Free Dirty Chick by Antonia Murphy

nodding, and snapped open the lid of his trunk. “She’s a big ’un.”
    With that, he lifted out a bald sheep carcass the size of a six-year-old child and flipped it over his shoulder as though it were nothing but a big bunch of flowers. He pulled a five-foot steel pole out of the car, then laid the sheep on the grass and lifted two of its legs up. With a moist crunch, he slid that pole through the carcass until it came out the other side, wet and glistening.
    â€œI think I’ll go back in the house,” I volunteered. “Check on the kids.”
    I stayed clear of Skin for most of the day, making salads and chasing my kids inside. He sat out on a deck chair with Phoenix, petting the dog’s shaggy head, sipping the drinks that Peter brought him, and turning the crank handle on the side of his drum, which I now knew had been made for molasses. By evening, the sheep’s flesh was a taut, shiny mahogany, and the steam wafting toward the house made my mouth water.
    Our friends seemed to arrive all at once: Amanda and Nick in their silver minivan, Autumn and Patrice in their old Toyota pickup. Both these families had three kids apiece, and soon the children were swarming, tearing around the property with bare feet, helping themselves to fruit juice, and pedaling the kids’ bikes at top speed. Titou and Miranda swiped a party-size bag of Doritos from the kitchen, then clambered up into the totara tree with their plunder.
    Maria stepped out of a dark blue pickup truck and sniffed the air appreciatively. She was wearing navy capris that showed off her splendid legs. “Wasn’t sure what to think when you asked us for sheep on a spit,” she commented. “Means something else in England.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Amanda asked.
    â€œTwo blokes on one lady,” she explained with a ribald wink. “Getting done at both ends.” She poked two fingers in the air to illustrate.
    Children started screeching behind us. I turned in alarm, scanning the crowd for broken bones.
    â€œ
Skin!
It’s
Skin
!” Sophie and Amelia hollered, pouring out of the van and tearing past us toward the sheep spit, where the fathers were standing and chatting. The two girls crashed headlong into Skin’s legs, and he scooped them up, flinging them over his shoulders like wiggling sheep carcasses. Lucy staggered behind her big sisters, holding out her arms to be lifted. Even Silas was delighted, flapping his hands and grinning at the uproar.
    â€œOh, God. I thought they were screaming,” I said to Amanda. “Are they scared of him?”
    Amanda shook her head and laughed. “Not Skin,” she said. “Kids adore him. He’s like the Pied Piper of Purua.”
    Sophie and Amelia were now trying to scale this man like a tree. Though his frame was small, Skin had arms as strong as steel cables. He lifted each girl with one hand and allowed her to walk up the front of his legs with no strain at all. Then he dangled her out over thin air, squealing and giggling, before depositing her gently on the driveway.
    â€œHe’s like the Grim Reaper.” Autumn had come up behind us. “Anything you need killed, he’ll do it. That man’s like a cockroach. He’ll be here long after the rest of us are gone.”
    â€œAutumn!” Abi chided. “That’s a rude thing to say.”
    Autumn reached for a glass of cider. “It’s a compliment, really. He can kill and butcher. He can fish; he hunts pigs. When the zombie apocalypse happens, I’m sticking with Skin.”
    Maris ran by, chasing Nova, and I noticed she had a blood-soaked gash dripping down the side of one arm. Her neck also appeared to be slit. “Nice work, Maris!” I called, pointing at the gore. She grinned back and waved, taking off in the direction of the trampoline.
    â€œWhy are the alpacas tied up?” Amanda asked, peering toward the back of the paddock.