Page 57 of Until Landon
Hunter has a smile on his face and he has a firm hold. Makes me proud.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Just help me up the steps. I’m not really that old, it’s just this fucking ankle.”
Moving ahead of them, the dogs at the screen door get their orders.
“Down!”
I hold the door open and we witness the miracle of Saint Barney the Wonder Dog. He listened.
“Impressive,” Ronnie says as he passes. “You have all the Podesta men paying attention, Kim. Even the furry guys.”
“Speaking of,” I say. “What about your face fur?”
“I’ll take care of my grooming, and you do you.”
It is not a snarky remark. He’s calm. And it makes Hunter chuckle.
“Okay. I won’t mention it again.”
“I’m going to get to it. You worry about it too much.”
“I tell her that all the time,” Hunter adds.
“I can do lunch today,” I call back as I pass. “You deserve a reward for your efforts in the kitchen. Relax.”
He agrees by sitting his ass down on the couch.
“Ahhhhhhh. That’s good.”
I get to gathering ingredients.
“Why don’t you text Landon? Tell him and Wes lunch will be waiting whenever they are ready.”
“Oh shit. I hate this texting stuff. Why don’t you do it, kid?”
“It’s easy, Ronnie. Just keep it short. I’ll show you,” Hunter says.
“Okay. And make sure you put salt on them! I’m serious, Kim. Salt.”
He doesn’t give two shits about anything other than the fries.
“I hear ya.”
You can’t build Rome in a day. But I notice the TV is not turned on. NoFamily Feud, orMaury Povich. I am just going to shut up about the fact he looks kind of happy with himself today. And he has a new person to schmooze with. Despite grumpy words, he’s a little happier. The progress toward reclaiming his life is a moving target. I would love to mention his progress again. Better to not talk it to death.
“Can I use your bathroom?”
“Yeah, kid. It’s the first door to the right. Down the hall.”
As soon as Hunter is out of sight, Ronnie summons me.
“Can you bring me my book on the table?” He points directly behind him. The book sits about five inches out of his reach.
“You’re kidding, right?” I say, slicing the sweet potato, reading instructions and vowing not to sound as annoyed as he is making me.
“Alright. Alright.”
