“That would be great.” I tried hard not to sound surprised that he offered.
We went to the nearest garden center and filled the back of the Honda with eight forty-pound bags of potting soil. When we returned to the house, we hauled the bags to the backyard, where they would be stowed until the sealant had dried completely.
Brady was quiet as we ate supper, but this time I didn’t mind. It seemed like he was mentally working through something, and because I was pretty sure it had to do with me, I gave him the space to do so.
A knock came at our door the next morning while he and I were in the kitchen and he was eating his breakfast.
Wiping my hands on a towel, I went to answer it and was surprised to see two people standing on the front step, the skateboarding boy from down the street and a woman dressed in a business suit.
“Is this him?” she asked, looking to the boy.
He nodded.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“I think you already did,” she replied, and then to my relief she smiled. “I assume you know something about a broken skateboard that was magically repaired?”
I hesitated and then smiled in return. “That was supposed to be anonymous.”
“Yes, well, Christopher saw you taking it out of our trash can the other morning. He thought you wanted it for yourself, but then it showed up again at our house yesterday, so we had a feeling it was you who repaired it. Now he has something he wants to tell you.”
He didn’t speak or even look up, so finally she placed a hand on his back and gave him a nudge.
“Thanks for fixing my skateboard,” he mumbled, eyes on the ground.
“You’re welcome. I’m Tyler, by the way.”
“Chris,” he replied, glancing up at me. I thrust out a hand, and he had no choice but to give it a shake.
“And I’m Rosemary. Christopher’s mother,” the woman said, her grip far stronger than her son’s. “I’m afraid skateboard repair doesn’t exactly fall under my skill set. And his father…well, that’s not an option.”
An awkward silence followed, so I put my hands into my pockets and spoke again to the painfully shy kid standing in front of me, trying to make my voice as warm and friendly as I could.
“So, Chris, how’s the board working for you now?”
He nodded. “Good.”
“My brother’s the skateboarder around here,” I continued. “I showed it to him and he thought the problem was likely the pivot cup. I loosened it up some. Did that do the trick?”
Again the kid nodded. Behind me, I felt the presence of Brady, and I turned to see him standing there, watching with interest.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
I glanced at Rosemary, who explained. As she did, Chris looked up once and then again at Brady, his eyes growing wide by the time she was done.
“You’re Brady Anderson.” He turned to his mother. “He’s the new kicker over at the high school.”
The woman looked at Brady, taking him in. “Of course. I thought you looked familiar. You’re really something, you know that?”
“Thanks.”
“I mean really, all the parents are so excited about you.”
“Appreciate it,” Brady said, and it struck me that with his talent, he was in for a lifetime of such praise. Some might see that as a good thing, but I knew it could become a real snare, one filled with pride and arrogance and inflated self-worth. Self-indulgence as well. Brady had a difficult road ahead indeed, thanks to the mixed blessing of such an outstanding talent.
“My daughter is Tiffany Ward,” Rosemary said to him, interrupting my thoughts. “She’s a cheerleader there.”
“Sure, I know Tiff,” Brady replied. He stepped forward to stand beside me. “But I didn’t realize she lived in the neighborhood.”
“Been there for about ten years.”
“You’re a skater too?” Chris asked, looking up at Brady.
“Not in a while. But I used to be.”
“Good thing you’re not anymore,” Rosemary said. “You have to protect that kicking leg. Can’t let down the Mighty Sailors.” Looking to me, she added, “We need to run, but we wanted to stop by to thank you. That was a very kind thing you did.”
I shrugged, waving off her words. “It was my pleasure. I’m here visiting from Pennsylvania, so I had the time.”
“Well, Christopher appreciates it very much. So do I. It hasn’t been easy for him since his dad left. And I’m useless with a screwdriver.”
Chris rolled his eyes as if to say, You have no idea.
After one last thanks, they turned and walked away.
“Well, that was bizarre,” Brady said as soon as I closed the door.
“What do you mean?”
“You did some random skateboard repair for someone you didn’t even know?”
I laughed, moving back toward the kitchen. “I’d seen the kid trying to fix it himself. I felt sorry for him.”
I returned to the counter and the cantaloupe that was waiting for me on the cutting board. I thought Brady would go back to his breakfast, but instead he just stood there, staring at me. I grabbed the knife and began slicing.
“Sometimes, Tyler…” He shook his head.