Page 106 of Catcher

Garrett kills the engine and jogs around to open my door before I can even think about it. I slide out, slower these days, and the moment my feet hit the ground, the enticing aroma of grilled burgers and crawfish fills my senses.

Pop’s backyard has always felt like its own little world, cut off from the city even though it’s right there. The grass is patchy in the places people always stand, greener along the edges where nobody steps. The whole yard slopes gently toward the river, and at the back, the land just gives way to the water’s edge.

Old cypress trees push up near the waterline. A couple of willows lean in, their long branches dangle, nearly touching the water below. Palmettos and thick shrubs crowd the fence line on one side, and above it all, moss hangs off the oaks like curtains.

A wooden deck walkway runs from the back steps toward the water, boards sun-bleached and smooth in the middle from years of bare feet and boots. It splits at the end, leading to a boat deck where a couple of beat-up chairs sit.

Today, the yard is transformed. Folding tables are spread out resembling islands. One long table is dressed in paper cloth and stacked with plates and napkins, another is crowded with aluminum trays and bowls, and a third is buried under wrapped baby gifts.

Pop stands near the boil pot, stirring a crawfish boiler that’s sending up clouds of steam. Nobody does crawfish better than Pop. Off to the side, Nova mans the grill. The smell is mouthwatering. Cayenne, garlic, and lemon, that sharp peppery bite mixed with the sweet smoke of charcoal. The smell clings to the air, making my stomach growl.

On the porch, Piper sits in Kiwi’s lap. Kiwi’s laugh carries brightly and quickly, while Piper’s smile is softer, her gaze tracking the chaos in the yard.

Promise, London, Sadie, Luna, and Jo swarm the food table. Promise keeps moving things around to make sure the setup is perfect. London sets out a pack of cups while Sadie stacks plates. Jo and her daughter, Sawyer, carry platters of grilled food over to the table. Everest is by the cooler, with its empty ice bags over bottles and cans.

Off to the side of the yard, the kid zone is in full effect. A tire swing hangs from a thick branch, and kids shriek with laughter. A blue kiddie pool sits in the shade where Tequila’s niece is supervising. Wick stands nearby with his arms crossed and a watchful eye while Tequila hovers closer to the pool with a towel in hand as she helps Damien out.

For a second, I stand there and watch. Garrett’s fingers lace with mine. “You ready?” he murmurs.

“As I’ll ever be,” I say.

We round the side of the house, and the backyard opens up. Luna spots us first, and she nudges Jo with her elbow.

“There she is!” Jo hollers.

Promise claps her hands once, victorious. London whistles. Sadie throws up her arms. Piper hops out of Kiwi’s lap, and Kiwi swings his legs off the porch step and starts down. Piper follows at a calmer pace.

Pop looks up from the boil, face splitting into that grin. “Ruby girl!” he booms, and the words cut through me. Nova lifts his tongs in the air in a greeting salute.

I barely get two steps into the grass before Jo is on me, hands on my shoulders, eyes immediately dropping to my belly before pulling me in for a tight hug. “You look beautiful, Ruby.”

“Easy,” Garrett warns, but he’s smiling as the girls crowd in. Promise is the next to hug me, followed by London, Sadie, and Luna.

The guys are a little more chill. As soon as Garrett steps fully into the yard, a couple of them call him over with that head nod. Everest tosses him a drink. Fender claps him on the shoulder, then immediately goes back to helping Pop with the crawfish. Wick lifts two fingers in greeting from his post by the kids.

Tequila catches my eye and gives me a small wave. Then I see Garrett’s mom and dad coming down the porch steps, and beside them, his brother. His mom’s face is soft, open, and her eyes go straight to my belly, causing a wide smile to stretch across her face. Garrett turns at the same time and breaks away from the guys and heads in my direction.

His mom reaches me first. “Ruby,” she says, wrapping her arms around me.

“I’m so glad you could make it.”

She beams. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

His mom pulls back just enough to get a good look at me, hands sliding to my arms like she can’t help but fuss. “Where are your parents, sweetheart? I was hoping to meet them.”

“They took a trip up to the Smoky Mountains. Mom and Dad have been wanting to go for years, and I finally convinced them to go. They’re due back next week.” I rub my belly. “They wouldn’t miss the birth of their grandchild for the world.”

It took some heavy convincing on my end to finally get them to say yes. After the whole ordeal with Robby, after the fear, the mess, and all the ways it tried to sink its teeth into our lives, I’d looked at my parents and realized how much of their joy they’d kept putting off for ‘later.’ Later, that never comes if you don’t make it. So, I pushed, begged, and guilted my mother with pictures, trip ideas, and told my dad he’d earned every second of peace that mountain air could give him. They both deserved it after everything they’d carried for me.

“This shower is all your mother has been talking about for weeks.” Garrett’s dad steps in next, offering his own hug, while his brother gives me an easy grin and nod.

Garrett steps in behind me and wraps his parents in a tight hug, the kind that makes his mom’s shoulders lift in a way that tells me she’s holding back her emotions. Then he turns to his brother, gives him that firm handshake, and claps him on the shoulder. Before any of us can say much more, Riggs’ voice carries from the food table. “All right, y’all, come and get it!”

Suddenly, all the kids come running. Little feet pound across the patchy grass, shrieks and laughter bounce off the trees as they come barreling toward the tables as though they’ve been starved for days. Adults follow more slowly. We crowd around the table, shoulders bumping, hands reaching over one another.

Nova starts passing plates down one end while Promise barks playful orders about who’s sitting where. By the time I lower myself into a chair, Garrett’s hand is already at my back, steady and warm, and the table is full.

Just as the first bites start and the chatter rises again, Pop pushes himself up from his chair at the head of the table. He’s ninety and somehow still solid as an old oak—back a little bowed, hands marked up with time, eyes sharp and bright like they’ve seen every kind of storm and never once forgot how to find the sun afterward. The whole table quiets without anyone even having to ask. That’s the thing about Pop, when he speaks, people listen.