Page 25 of Awakening the Sheriff

“My pleasure. You’d stepped out of your comfort zone, helping me build that fire station, so now it’s my turn to try something different and new.”

“Well, I appreciate it. I’ve never been able to get anyone interested enough to join me.”

His smile did strange things to my insides, and I shifted in my seat. What was that feeling? Maybe I wasn’t used to friends being so appreciative? God knew I loved Marnin and the others, but they didn’t go out of their way to thank me for stuff. Which was fine, don’t get me wrong, but that had to be why Keaton’s obvious gratitude hit me differently.

“So what should I expect?” I asked, eager to change the topic. “You said some of these readings have themes. Is that the case tonight?”

“No, this is one without a specific theme or time period. Various poets will read their own work, as well as that of others. It’s a casual atmosphere, so don’t worry about not knowing much about poetry. Just listen. There are some great poets reading tonight, and I think you might enjoy it more than you expect.”

I somehow doubted that, but I didn’t say that out loud. “How was your week?”

Keaton chuckled. “Didn’t you hear about the snowball incident this morning?”

“Snowball incident?” What was he talking about?

“I’m surprised your girls didn’t tell you.”

“They went straight to my parents after school, so I haven’t seen them since they left for school this morning.”

“Ah, that explains it. Well, an as-of-yet-unknown ninth grader hit Principal Hebert with a snowball, full in the face.”

I almost choked on my breath. “On purpose?”

“No, they were having a snowball fight, but the principal stepped in to stop it right when someone had thrown the most perfect snowball ever. He got it right between his eyes, and oh my god, he was so spitting mad I thought he’d have a coronary.”

“You were there?”

“Witnessed the whole thing. I’d forgotten something in my car, and I was walking back from the parking lot when it happened.”

“So how do they not know who did it?”

Keaton’s face split open in a wide grin. “Oh, the principal doesn’t know who did it. I do. But it wasn’t on purpose, so I’m not gonna throw some poor kid to the wolves just because they had the bad luck of throwing their snowball right when the principal stepped in.”

I respected that. A lot. “Classy of you. Most teachers would’ve sided with the principal.”

Keaton shrugged. “If it had been malicious, I would have, but not in this case. And he never saw me, so he has no idea there were witnesses other than the kids, who all closed rank.”

“Good for them.”

“Anyway, that was the highlight of my week. How about you? Any incidents you can tell me about?”

“Got a call yesterday at three in the morning that a guy was walking on Main Street, dead drunk. And naked.”

“Naked? Oh my, he must’ve been freezing his balls off because it was cold.”

“Oh, it was…and by the time I got to him, his balls were barely visible and his junk had shrunk to the size of my pinkie. But he was so drunk he hadn’t even noticed. I had to call in Fir to make sure the dude wasn’t hypothermic, and he said it was a close call. It took me a while to figure out who the guy was because he had no ID on him, obviously, but he also couldn’t remember where he was and how he got there. Finally discovered that he’d been at a thirtieth birthday party for a local guy where they’d done a vodka shots contest. The details were vague, but I got that much out of him. Anyway, he spent the night in the holding cell and was released when he passed our sobriety test…with clothes, this time.”

Keaton, who had held his stomach with one hand while laughing, finally controlled himself again. “I’m sure being sheriff involves a lot of serious incidents, but that one’s hysterical. I bet he’ll never do that again.”

“One can only hope,” I said dryly. “Not sure his junk will survive a second round of being exposed to that much cold.”

Traffic was heavy, as always, but Keaton expertly weaved his way through. We found parking a few blocks from Elliott Bay Book Company and walked over, shoulders bumping companionably along the way. The old brick building loomed before us, its windows softly glowing with the warm light from within. As we approached the store, the excitement in the air was palpable. A line had already formed outside the doors, and Keaton grinned. Just as we walked up, the doors opened.

Once inside, the scent of books enveloped us. Within minutes, the bookstore was alive with people milling about, waiting for the poetry evening to begin. About twenty people sat on stools and chairs at the front, a few reading broken-in poetry books. The dim lighting created an intimate atmosphere, casting shadows on the faces around us. The murmur of voices filled the room, accompanied by the rustling of pages as people flipped through books.

By the time the readings were about to start, the store was packed with people of all ages, sitting in folding chairs or leaning against bookshelves.

“Come on.” Keaton grabbed my arm. “Let’s find some seats.”

---