Part 10 (1/2)
”Thomas, I told you not to use the plastic spatula.” Luke's mom took the melted utensil from him and handed him a longer metal one. ”Here. Use this one.”
Luke snorted and glanced at me. ”My mom's not big into *no' with the youngest.”
He stepped out onto the deck. ”Hey, Mom. I brought a friend over.”
As one, the four Parkers turned and looked at me. It was hardly comfortable being studied so intently by so many people. Their gazes held, seeing me.
Mrs. Parker's brows lifted. ”Oh.”
”This is Amy.”
They were still looking. No one turned back to the sandwich that was now on fire, sending up smelly smoke signals for a fire extinguisher to rescue it.
”Amy! Of course.” Mrs. Parker moved our way, both hands outstretched. When she reached us, she moved around Luke and took my hands in hers. ”The girl who beat an entire soccer team.”
Um, wow. I glanced at Luke who was definitely not looking at me.
”Yes, ma'am.”
She dropped one of my hands and led me to the checker-covered picnic table.
”We're making grilled cheese, minus the skillet.” Taking the gla.s.ses from Luke, she poured another gla.s.s of the sweet tea I was getting so used to from a large pitcher. ”I think one more and they'll realize you need something between the sandwich and the grill.”
I glanced toward the boys as Luke pulled out the chair next to me and joined us.
”Twins?”
”Yup,” he said. ”Mom was so worried that I wouldn't feel special enough being, you know, just a solo-birth baby, so she had to go and have Thomas too.”
”Oh, please.” Mrs. Parker gave Luke a friendly swat across the table. ”He knows he's the perfect one. Just ask his brothers. His record is the bane of their existence.”
”Amy,” one of the older boys called. ”If you could get him to break curfew, or better yet a law, we'd love you forever.”
The boys all laughed as Luke crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back. ”I can't be blamed if Mom got it right the first time and had to double up for perfection after that.”
They must have finally decided they were hungry, because the two oldest took over. Putting a battered looking cookie sheet on the grill, they toasted everyone a sandwich while Thomas set the table and brought out chips and potato salad.
”Can you tell them apart, Mrs. Parker?”
She scooped more potato salad on my plate and smiled. ”Of course. You will too. It's easier than you think.”
Luke ignored the chaos around him. ”Jared and Justin will be juniors this year. Jared's in blue today. Thomas is nine.”
”So, Amy, how'd you beat all those bigger guys at the running thing?” Thomas asked when his brothers went back to their sandwiches.
I eyed Thomas, and it dawned on me that he was about the age of the kids I'd taught at art camp this summer, but a little thinner, a little smaller. No wonder he wanted to know how to beat the bigger guys considering this crowd.
”I run a lot. When I got serious about it, I worked my way up, making each run a little harder. The trick is in the training. When you want to stop, pick a number and run that many steps more. When other people stop, make sure you pa.s.s them.”
Thomas glanced at Luke, sizing him up, and then back at me. ”That sounds hard.”
”Do you want to run?” I asked, trying to figure out if I could help somehow.
”I don't know. I want to do something.” He pushed the potato salad around, watching it leave white streaks on his red plate. ”Everyone else does something.”
”Like what?” I asked, studying each brother.
”Well, Luke plays soccer. Jared and Justin play baseball.” He glanced at his mom but she waited him out, letting him decide for himself. ”I couldn't breathe when I was little, but the doctor said I can do stuff now.”
Jared and Justin, who had been in their own nonsensical conversation at the end of the table chimed in with ”of course you can” and ”especially if it's baseball” and then went back to their discussion which seemed to focus on pitchers' weights versus their fast ball speed. Luke leaned over and b.u.mped Thomas shoulder to shoulder in what I could only a.s.sume is guy-speak for ”I'm here for you” and waited.
Wow. Families were complicated. All these people involved in your life every day. Watching you. Hearing you. Seeing you.
It seemed complicated... Almost as complicated as not seeing someone. Conversations with my dad-in the tiny event that one happened-were a practice in not saying anything upsetting. The biggest problem was I had no idea what ”upsetting” ever was.
”Is running what you do, Amy?” Thomas asked.
”And she paints.”
All the blood rushed from my head leaving me dizzy. I flattened my hands on the table on either side of my plate. I'd never shown my work to anyone but Mrs. Cleary and just the idea was enough to make me pitch over backwards. Trust me, college apps for art school were a bit of a challenge without a portfolio.
Luke glanced down at my hand stretched out tight, resting next to his, and his gaze rose to my face. ”She's really good.”
I closed my eyes, waiting for... something. I don't know what. Sharing things, showing myself, had never been easy. Then, as I was left more and more to myself it became down right hard. But, as I sat there waiting, nothing happened. No one gasped or pointed or laughed. And then I realized what he'd said and I opened my eyes.
”How do you know?” I asked, forcing my hands to uncurl and relax. ”You didn't see my stuff.”
”Oh. I might have looked around a little while you packed up. There might have been a couple of things sitting out with your name on them.” His ears flushed pink and I had to wonder if the heat was getting to him or he was blus.h.i.+ng. ”And they were. Good, I mean.”
We sat there, him seeing me and me finally starting to see him when his mother slapped the table.
”This is perfect.” Mrs. Parker nearly leapt up. ”Amy, can you come in the house and tell me which colors go with the carpet? We don't want to tear it up so I need to pick a new sofa covering and I have a horrible eye for these things.”
Before I knew what had happened, I was in the Parker's oversized living room struggling to see the rug through the piles of books, games, toys, and sporting equipment I couldn't even identify. Mrs. Parker moved things around, opening shades and turning on lights. She showed me all sorts of ideas weighing each one against the damage four boys-five if she counted her husband-could do.
The afternoon started to slip by without me noticing, when a rap came on the back window.
”Mom! We need Amy!” Thomas shouted. ”She's going to be on my Scrabble team!”
Chapter 12.
I blinked against the bright suns.h.i.+ne as I stepped out onto the porch where a mini-Parker waited for me.
”You can call me Tom.”
”What?” Luke stopped, his hands going to his hips as he stared down at his littlest brother. ”You won't let any of us call you Tom.”