It was tight, to say the least.
“Grandma says the dining room table is too far away,” Phin said as his grandmother dumped white rice onto his plate. “It’s a pain to clean off.”
“Call me Brenda.”
Carter pointed his fork at the kid. “Clearing the table is your job.”
“Not if he has homework. Do you like chicken, dear?”
“Please.”
I sat as far to the edge as I could, but my arm was a quarter inch from Carter’s. I could barely breathe without touching him. He had his own side for a reason. He took up most of the bench.
“So, what’s with the getup?” Phin indicated my little shorts and crop top. “You come right from the gym?”
“No. From work.”
“Got any pets?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Carter interrupted.
“Don’t answer any personal questions.” Carter addressed me but stared pointedly at Phin. “The little hacker’s looking for open doors. Ways to figure out your passwords.”
Phin rolled his eyes. “I’m totally white hat, first of all.”
I didn’t want to interfere with this dinner and then close myself off, even if the little hacker was going to use every bit of intel to pry password clues out of me.
“The pet situation is in flux. I’m dressed like this because I’m a dancer and a choreographer.”
“Cool. What kind of dance?”
“Contemporary. Jazz. Whatever we need. I mostly work with a pop star on her acts.” I glanced at Carter to see if he wanted to add who we worked for or whether or not we worked together. He didn’t add a word.
“When did you start?”
I’d worked with kids his age before, and they were usually more interested in talking about themselves than asking questions.
“I was a gymnast first. Then I injured my knee.”
“Bummer. Was it bad?”
He shoveled rice and chicken into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Yeah. I tore my right meniscus, which—”
Phin dropped his fork and held up his hands. “No, no. The empathy. Ah . . .”
Carter broke in. “Phin asks about injuries, then gets empathetic pain.”
“It’s not pain,” Phin said with a shudder. “It’s like whatever body part you’re talking about gets this weird feeling.” He shuddered again and picked up his fork.
“Well.” I smiled. “Medical school is out of the question.”
Carter and his mother laughed.
“Speaking of school,” Carter said, “how was it today?”
Phin told us about his day, from getting on the bus in the morning to an after-school White Hat Club meeting.
I felt Carter at my side, his shirt brushing against my bare arm when he moved his fork and knife across his chicken. I was painfully aware that I’d wronged him and that it wouldn’t be forgotten. This dinner could be the last together. I’d blown it, for sure. He’d made a choice to conceal his family, but in the end he had nothing to hide.
Phin had his knee on the seat while he ate, then he put it down, seesawed his fork, twiddled with the hot-sauce container, snapped and tapped, interjected jokes, and pointed fingers when he agreed.
“You’re cool for a stalker,” he said.
“She’s not a stalker.” Carter had a dad voice that made even me sit up straighter.
“What is she?”
“I’m more of a lurker.”
“Can I tell my friends we had a lurker over for dinner?” he asked Carter.
“No.”
“Cleanup time,” Brenda said. “Let’s get the show on the road.”
I picked up my plate, but Phin took it. “Me and Grandma clean up on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. It’s like a rule.”
“The rule is you clean up,” Carter interjected. “Your grandmother has a soft heart.”
“I want it done this year, is all. And please, say Brenda. Not ‘grandmother.’”
Phin rolled his eyes as he stacked the plates. While they were both at the dishwasher arguing about the best way to fill it, I turned to Carter and spoke softly.
“He’s a great kid.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re secretive because you want to protect him.”
He touched his nose with his fingertip.
“And when I came here, I put that in jeopardy.”
He touched my nose with his fingertip.
“I’m sorry.”
He finished his water and put it down deliberately.
“Do you like tomatoes?”
“Sure.”
“Come.”
I glanced over at Brenda. She gave me the shoo sign.
I slid out of the booth, and Carter led me to the back door. He punched some numbers into a little panel by the door and joined me on the back deck. The yard was bigger than mine but not immense. A garage to the left. A soccer pitch to the right. A thick sycamore tree and a tire at the end of a rope. He led me deep into the shadows in the back of the yard.
“I can smell the garden,” I said. He pulled me into him and kissed me in the dark. Caught off guard, I stiffened, but he persisted. I melted for him again. My muscles worked with his movement, going pliable against him. In the silence and passion of that kiss, he forgave me. Accepted me. Drew me inside his world.
When I opened my eyes, I’d adjusted to the light.
“Now I want to tell you everything,” he whispered.
“I’ll listen.”
“You’ve got to be freezing.” He ran his fingers over my bare arms, and they broke out in tingling bumps. “You’re half-naked.”
“I’m completely covered. And it’s May.”
“Speaking of the season, my mother grows these like nobody’s business.”
Against the fence stood a raised bed with lush tomato plants. Even in the dimming light, the colored dots of fruit were visible.
“Do you have a preference?” he asked, bending down and moving leaves away. “We have orange, yellow, plum, beefsteak I think. I don’t know what the hell else she has back here.”
He plucked a huge red and orange tomato from the vine. It was as big as his palm, and when I took it, my arm dropped. It had to weigh two pounds.
“This is going to last me a week.”
“It’s a gift so you don’t get insulted when I walk you around the side.”
“I’m not insulted.”
“Phin needs routines. We try to disrupt them as little as possible.”
“It’s okay.”
“If you go back in, he’ll find a way to engage you, and he’ll break his routine.”
“I have my car key.” I wiggled my little coil bracelet with the key on the end. “I can just go.”
“Where’s the car?”
“Down the block. I was trying to be stealthy.”
He kissed me tenderly, letting his lips linger on mine.
“I’ll walk you.”
He laced his fingers in mine and took me around the side of the house, past hockey sticks and a folded goal and a skateboard.
“He’s really into sports.” I pointed to a basketball hoop on wheels.
“Not really. That was me trying to get him to play something. The only things he wants to do are code video games and make computer art.”
He let me through the side gate, and we joined hands again at the sidewalk.
“Hey, Emily!” Phin called from the porch.
“Good night,” I called back.
The kid ran down the steps and held up a little blue thumb drive. “I made this. It’s fun.”
He tossed it and I caught it.
“Thanks.”
He suddenly looked timid, as if he’d stepped over a line.