Because of the ruckus at the bowling alley, Meemaw and the other two were hauled off by the police. After spending the entire afternoon giving statements and going through mediation, they weren't released until early evening.
George, who had just finished making dinner, watched his wife and Meemaw walk in looking like absolute wrecks. "What happened?" he asked, shocked. "Did you guys get drafted into a war zone or something?"
Even though Mary and Meemaw had tried to clean the gunk off their faces and hair earlier that afternoon, the red and white splotches of condiments all over their clothes were still pretty obvious.
"What do you think? It was Brenda. She was acting like a total lunatic," Mary complained, slumping onto a chair like she was exhausted.
George didn't react much to that, but Meemaw, who was heading to the fridge for a beer, turned to give her daughter a look of disbelief. When it came to acting crazy, Mary could give Brenda a run for her money. Meemaw knew that better than anyone.
The family gathered around the dinner table while Mary recounted the afternoon's events. Of course, she conveniently glossed over the part where she started the whole thing, focusing entirely on how unreasonable Brenda had been.
"Well..." George tried not to laugh as he pictured the ketchup and whipped cream battle.
But seeing the indignant look on his wife's face, he put on a serious expression. "Brenda really crossed the line this time. Throwing whipped cream at you guys? That's way too much."
Emboldened by her husband's support, Mary pushed further. "George, you need to go over to Herschel's house. Make sure they know the Coopers aren't people to be messed with."
Seeing the expectation in his wife's eyes, George, the man of the house, felt a bit stuck.
But he eventually caved. "Alright, I'm going over to Herschel's right now to set them straight." He puffed out his chest, trying to look intimidating, and marched toward the door.
But before he could even touch the handle, there was a knock.
He opened it to find Herschel standing there, wearing a similarly fake "tough guy" expression. Clearly, his wife had put him up to this, too.
The two men, realizing they were in the exact same boat, exchanged a look and immediately understood.
"You guys wait here," George told his wife, giving her a reassuring nod. "I'm going to have a private talk with Herschel." He stepped outside.
Outside, by unspoken agreement, neither man brought up the afternoon's drama.
Herschel suggested they head over to his backyard. He had built a chicken coop out there, and besides using it for eggs, he had a stash of goodies hidden in the hay.
Herschel pulled a few beers from his secret stash and clicked on an old radio, tuning it to some classic hits.
The two middle-aged men kicked back on the hay bales, drinking beer and listening to the music. The tension melted away instantly.
Back inside, however, Mary started to get worried. She realized that if the two men actually got into a fistfight, her husband probably wouldn't stand a chance against Herschel.
Truth be told, after the afternoon's chaos, Mary's anger had mostly burned itself out.
"Georgie, Mike, go outside and check on things," she said anxiously. "Don't let your father get into a fight. You know he has a bad heart..."
"Okay." Georgie was actually pretty worried about his dad, too. He grabbed Mike and headed out.
They did a lap around the house but didn't see George anywhere. "Now what?" Georgie asked, panic creeping into his voice.
Georgie knew his dad's situation all too well. He looked big and strong, but he was actually out of shape and had heart trouble. If punches started flying, Georgie was terrified his dad would get the worst of it.
"Don't panic. Let's check over there," Mike said, pointing toward Herschel's yard where the music was coming from.
Georgie, not knowing what else to do, followed Mike to the chicken coop.
He pressed his ear against the wall. "The music is too loud; I can't hear a thing. You think they turned it up to drown out the sound of them fighting?"
"Why guess? Let's just look," Mike said, pushing open the small wooden door.
Inside, the two middle-aged men were sprawled out, each holding a beer.
They looked completely relaxed and content... The vibe was so chill, it definitely didn't look like a fight club.
"Dad?" Georgie called out tentatively.
George sat up on the hay bale. Seeing his son, he grinned. "Georgie! What are you doing here? How are things back at the house?"
"Mom's really worried about you," Georgie said, staring at his dad looking so comfortable. He didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed.
Just seconds ago, Georgie had been terrified his dad was getting beaten up. Now that he knew his dad was fine—better than fine, actually—he felt a little salty about it.
"Oh. Go tell your mom I'm fine..." George said, lying back down comfortably. "I'll be home in a bit."
Clearly, George was in no rush to leave his sanctuary.
Once the worry faded, Georgie noticed the stash of beers next to the hay. "Can I hang out here for a bit, too?" he asked tentatively.
Herschel knew exactly what the kid was after. "Sure, pull up a seat," he smiled.
He cracked open two more beers and handed them to Georgie and Mike.
George shot his grinning son a look but didn't actually object.
As the music played on, Herschel picked up where he left off. "Where were we? ...Right, starting the business..."
He went on to vent to George about his dream. Herschel wanted to quit his job at the auto shop and start a proper chicken farm, but his wife was dead set against it.
He was actually jealous of George's unemployment.
George, not minding his son's presence, opened up about his own struggles. He'd been stressing about finding a job for days. The problem was, outside of football, he didn't really have any marketable skills, and it was eating him up.
Ironically, he was envious of Herschel's steady paycheck.
"Tell you what, why don't you come work at the shop with me?" Herschel offered.
"I appreciate the offer, but no thanks," George said, shaking his head.
Mike, listening to George's predicament, chimed in. "George, I've got some savings stashed away. Why don't I front you the cash to start a small business?"
Between his cut of the photo money from Jack and his saved-up allowance, Mike had over twenty grand.
It wasn't enough to buy a storefront, but it was plenty to set up a barbecue stand on the main drag. And George's secret brisket recipe was definitely good enough to sell.
"That's generous of you, Mike, but I've made up my mind. I'm going to apply at the sporting goods store in town," George replied.
That's when Mike realized what was really going on. It wasn't that George couldn't find any job; he was holding out for something related to football.
Clearly, the man wasn't ready to let go of the game just yet.
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