Page 6 of Ginjuh

Grandpa was dad’s dad, but my dad hadn’t carried on the name of ‘Ernest’. People still referred to him as ‘Senior’ even though there was no ‘Junior’. Although, sometimes Grandpa called dad that. I guess that was allowed since dad was his son, after all. I was just “Ginjuh” to my parents and “Zach” to my grandpa. Grandpa understood me in ways that my parents didn’t, after all.

“He said there’s no work today when I jogged over.” I shrugged. “Did you know he was going to do a corn maze this year instead of plant?”

She gave an upward nod and leaned back against the counter, her arms crossing under her breast.

“He mumbled something about that.” She said. “Senior is always up to something, isn’t he?”

I shrugged.

“I wish you had warned me.”

“Well,” she sighed, “who knows if the crazy old guy is going to do one thing or another until he actually does it?”

“Don’t call him crazy.” I frowned.

She rolled her eyes.

“You’d defend him if he murdered someone.” She waved me off and turned back to the coffee maker. “Well, now you know, Ginjuh. He’s going to do a corn maze.”

“And you’d insult him if he gave his heart to an orphan.” I snorted.

She ignored that.

“I don’t know what he’ll do once your gone.” She sighed. “Maybe he’ll give that dumb farm up finally.”

“He’s going to hire help.”

“Oh, Jesus.” She groaned.

“It doesn’t bother you none.” I snapped.

My mom turned around and frowned deeply as Dad brushed by me into the kitchen, reaching up to ruffle my freshly brushed hair with a chuckle.

“What is it with you and that old man?” She had her hands on her hips again. “He didn’t hang the damn moon, ya’ know.”

“What’s all this?” Dad looked back and forth between us before opening the fridge to retrieve the orange juice. “You have breakfast, Ginjuh?”

“No,” I replied to him then turned on my mom. “You don’t have to always be so down on him, regardless of his moon-hanging skills.”

She rolled her eyes again.

“What did Mr. Pelton do now?” My dad chuckled.

That was another thing. My dad often referred to his dad as “Mr. Pelton.” Never “Senior” or “Dad” or any version of that moniker. It was perplexing and irritating, especially since Grandpa was the greatest guy in the world.

“Corn maze,” Mom said simply and turned back to the machine.

“Oh.” Dad nodded knowingly before digging a glass out of the cupboard. “He got you helping with that, Ginjuh?”

“And he hired someone else.”

“Who’d Mr. Pelton rope into that?” Dad laughed.

“Your father hired…well, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Some farm hand I guess.”

“Farmhand?” Mom snorted, still turned away. “It’s hardly a farm.”

“Mom!”