august is fermenting ; he can feel it in his chest , can smell it in the back of his nose --- that mulching tang of a dead thing just starting to turn in the back forty comprised of dry grass and sprigs of alfalfa bloom , making up the backside of his grandmama's house . that house is empty now . the folks never did figure out what they were going to do with that poor thing , a battered and sickly baby blue box brimming with the lifeblood of only the church knew how many generations before the heughs bought that land . " not gonna lie , darlin' , " the pitcher's too heavy , it's grip too curvaceous --- his hand hurts , but heugh keeps ahold of it all the same , offering out the tea to his company , just as he should . perhaps some things are worth holding onto . " i didn't think you were gonna stay . "