?I might have a beer around here someplace.?
?Two beers if it?s really screwed up.?
?Let me see what I have, and I?ll call you right back.? She hung up.
Keone still stood in the barn doorway, looking at Mike.
?Well? What do you want??
?I finished the carboys,? Keone said.
?Go get my socket set. Linda left her mower in the rain again. And a dry rag.?
Keone took off running.
The phone rang. Mike grabbed it. ?I forgot to mention it has to be imported.?
A pause. ?Uncle Mike??
?Shit.? He hadn?t meant to say it out loud.
* * *
Mike drove his pickup truck the hour and a half to Tulsa, pulled into the drop-off zone in front of the Travel Lodge. He leaned across the truck?s bench seat and opened the passenger door, looked at the young man with the duffel slung over his shoulder. The kid?s face was blank, but he shifted from foot to foot like he was nervous or had to piss. He wore faded jeans, Timberlands, a wrinkled Nike T-shirt.
?Andrew??
The kid opened his mouth, closed it again, nodded.
?I?m?? Mike couldn?t bring himself to say
Andrew got in.
They drove. Mike took 75 north out of Tulsa, turned west onto Highway 20. They passed through Skiatook and Pawhuska and into an area Mike called ?no cell phone reception.? He turned north on a two-lane that went from pavement to gravel after five miles and threaded its way gradually up and into the low hills where Mike lived. He pulled onto the narrow access road and parked the truck in front of the cabin.
They hadn?t said one word to each other the entire drive.
Mike motioned Andrew to follow him into the cabin. Mike threw his keys on the table, checked his answering machine. No messages. He looked back at Andrew. The kid was standing in the doorway, scanning the interior of the cabin, his duffel dangling from his hand.
?Toss your bag next to the coatrack,? Mike said. ?We?ll figure out where to put you later. Hungry??
?I?m good.? Andrew shut the door behind him, dropped the duffel in the corner.
?Have a seat. Take it easy.?
Andrew sat at the table, put his chin in his hands. ?Thanks. For coming to get me, I mean.?
?Sure.?
Mike went to the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge, and joined Andrew at the table. He unscrewed both caps, pushed one bottle toward the kid.
?That?s okay,? Andrew said.
Mike left it there in case he changed his mind, gulped his own halfway down. Beer might not do it, he thought. Somewhere there was a bottle of Wild Turkey. He tried to remember where he?d stashed it. Maybe down in the wine cellar. He drank the rest of his beer.
Andrew cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair. ?I guess it?s about time I explain myself.?
