“You held that in way too long. It’s a wonder you didn’t explode.”
“I did explode,” she says and snorts a little. That’s closer to a laugh than it deserves and I’m glad for it.
“It’s ironic that you broke up with Scott over something he didn’t tell you,” she says in her miserable voice. “Then I didn’t tell you all this because I was afraid you’d break up with me, too.”
“We’ll never break up. But I don’t want us to get cancer either. Let’s just drive to Bingo when we’re seventy, okay?” I lean over and hug her, awkwardly since she’s lying crossways on my lap. She squeezes me back tightly.
“Jesus, Parker, I think I’m going to cry again.”
“Go ahead. You’re already not getting a gold star today.”
She snorts. “Ha, ha.”
“Sad, but true. And I intend to. Number ninety-two.”
Sarah shifts her head in my lap. “I told you all this stuff but you haven’t said anything. What are you thinking?”
I feel like I’m made of lead. A twisted lump of cold lead.
I hug her. “I’m thinking I have the best friend I could possibly have.”
“Me, right?”
I nod, my cheek pressed against her forehead.
“Good answer,” she says. “But that’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
“So what else?”
Thinking it is one thing… saying it out loud is another…
I whisper it into her ear. Maybe saying it as quietly as possible will keep it under control.
“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
TWENTY
Ten minutes later we’re in Sarah’s car but I can tell she’s driving under the speed limit.
“I said this is a bad idea, right?” she says. “I didn’t just think it?”
“I’m going to start counting. Your ass is covered, and not just by those new yoga pants.”
“How’d you know I’m wearing them?”
“Lucky guess. You remember how to get there?”
“Yeah, but there’s still time not to. We can turn around and text him instead. He might have friends over or not even be home. Or he might be working; I think I heard he has a job.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know—don’t change the subject.”
“I want to talk to him face-to-face. I want to hear his voice and his answers without him getting time to think about them too much.”
“That’s what phones are for.”
“What are you so worried about?”
“I’m worried that you’re not worried.”
“I’m plenty worried.”
“Then let’s go back. I mean, two and a half years of nothing and now… what’s the rush?”
“I’m not rushing. I’m just not waiting anymore. Are we there yet?”
“God, are you twelve?” She pulls over. “And yes, we are. I’ll wait around the corner till you text me.”
“Are you sick of me telling you how good of a friend you are?”
“Keep trying; I’ll let you know. His path is directly in front of your door.”
I get out and then unfold my cane while Sarah drives away. The path is flat concrete with grass on both sides, just like I remember. I find the doorbell and press it. The silence tells me they still haven’t fixed it, so I knock. I hear footsteps inside and I adjust my scarf. I chose Peace Symbols this morning because I wanted some peace; maybe now it can mean something else.
The door opens.
“Parker!” It’s Scott’s mom. “Parker Grant! Oh, look at you! Let me give you a hug!”
Before I answer she hugs me warmly, which feels strange because she was always very nice to me but seldom hugged me.
“You must be half a foot taller since I last saw you! How did you get here, did you walk? Come inside!”
“Sarah dropped me off,” I say, folding my cane.
“Come into the kitchen. It’s still straight ahead and then left, I’m sure you remember.”
I do. Six steps, left, three steps, table, chairs… I sit without incident.
“I wish the furniture in my house stayed put this much.”
“Old habits—” She stops herself. Then she sits and her hands grab mine and I manage not to flinch. “I’m so sorry about what happened, Parker. Martin was a wonderful father. You must miss him terribly. What an awful time for you.”
“Not so good for him, either,” I say and instantly regret it. I don’t want to sound glib, I just don’t know what to say sometimes when people talk about Dad. “But thanks. My aunt’s family moved in with me because…” But my usual answer, how my house was just better than theirs, won’t come out, not to Scott’s mom. “They moved here so I wouldn’t have to move in with them. It takes me a long time to learn my way around new places and they didn’t want me to have to go to a new house and a new school and town right after…” I stop talking—it feels like someone is squeezing my throat. It’s awful saying all this out loud.
“That was very nice of them. So now you have cousins with you? Your aunt has kids?”