Page 84 of Embody

Twenty-Seven

Bellamy

SHOULD’VE INSISTED WEmake that bet.

I’m currently riding down the road, in the Acadia, Jefferson’s father driving…only the two of us.

Nooo…not intimidating at all.

“Bellamy,” he says without taking his eyes off the road. “I’ll start by saying, take a breath. Then keep taking them. No sense in passing out from oxygen deprivation. I’m not the least bit upset with you.”

I nod, sucking in air, sounding a lot like Darth Vader.

“Can you answer my questions without fainting?” He lightly chuckles.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you like this car? Which, by the way, runs very well and is of ideal size. Not too big, so you can park safely, and not too small, so there’s room for anything you’d need to haul.” He takes a right on Hammond, moving into the left turning lane for Bzoza Avenue.

I know exactly where he’s heading, but notwhy.

“Yes, it’s a great car, not much to dislike. But…” I inject stern finality in my next words, despite my chaotic nerves, “I don’t want it.”

“And why is that?” He heads down School Street.

My drawn-out exhale is much more complex than my answer. “Because…” I pause, weighing the risk between candid honesty and possibly offending him, deciding to go all-in with the former. “I’ve witnessed a lot first-hand, and heard many of the stories, so I know grand gestures like this aren’t unusual foryourfamily. But for everyone else’s? They are. Highly. Frankly, it’s so bizarre and unconventional, it’s an almost scary type of overwhelming.”

With one last turn, we’re at the college softball field where Brynn plays and Mrs. Kendrick coaches.

“May I ask why we’re here?” I don’t play ball. This isn’t a “me” spot…not that he’d know what was.

“Because, you’re a lot like my Brynny, and this is where we go to have our talks. Plus, I can’t gauge your honesty, or what you’re not saying, while I’m driving.” He gives me an encouraging, albeit small, smile. “Let’s sit on the bleachers; fresh air always helps clear the mind.”

Hands-down the weirdest day of my life.

Once we’re seated on the opposite-of-comfortable, hot metal bleachers, he resumes the lead on our conversation. “If I asked you why you seem to be quite fond of my son, would you be comfortable answering me?” He stares out at the field, elbows on his knees with his hands joined, hanging loosely between them. A relaxed pose of which I wouldn’t have thought him inclined.

“I suppose.” I blush. “Somewhat.”

He laughs heartily. “Of course. I don’t want to hear any more than thesomewhat.”

“Jefferson is…”

“Wait, and I apologize for interrupting, but you call himJefferson?” When he looks at me, his widened eyes glimmer with intrigued mirth. “And he lets you?”

“He doesn’tletme do anything.” I instantly grimace at hearing the unintentional snark in my voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Best thing I’ve heard all day.” He slaps his knee. “Please, do go on.” He props his elbow on the same knee and chin in hand, then a grin that I interpret as humored fascination pulls at the corners of his mouth.

“Where were we? Oh yeah. Yes, I call him Jefferson. And he tells me he likes it.”

“Why?” he blurts out. “Do you do it, not why does he like it.”

“Easy, Mr. Kendrick,” I snicker, wagging a finger at him. “You’re pushing thesomewhatboundary. But I’ll give you this one.”

“Much obliged.” He grins wider and my comfort level rises.

It’s easy to see why the Kendrick kids are so confident, kind and well-adjusted. Their parents are open, down to Earth, and understanding…even their father, once you get past the scary facade and recognize it for what it really is—protective, unconditional love.

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