Free Mr. Was by Pete Hautman

food.”
    I still didn’t like it. I remembered the peanut butter sandwich in my pocket, unwrapped it, and sailed it out across the farmyard. The pig took off after it. I got out of the car and followed Scud toward the house. Now that we were out of the car, I noticed he’d gotten taller since I’d last seen him. He must’ve been close to six and a half feet.
    Andie was sitting on the porch shucking sweet corn.
    â€œHey, Andie,” Scud said.
    Her yellow cotton dress had little blue polka dots all over it. She stood up, leaned against one of the porch pillars, and crossed her arms. Her red hair was tied back, loose and full. Freckles spattered her sunbrowned skin. I remembered her as a wiry kid with sharp knuckles. She wasn’t so wiry anymore. Her dress was maybe a size too small, her body pushing against it in all the right ways. I almost forgot to breathe. She smiled, and her white teeth cut right to my heart.
    â€œWho you got there, Scudderoo?” I could feel her voice in my chest, deep and clear.
    â€This here’s your friend Jack. You remember Jack, doncha? He runs like a deer.” Scud let loose again with that irritating laugh.
    Andie peered more closely at me, shading her green eyes with one hand, then stretched her lips into an impish grin. “Is that Jack?”
    â€œThat’s me.”
    Scud said, “Where’s your old man?”
    Andie tilted her head. “Out cuttin’ hay.” She looked at me again. Every time she did that I got this buzz running up through my body. “You hungry? I got a pot of soup goin’ inside.”
    We were hungry. Andie served us up huge bowls of chicken soup with thick slices of chewy, tasty bread that she’d baked herself. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Scud told her that I was a fugitive from the Gleasons.
    â€œThey looked like they was likely to lynch him,” he said.
    â€œWhat did you do?” Andie wanted to know.
    My instincts told me not to tell them where I was from, but I really wanted to impress Andie, so I reached into my pocket and fished out another quarter.
    â€œLooks sort of odd,” Andie said. “Looks like it ain’t real silver.”
    Scud examined the coin. “Is it a phony?” He held the quarter closer to his face. “Nineteen ninety-three? Not a very good counterfeit, they can’t even get the date right.”
    â€œIt’s no counterfeit,” I said. “I’m from the future.”
    He gave me a look, then burst into laughter.
    Andie started laughing, too. “You had him going for a second there, Jackie,” she said.
    Just then, the door banged open and a tall, grayhaired man wearing soiled overalls stepped into the kitchen. He glared at Scud.
    Scud stood up. “Good afternoon, Mr. Murphy.”
    He snorted, then said to Andie, “Feeding the pigs again, eh, girl?”
    I thought he was talking about us, but Andie gave out a squeak and ran out the door. The pigs had gotten into the corn she’d been shucking. Mr. Murphy watched her through the door, a bemused expression on his weather-lined face. After a few seconds, she came back inside, her face red with anger and embarrassment.
    Mr. Murphy grinned, showing us his set of enormous white teeth. “I’m s’prised there’s any left, girl, what with you feeding the animals with one hand and your friends with t’other.”
    â€œSorry, Daddy.” She noticed he was staring at me. “Daddy, this is Jack.”
    He looked me up and down. “Never seen ya b’fore,” he said.
    â€œI’m just passing through.”
    â€œDrifter, huh? You lookin’ for work?”
    â€œNot just now.”
    â€œOn account a I got work. I got more work ’n you can shake a stick at. Now Franklin here”—he indicated Scud with a jerk of his head—”he don’t believe in work, do ya, son?”
    Scud grinned uncomfortably. Andie was