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Oh. My biker cousin plays football. Like the real kind. Not the kind without pads in the yard that resembles sixteenth-century warfare.
“You’ll have fun,” says Olivia. “The pond has trees.”
Trees. Second tree on the left.
“What does that mean?” Oz double-takes Olivia and if it weren’t for our previous conversation I’d think she was crazy, too. Well, more crazy than usual.
“That we should go swimming,” I suggest.
A muscle in Oz’s jaw twitches and I’m curious why he’s unhappy. I thought after our bonding moment last night, we were friends. “Wear jeans over your swimsuit and some real fucking shoes.”
He gets up and stomps out of the room.
* * *
“What else?” Mom’s drinking tea in our kitchen during this morning’s video chat and she’s pumping me for information.
“Oz and I are going swimming today. For real, who doesn’t have central air in this century? I swear to God I’m going to melt.”
Mom lightly traces her throat. “Where are you going swimming?”
“A pond, I guess.”
Her eyebrows rise past her blond bangs. “But you hate the woods.”
“I didn’t say it was in the woods.” Olivia did. And so did Oz. But me? Never mentioned it.
She sets down her cup of tea. “I was assuming that. There’re lots of woods in Kentucky and...here comes your father! Jeff, come here and say hi to Emily. I have to go. I have a meeting...”
Mom flees from her chair faster than a traumatized hummingbird.
Dad settles into Mom’s seat and he watches the direction in which Mom left then eventually turns his attention to me. He’s in a white shirt and tie, which means he has hospital visits today. “Hey, Em.”
There’s a part of me that always relaxes when I see him. “Hi, Dad.”
“What did you say to freak your mom out?” Dad’s eyes contain a spark of amusement. He’s finding this whole digging into Mom’s past thing enjoyable for some reason.
“I told her I was going swimming at a pond.”
He nods as if he knows why this pond is a big deal. “That would make her unhappy.”
“I’m tired of being the only one in the dark,” I say.
“I imagine you are.” He leans forward so that his head is closer to the camera. “Are you ready to come home yet?”
Surprisingly... “No. It’s weird here, but I’m handling it.”
“Good,” Dad says, and he looks as though he means it. “That’s good.”
A part of me feels better that he’s supporting me in this, but the other half sinks in guilt. “Hey, Dad?”
“Yes, Em?”
“I love you.”
Dad grins in a way that causes me to soar. “I love you, too.”
Good.
