I turned back to Copper. “Did everyone know they were together? I mean, if they weren't open about it...”

“Oh, I'd have to think so,” Copper said, tilting her head down, like it was obvious. “They were together all the time. I think there were fewer people who didn't know about them. It's been the talk of this place for quite a few summers.”

I could imagine. I'd seen the type of mentality that small towns could foster and it seemed perfectly plausible that gossip would be the primary news source for a summer resort, as well. Especially a resort that some people called home for the duration of the season.

“Did you see them together?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“As a couple?”

She smiled at me and the look changed from pity to just plain condescending. “Dear, I know what I know. I saw them together. They were a couple.” Her smile dimmed. “And it had caused a little trouble for both of them.”

“How so?” I asked.

She started to say something, then her expression changed. To one of concern.

She brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear. Oh no.”

I sat up straighter. “Are you alright?” I wondered if they had AED devices anywhere nearby.

She removed her hand from her mouth, revealing a hint of a smile, and I breathed a small sigh of relief. “Yes, dear. I'm fine. But it appears Wayne Hackerman and your husband are wrestling.”

ELEVEN

Most of the time, Jake was as even-keeled as they come. It was hard to get a rise out of him. He could laugh off nearly anything. But he did have a temper and it was hair-trigger. When the wrong button got pushed, it was more likely to be a nuclear explosion than a small spark.

I'd once witnessed him back a smug retail clerk into a wall because the kid refused to wait on Will, who was trying to buy a computer cable. The clerk was talking on his cell phone and didn't even acknowledge Will, who was standing patiently at the counter. Jake watched the whole thing and, after waiting a reasonable amount of time, marched over to the counter, took the phone out of the kid's hand and started to let him have it for ignoring Will. The clerk made the mistake of sneering at him and telling him to chill out. Jake verbally took him apart—not abusively but calmly, which was a heck of a lot scarier—until the kid was shaking, apologizing to Will and offering a discount on the cable.

We took the discount.

So to see him wrestling on the concrete floor of the pavilion with Wayne Hackerman made me think the beer-guzzling bozo had probably pushed the wrong button.

I jumped up from the table and rushed toward the DJ table. Jake was on top of Hackerman, pinning his arms to the ground, his face red like a tomato. Pat Benatar's “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” pounded from the speakers.

Irony. Or something.

A camper with red hair with lipstick to match stood poised and ready to sing, a frown on her face as she watched the two men roll around on the floor.

“Get off me!” Hackerman yelled, his face just as red as my husband's.

Jake leaned his weight down on Hackerman. “You gonna keep your hands to yourself?”

“Get off!”

“That doesn't sound like a yes.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. “Get off of him!”

Jake whipped his head in my direction. “He grabbed me first.”

“What are you? Six? Get off him!”

“He grabbed me and told me Springsteen sucks,” Jake said. “He said he'd outlawed all Springsteen here.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Jake had a thing for Springsteen. Man-crush. Bro-mance. Whatever you wanted to call it, Jake had it for The Boss. But I didn't think he was so passionate about his Jersey Boy that he'd take a grown man to the floor for saying his favorite musician sucked. Then again, it was Wayne Hackerman. I thought about the reaction he'd evoked in me earlier that day.

“Springsteen does suck!” Hackerman said loudly, still wiggling beneath Jake. “Anyone who thinks that guy is a musician needs their ears checked.”

“See?” Jake said, his eyes pleading with me. “He won't stop.”

I planted my hands on my hips. “Get off him. Now.”

I must've used my presidential voice, because after only a second of hesitation, Jake let go of Hackerman's arms and stood up. The larger man scrambled to his feet and pulled his shirt down over his gut, huffing and puffing.

He pointed a finger at Jake. “You assaulted me.”

“You think that was assault?” Jake asked. He puffed out his own chest a little. “I'll show you assault.”

“You will not,” I said, grabbing his elbow.

“Assault,” Hackerman growled. “Plain and simple.”

“You grabbed me first,” Jake said. He looked at the guy running the DJ table. “You saw him.”

The man wearing the bucket hat wrinkled his nose, looked at Hackerman, then leaned forward so we could hear him over the music. “You did put your hands on the man first, Wayne. Probably don't wanna do that unless you know you can take care of yourself and, by the look of things, pretty sure this guy here had the upper hand on you—”

“Oh, shut up, Stan,” Hackerman muttered. “No one asked you.”

“I did,” Jake said. “I actually asked him.”

Hackerman shot daggers at Jake with his eyes.

Rhonda Hackerman shimmed up to us, her boobs shaking in a red and blue Twins tube top and her legs poured into ill-fitting denim capris. Her black hair was down from her elaborate hairdo from earlier and she was holding two beer cans. Both of them were open and I wondered if she was drinking for two. “Wayne! What is—” But then she saw Jake and stopped short. “Oh. Hello there. Again.”

Jake ignored her, which was the smart move because otherwise he might've ended up wrestling with me.

“What is going on?” Rhonda asked, looking at her husband and completely ignoring me.

Hackerman jabbed his finger at Jake. “This jackass assaulted me.”

She looked at Jake again and I swore I saw the hint of a smile. “Oh no. That's...terrible.”

“It was,” Hackerman spat. “I came up here to look at Stan's song list and this jackass is standing here, hogging the list.”

“It was on the table,” Jake said, shaking his head. “I didn't even pick it up.”

“And then he started asking Stan if he had any Bruce Springsteen,” Hackerman continued. “And all I said was that I wasn't a fan of that kind of music.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “What you said was 'Ain't no way Stan's playing any of that Springsteen crap  because that music sucks.' That's a direct quote.”

I looked at Stan, who waited a moment, then nodded. Rhonda's eyes were bouncing between the  men like she was watching a tennis match.

“Well, whatever I said, then this fool assaulted me,” Hackerman said. “And I was afraid he was gonna kill me like he did Harvey.”

Button officially pushed again.

Jake took a step toward him. “How about if I take you down to the ground again and hold you there?”

“So hot,” Rhonda whispered to herself. She took a long swig of beer from one of the cans, her eyes never leaving my husband.

I glared at her, then put my hand on Jake's chest. “Look at me.”

After a second, he looked down at me.

“Enough,” I said. “Enough. Let's go.”

“I swear I'll make him swallow his teeth,” Jake said.

“No, you won't,” I said, pressing on his chest. “Because we are leaving.”

“Damn right, you better be leaving!” Hackerman said. “I'm gonna have you kicked out of this place, anyhow. All you've done is cause trouble.” He started looking around. “Delilah? Where are you? I want these people gone.”

“I don't think she can help you right now, Wayne,” Rhonda said, raising an eyebrow.

I turned and followed her gaze. Delilah was passed out on the picnic table, her head resting on the table top, her mouth wide open. She was snoring loudly.

Hackerman didn't seem particularly surprised to see her that way. He pointed at Jake again. “When she wakes up, you are outta here!”