My brother sighed. “Right.” He stood, picked up his glass, and brought it to the sink. “Just like you’ve always been there before.”
I had no idea what he was implying. All I knew was that he didn’t respect me anymore—nor did he trust me, for that matter. Had I let him down somehow? Certainly, I had lost credibility in his eyes. I couldn’t imagine how that might have happened, but I hoped I would find out soon. The chip on his shoulder was huge, far too big to be knocked off in a single conversation.
I decided to leave it alone for now.
“Okay, maybe now’s not the time to talk about this. I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are too.”
He seemed relieved that we were dropping the subject for now. I asked him to turn on the grill, and he walked to the door, pausing before he went out.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, turning back. “Lark picked up Aaron after practice today. I asked her about the photography thing. She said she might have a few suggestions for you.”
“Pardon?”
“Aaron’s sister. The photographer, remember? Her name is Lark. She couldn’t think of anyone who might be willing to teach you offhand, but she offered to ask around. She wants to talk to you first, though, hear what you have in mind.”
“No problem. Should I call her?”
“She said she’d just meet you after the football game Friday night. You’re coming, right?”
“I’ll be there.”
FOURTEEN
The rest of the evening passed without further conflict. Something was still between Brady and me at the dinner table, something we would need to get back to soon, but we managed to bury the hatchet, temporarily at least, and share an uncomplicated evening. That would have to be good enough for now.
Later, before getting in bed, I updated my list.
The Pacific Ocean shines like glass.
Some young women tint their hair with colors not found in nature.
Reading and researching simply for knowledge is uncommon, at least once one is no longer in school.
Sitting back in my chair, I thought of the various things I wanted to explore while I was here, including photography and bike riding.
I hadn’t gone bicycling in many years—not since my mother died, in fact. But I’d seen some bicycles in the garage, and for some reason I had been feeling the urge to hop on one and take it for a spin ever since. Maybe I just wanted to experience that old sensation of flying down the street, like a plane about to take to the sky.
Or maybe I just wanted to feel closer to my mother, doing something I had memories of us having happily shared together.
The next day, Thursday, when Brady came downstairs for breakfast—just cereal and a banana this time—he seemed to be in a much better mood than he had when I’d arrived home the night before.
He poured cornflakes into a bowl. One flake spilled onto the counter and he tossed it to Frisco. “So what’s up for today? More fascinating journeys into the world of research and libraries and history?” He was being sarcastic again, but this time it felt a little less mean spirited and more like simple teasing between brothers.
I smiled. “You never know.” I didn’t feel like sharing with him my plans for the biking. “Maybe I’ll find some things to do around the house. Something useful. Any ideas?”
With a shrug, he dug into his cereal, thought for a moment, and then said, “You know how to make a container garden?”
“A what garden?”
“A container garden. My mom wants one on the south side of the backyard so she can grow her own herbs and lettuce and stuff. That’s what people do in the suburbs, I guess. Dad was going to hire somebody to do it, but he hasn’t yet.”
“I could probably build that,” I said, eager to have a project at last.
“You’ll have to take out the bushes that are there first. They’re right where she wants it.”
“No problem. Great, actually.”
He regarded me with a lopsided smile. “Nice to know I’ve made your day.” He picked up his bowl and took it to the table. “You know where to go to find out what a container garden looks like, right?”
I smiled back at him. “Internet?”
He gave me a thumbs-up. Another one for my list.
The first—and often only—step in any quest for knowledge is to search the Internet.
When Brady left for school and the dishes were done, I headed into the backyard to check out the south side of the house. I found a loose pebble walkway that led to a small garden shed. It was neat and orderly, likely used by the hired gardener and no one else. Walking along a leafy hedge, I could see the area Brady had been talking about. It was about eight feet deep and twenty feet long, give or take. Frisco seemed particularly enthused about my interest in the backyard, and when I tried to head back to the door, he dropped a red rubber ball at my feet. Wishing I had a farm for the little guy to explore, I took pity on him and threw the toy for him to fetch ten or eleven times, much to the dog’s delight. As I did, I had to admit that he was growing on me.