Free Weekends in Carolina by Jennifer Lohmann Page A

Mama always insisted we eat at the table. Dad would use these trays sometimes, but after Mama died, I guess he didn’t feel the need to put his beer anywhere other than his mouth.”
    “I don’t remember Hank drinking.”
    “Maybe he learned to hide it better. Anyway, let’s leave my parents to their resting places and talk basketball.” Talking about his father left a sour, hungover taste in his mouth that the vinegar in the barbecue couldn’t overpower.
    “I can’t talk basketball, so you talk basketball and I’ll eat my dinner.”
    “That ‘I’m still a Fighting Illini’ wasn’t a sign you could debate the finer points of fast-break ACC-style basketball versus slooow Big Ten style?”
    “No.” He looked over to see her smile dancing over her raised fork piled high with barbecue. “It was just a sign that I didn’t want to yell out ‘heel.’”
    “Well, I’ll be crushed and deceived. You owe me something, then.”
    “I owe you something?” A chuckle came out on the tail end of her words.
    “Sure. I’m feeding you barbecue as payment for having someone to talk basketball with. If you can’t talk basketball, what am I feeding you for?”
    “Company? Enlightened conversation? A thank-you for the tour?”
    Trey pretended to think over her response. “Nope. None of those are good enough.”
    In the dim light of the lamps and the television, he could barely tell the difference between her pale raised eyebrow and her pale skin, so he didn’t back down. He was certain Max was the kind of person who enjoyed being pushed, and who liked pushing back.
    “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll give you something, but if you tell a soul I will wallpaper your apartment in D.C. with pictures of the farmhouse.”
    He’d been right about the pushing back part. Max knew how to make a good threat. “Deal.”
    “My mother’s family is from the Winston-Salem area. My grandparents used to come to Illinois for visits, but I didn’t visit North Carolina until I was ten or so, when my parents divorced and my brother and I were shipped out of town for the process.” She grimaced at the memory. “My grandfather took us to Stamey’s in Greensboro for my first taste of barbecue. I didn’t know any better so I asked the waitress, ‘What kind of meat is this?’”
    Trey smiled, knowing where this was going.
    “‘It’s barbecue,’ the waitress replied. I pressed her to tell me what kind of meat it was and she kept telling me it was barbecue, like I was dumb or something.”
    “A reasonable assumption on the part of the waitress,” Trey said. “The rest of the South can smoke what it likes, but barbecue in North Carolina is always pork.”
    “I should’ve made not teasing me part of the deal.” Max wrinkled her nose at him, but she was smiling. “This back-and-forth went on forever . Now that I’m older I can see that my grandfather’s grimace was him trying not to bust a gut laughing, but at the time I was just frustrated. The waitress wouldn’t answer my question and Grandpa finally told me it was pork about the time I was ready to walk out. Or when the waitress was going to kick me out. One or the other.”
    “On behalf of mah state—” Trey put on his fine Southern gentleman accent “—may ah say how delighted we are that you gave us a second chance.”
    “Now you’re just being ridiculous.” She made an exaggerated motion of wiping her hands on her paper napkin. “Is there dessert?”
    “There’s banana pudding. If you can wait just a minute for me to finish my last cold hush puppy.” Trey popped the fried ball of cornmeal into his mouth, then stood. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”
    Trey blinked several times when he passed the muted TV. The game was nearly at halftime and he hadn’t looked away from Max once to see the score.
    * * *
    T HIS TIME , WHEN Trey offered to walk her and Ashes across the yard to the barn, Max didn’t object. She’d planned on him walking her to her door,