Page 14 of Mr. Picture Perfect
We reach the house, first one on the corner with the big oak tree and tire swing hanging from it. I make a mental note to clean up the front flowerbed, as the mulch looks like it’s been blown all over the place and some weeds are starting to pop up. Nan and I pass through the side gate to the back door of the house, which is how everyone here comes and goes. Only visitors, strangers, and solicitors use the actual front door. Also, there’s a small garden outside by the dining room bay window that my dad and grandma tend to full of fresh vegetables they grow—a little mother-son project they began about five or six years ago, back when I was still in school. My dad tried getting me involved once, but I clearly do not share the green thumbs they possess.
The moment we step inside, my dog Porridge is happily upon me. I crouch down to let her lick me as I give her an enthusiastic rubbing. When I look up, I find my mom sitting at the dining room table with a glass of wine in front of her. Correction: an emptied glass of wine, only a trace left at the bottom.
She looks up at me as if gazing through a fog. “Hi, guys,” she greets us mildly, eyes half-closed. “How’d the festival go?”
“Oh, nothin’ much happened,” answers my grandma as she sits down at a bench by the back door to take off her shoes. “I got myself a halter dress. Cole saved a young man’s life.”
My mom nods. “That sounds nice.” She gazes out the window.
Nan grunts as she removes a shoe. “Lauren, sweetheart, I was bein’ serious about the savin’-a-young-man part.”
My mom turns back to us, confused. “Saving what?”
I come up to the table. “It’s alright, Mom. How was your day?” I glance at the glass. “Did you … wanna check out the festival, too? It’ll still be going on tomorrow. Heck, there’s still time today.”
“Maybe.”
Grandma continues to take off her shoes, appearing to have no patience for my mom’s mood today.
I put my hand on my mom’s, giving it a squeeze. “You wanna go for a bit? Get out of the house? Apricot Street wasn’t quite as crowded and chaotic as Main Street. We can even take Porridge with us. I’m sure she’d love that.”
Just at the mention of her name, Porridge rushes right up to my side, panting away.
My mom rubs at a spot on her forehead. “Maybe,” she repeats, then rises from the table with a sigh and moves to the kitchen. Porridge follows her, tongue dangling, curious, but my mom pays her as much mind as a gnat.
When I glance back at my grandma, I find her having changed to her gardening shoes. “I’ll be out back,” she tells me sweetly, but her eyes are on my mom with disapproval. She lets out a sigh of her own as she returns to the back door. “Porridge! Here, girl! You been outside today, girl? Cooped up? Someone been ignorin’ your needs? Over here, girl.” Still panting and as happy as a dog can possibly be, she rushes to the door and follows my Nan out to the garden. The door closes softly behind her.
I find my mom leaning against the kitchen counter, squinting down at a calendar she pulled off the wall. I have no idea what she is looking up or marking down, but she has a pen in her hand and casually taps it on her chin.
“Want to talk about anything, Mom?” I ask cheerily, fishing. “Seems like you’ve got something on your mind, maybe? I’ve got a couple of ears I can put to use.”
“Can’t for the life of me remember …” she mutters in thought.
She’s in her own world right now. “Is it about Dad?” I ask.
“What was that thing …?” she continues mumbling to herself as she surveys the calendar. “Just thinking about it earlier …”
“Dad just started his second job last week, right? You feeling lonely? Wait … is it his third?”
“Your Nan said something about you saving someone’s life?” she asks, still tapping her chin with the pen.
I latch on to my mom’s question at once. Any sign at all of her paying attention is good. “Yeah. It all happened very fast. I was … well, there was this stack of, uh, picture frames, very tall stack …” I feel like I’m already losing her. “Anyway, I pushed a guy out of the way. Y’know, so the stack didn’t fall on him. Maybe ‘saved his life’ is a bit overdramatic.” I chuckle to myself. “You wouldn’t believe who it was, either, of all people … Noah Reed.”
Her pen tapping stops.
She turns to me, surprised. “The Reed boy, did you say?”
“Yep, the one and only. Noah. Remember him?”
That’s when her glassy, half-opened eyes drop to my arm, just now noticing. “Oh, honey, what happened?”
“Just a little booboo from the incident, no big deal.” I put on a smile. “Hey, your son’s a hero! How cool is that?”
“It looks really bad. That’s a lot of …bandage.” She touches it. I try not to grimace too much; the wound is still sensitive. Her eyes fill up with tears. “Oh, I’m so sorry you hurt yourself, baby. You … You should be more careful. It’s so dangerous out there.”
“It looks a lot worse than it is.”
“And you got this by …” She stares at my arm. “Noah Reed …”
