Page 53 of Until Landon
“Sounds good. I’ll get my things together and be over in about an hour.”
“Thank you, Kim!”
“You’re welcome, Ronnie. I’ll bring you grapefruits from my tree.”
His face scrunches in distaste.
“Great!” he lies.
The late afternoon Tennessee sky holds memories of other days. Sitting on the porch, watching the sun begin to dip, reminds me of when I was a kid. After school, I couldn’t get home fast enough. The property allowed a boy’s imagination to fly. I was a pirate burying secret treasure in the dirt. Superman leaping boulders in a single bound. A biker on his Harley that looked suspiciously like my bicycle.
Dad and I are good at being silent. It is not uncomfortable for either of us.
Turning to him, I say the first words we have spoken since sitting our asses down ten minutes ago.
“Remember my first motorcycle?”
“Yeah, of course. I had to fight your mother on that one. She thought you were too young.”
“No. I’m talking the Mountain Bike.”
“You still have it, right? It must be twenty-five years old by now.”
“You guys bought it for my ninth birthday. Of course I still have it.”
That brings a smile to his face. It is accompanied by the expression he’s thinking of those days.
“You would put my leather gloves on. And your helmet. I knew then. You’d be a man who understood how satisfying it is to ride. How it feels with the wind in your face. You were already hooked.”
The sound of Kim’s car reaches us.
“Here she is,” I say, getting up.
The Honda pulls in front of the house and the engine quiets. Her head lowers and catches the scene. She smiles.
“That looks like a good time,” she says, getting out. “Let me get this inside and I’ll join you.”
Taking the steps down, I grab the grocery bag of grapefruits handed from the backseat. She meets my eyes, touches her lips and waits for the proper hello.
“Definitely.”
I lean in and kiss her sweet tasting lips. I hear his laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I say.
“You two. It’s nice. Makes me happy.”
“It’s all his fault,” Kim says, pointing my way. Then turning to Dad, “And yours.”
Climbing the stairs, she takes a seat on the old Adirondack chair next to Dad. She touches his hand briefly, just as a hello.
“What did I do?”
“It’s a question of DNA. Your son inherited your manly appeal. It’s irresistible.”
He waves the words off with a chuckle, but I know he liked them. I did.
“Unfortunately, you are hiding it with that crazy beard. Shame, really.”
