to her cheeks, murder in her eyes. A sign taped to the front reads:
MAKE ‘EM HOLLER FOR $10 DOLLAR
Her eyes widen. Her mouth drops open. She leans forward and points straight at me. “Jake Wheeler! Don’t you dare.”
I’m already moving closer. “What are you doing in there, Mo?” I taunt.
“Ask my grandmother!” she yells. “I was told I was volunteering. I did not know volunteering involved hypothermia.”
“It’s August.”
“This water is emotionally cold.”
She sits up straighter, watching me like she’s tracking a shark fin. “No!” she says. “Absolutely not. I mean it.”
I spread my hands. “I wasn’t going to.”
Wayne leans toward Ryan. “He absolutely is.”
Ryan nods. “Yup.”
The kid collecting money bounces on his feet when he sees me. “Mr. Wheeler, would you like a throw for ten dollars?”
“You bet,” I say, handing him a hundred. “I’ll take ten tickets.”
“Give him the football,” a voice calls behind me over the beep-beep of a reversing scooter.
Maddy. Backing up on an electric scooter.
