Chapter 33: A Camping We Will GoOn Friday afternoon, Jackson came by the apartment to pick us up. Our bags were packed and we had a cooler full of beer and soda waiting for a bag of ice from the gas station. My guitar was the last thing we loaded.
“My mom’s head might explode when she sees you,” I said.
“That bad, huh?”
“Be on your best behavior. She thinks all homosexuals are criminals, whether we know about it or not. She hates it when you behave and prove her wrong.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised.
“And pay no attention to Papaw.”
“Who’s that?”
“My grandfather.”
“And?”
“You’ll see.”
Do you like fishing? Noah asked, looking up at him.
Jackson looked to me. The word “fishing” was not yet in his sign language vocabulary. I demonstrated the sign for fishing, told him what it was.
