Page 58 of Until Landon
But despite the sharp delivery, he gets up carefully and walks around the couch. No cane. Yes.
“Shall we eat out on the porch? It’s a beautiful day.”
“That’s fine. The boys are going to be smelling like pond scum anyway. I don’t want it in the house.”
He still calls them boys. I get it. Hunter will always be my child. Whenever I look at him, I see the six-year old. Ronnie makes it back to the couch and stretches out.
“Yeah, that’s it. Let’s have a beer. Oh. Should have grabbed it when I was up.”
His eyes find mine and it is impossible to miss the plea being sent.
“I got it,” I say, knowing when to quit.
That seems to please him, like a child who knows his mother will cave if he looks miserable enough. Hunter and I would do that dance occasionally. I take two beers from the refrigerator as he is texting. Placing one for me on the counter, I deliver his. The multi tool knife in his pocket is already out and ready to pop the cap. His cell sounds.
“What?”
That sounded like he was being greatly disturbed by whoever has the gall to call. Men are so weird.
“Okay.”
That’s it. A two word “conversation”.
“They’ll be here in a half hour or so.”
“Perfect.”
“Why the hell didn’t he just text?”
Now he likes it. God.
An hour later, the porch picnic is in full swing. Dirty men with clean hands, Hunter, Ronnie, and me are chomping on the fabulous fries and delicious burgers. I’m definitely making these again. Good thing there was extra. The two-man cleanup crew are as hungry as my nineteen year old. Landon turns to his father.
“Did you make these fries?”
“Hell no. It was Kim’s idea. Something to do with a board. I don’t know exactly. They’re good though.”
“Pinterest.”
As soon as the word leaves my mouth I realize only Hunter knows what I’m talking about. Ronnie sees the faces and looks validated.
“Like I said, Latin.”
I surrender a chuckle and he joins in. The guys don’t know what is so funny but the banter amuses them too.
“These two have lots of private jokes,” Landon tells Hunter.
“He cracks me up,” I say.
“How was your walk? Did you make it to the gate yet?” Wes asks.
Ronnie bites on the last of his fries. “Not yet. But it won’t be long.”
I am encouraged by the show of confidence.
“Good work, Dad. In a few weeks you’ll be able to walk without the cane, right?”
“That’s the goal. One of them anyway. We’re just starting. According to the boss.”
