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“We just got back from church.”
Church.
That word alone still made his teeth snap together, although she didn’t seem to notice, continuing, “I make brunch every Sunday, but no one could make it today. Seems like they all got enough of one another last night. Are you interested in something to eat? I have bacon and eggs, bagels, fruit?”
Chris really liked Mr. and Mrs. Hollinger and was happy to make some friends here. Even if the Bronte connection was weird and fraught with rejection. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
Chris put his guitar in the house before taking the short walk next door.
Steven stood at the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Chris, how are you today? Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.”
Steven handed him a mug as Pattie placed a dish in front of him. “Help yourself. We don’t serve in this house.”
With his plate piled high, Chris sat at the table between Pattie and Steven, learning they had met while Steven was earning his PhD and she’d worked at the college library. They asked him a few questions about Indiana and how it compared to Pennsylvania, taking genuine interest in anything he had to say. It was nice they cared so much and, even more, humbling.
When they’d finished, Pattie and Steven showed him into the living room. Chris perused the enormous bookshelf, overflowing with worn paperbacks. “Did you read all these?” he asked, thumbing through a few.
“Between the whole family, they’ve all been read,” Pattie answered. “Probably a few times over.”
Steven stood next to Chris and pointed at the book in his hand. “Ah, that one’s my favorite.”
Chris opened the cover of The Great Gatsby. “Bronte told me you named Fitz after the author?”
Steven nodded.
“Do you mind if I borrow it?”
“Not at all.”
Chris moved on to admiring the family photos along the wall, in varying degrees of ages and number of people. He pointed at a particularly awkward school picture of Bronte with braces and a short bowl cut. “Why Bean?”
Pattie pulled out a photo album and held it open, flipping through pictures so Chris could see. Fitz, tall and athletic, in football and baseball uniforms. Shelley, with auburn hair, singing on a stage and smiling in the middle of a group of cheerleaders. And, finally, Bronte, posing with Minnie Mouse at Disney World. “Fitz is the jock, Shelley’s the performer, and Bronte is our bean pole. All elbows and chicken legs.”
“Still is,” Steven said, curling his arm around his wife’s waist. “Skinny as a bean pole. Takes after her mom.”
Chris smiled when Pattie flipped a page to show him a picture of Bronte in a cast and on crutches. “I think that’s when she tried to skateboard.”
He took the album from her hands to page through it. Bronte’s whole life was laid out for him from kindergarten to college graduation, but instead of answering any of his questions about her, it only raised more.
Like, did she ever master skateboarding? Did she always want to be a teacher? What was it like to grow up in this family, in this support system?
Passing the album back to Pattie, he shook the thoughts from his head.
Chris couldn’t wonder about Bronte. He couldn’t daydream about her. He couldn’t give in to the fantasy of her—that she was somehow the woman for him—because she wasn’t. She had a boyfriend, a whole life here.
And Chris was only passing through.
“I’m going to head out.”
Steven walked Chris to the door. “Make sure you come back.” He pointed at the book. “I want to hear what you think.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Steven gave Chris one more slap on the back and grinned. “Good to have you around.”
