yourself into?” Jean grumbles. In a generous offer on his part, Thor insists that we leave the blast zone. He’s just like a hero in an action movie, telling the others to “save yourself.” But we don’t move a hair, not because of any undue bravery on our part, but more from curiosity. There’s something sort of unbelievable about an inn keeper walking onto a landmine in his backyard. I need to see how it plays out.
“Hello, there,” one of the paramedics says, sidling up to me. It’s the same guy who asked me to the Summer Sizzle Festival when Bert fell through the floor. He’s got dark hair and bright eyes. Not bad-looking, but his breath smells like something’s dying in his mouth. Something really gross. I’m about to tell him off, but out of the corner of my eye, I spot Thor watching us. It’s as if his imminent death by exploding body has been forgotten, and now all he can focus on is the slimy paramedic making eyes at the woman he can’t stand.
“Do you have a light?” I ask the paramedic because I can’t think of anything else to say with Thor’s eyes on me.
“A what?”
“Are you going to pork him, too, now that Thor is going to explode into smithereens?” Jean asks me.
“I’m not porking anybody. Nobody. Why are you obsessed with my porking?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she says, looking me up and down, craning her head to get a good look at my backside. I don’t think it’s obvious at all. I’m totally off men.
A Segway drives through the trees and parks behind the fire truck and ambulance. An old man steps off of it and shakes his head. “Hello, Paul!” Bert calls to him. “We got ourselves a pickle situation.”
“I see that. I see that,” Paul mutters, walking toward Thor.
“Get back. I’ve tripped the mine,” Thor says.
Paul nods. “I got you, son. I got you.”
“Paul served in Italy, Thor. Took out a thousand mines,” Bert says.
“Two thousand mines,” Paul says. He kneels at Thor’s feet and stares down at the mine. I’m pretty sure that everyone’s stopped breathing. Even the birds have stopped chirping, and there isn’t a breath of wind. Thor hasn’t moved a muscle as Paul studies the mine. If I were him, I would have peed my pants already, but he’s as cool as a cucumber. He’s not shaking or sweating or throwing up. I hope that Paul can save him.
Paul squats and studies the mine even closer. All of sudden, he digs his hands into the dirt and starts digging. “What the hell?” Thor shouts, finally losing his cool. My body tenses, as I prepare for the explosion, but nothing happens. Paul keeps digging.
“Move back, boy,” Paul says. Thor’s eyes flash toward me before he looks down again, and then in a moment of lunacy or extreme bravery, he jumps backward. Free of the landmine, Paul digs deeper and shoves his hand into the dirt, grabbing something, which he pulls out quickly, holding it over his head, triumphantly. With the item securely in his hand, Paul stands.
“What the hell?” Thor asks.
“I have no idea,” Paul says. He’s holding a circular metal object with a long wooden handle.
“Holy smokes,” Jean says. “I know what that is. It’s an antique bed warmer.”
“A what?” the paramedic, who didn’t know what a light was, asks.
Paul gives the bed warmer to Thor, who looks like he would have preferred to have been blown up by a landmine than be the new owner of an ancient way to heat sheets. He thanks the fire department and Paul, and we watch as they leave.
“About lunch,” Jean says, once the trucks and the Segway are out of sight.
“Fine,” Thor says, looking down at the ground. With the bed warmer clutched tightly in his hand, he marches up to the house without looking back.
“No fish!” Bert yells after him.
***
It’s the quietest lunch we’ve had since moving into the inn. Thor has put on a shirt and prepared cheeseburgers, homemade French fries, and a salad. They’re the best cheeseburgers I’ve
“Hello, there,” one of the paramedics says, sidling up to me. It’s the same guy who asked me to the Summer Sizzle Festival when Bert fell through the floor. He’s got dark hair and bright eyes. Not bad-looking, but his breath smells like something’s dying in his mouth. Something really gross. I’m about to tell him off, but out of the corner of my eye, I spot Thor watching us. It’s as if his imminent death by exploding body has been forgotten, and now all he can focus on is the slimy paramedic making eyes at the woman he can’t stand.
“Do you have a light?” I ask the paramedic because I can’t think of anything else to say with Thor’s eyes on me.
“A what?”
“Are you going to pork him, too, now that Thor is going to explode into smithereens?” Jean asks me.
“I’m not porking anybody. Nobody. Why are you obsessed with my porking?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she says, looking me up and down, craning her head to get a good look at my backside. I don’t think it’s obvious at all. I’m totally off men.
A Segway drives through the trees and parks behind the fire truck and ambulance. An old man steps off of it and shakes his head. “Hello, Paul!” Bert calls to him. “We got ourselves a pickle situation.”
“I see that. I see that,” Paul mutters, walking toward Thor.
“Get back. I’ve tripped the mine,” Thor says.
Paul nods. “I got you, son. I got you.”
“Paul served in Italy, Thor. Took out a thousand mines,” Bert says.
“Two thousand mines,” Paul says. He kneels at Thor’s feet and stares down at the mine. I’m pretty sure that everyone’s stopped breathing. Even the birds have stopped chirping, and there isn’t a breath of wind. Thor hasn’t moved a muscle as Paul studies the mine. If I were him, I would have peed my pants already, but he’s as cool as a cucumber. He’s not shaking or sweating or throwing up. I hope that Paul can save him.
Paul squats and studies the mine even closer. All of sudden, he digs his hands into the dirt and starts digging. “What the hell?” Thor shouts, finally losing his cool. My body tenses, as I prepare for the explosion, but nothing happens. Paul keeps digging.
“Move back, boy,” Paul says. Thor’s eyes flash toward me before he looks down again, and then in a moment of lunacy or extreme bravery, he jumps backward. Free of the landmine, Paul digs deeper and shoves his hand into the dirt, grabbing something, which he pulls out quickly, holding it over his head, triumphantly. With the item securely in his hand, Paul stands.
“What the hell?” Thor asks.
“I have no idea,” Paul says. He’s holding a circular metal object with a long wooden handle.
“Holy smokes,” Jean says. “I know what that is. It’s an antique bed warmer.”
“A what?” the paramedic, who didn’t know what a light was, asks.
Paul gives the bed warmer to Thor, who looks like he would have preferred to have been blown up by a landmine than be the new owner of an ancient way to heat sheets. He thanks the fire department and Paul, and we watch as they leave.
“About lunch,” Jean says, once the trucks and the Segway are out of sight.
“Fine,” Thor says, looking down at the ground. With the bed warmer clutched tightly in his hand, he marches up to the house without looking back.
“No fish!” Bert yells after him.
***
It’s the quietest lunch we’ve had since moving into the inn. Thor has put on a shirt and prepared cheeseburgers, homemade French fries, and a salad. They’re the best cheeseburgers I’ve
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