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Luke laughs, and she settles into the warmth of it.
I do too.
“Whatcha watching?” he asks as he kneels beside her.
She stares at him for a long beat and then over to the window. Her fingers are making circles in the air as she becomes mesmerized by something outside.
“Peyton,” Luke calls to her gently.
She looks at him with a scowl. Instead of love, she’s looking at him, confused.
“Do you know what you’re watching?” he clarifies his question for her.
She struggles to get her words out. “Why are you here? I don’t want you here.” The tone of her voice is suddenly deeply angered.
He’s unaffected by her change in demeanor. “I came to introduce you to my friend.”
Peyton looks over Luke’s shoulder, and her eyes bead at me. “I don’t want anyone. Go away!” Her irritation is evident not only from her tone, but also from the motions her body makes, even more spastic and uncontrolled as before. There’s a determination in her brow though, as if she’s trying with all her might to control it. “Go away!”
I press my back against the door frame. Her sudden outburst, paired with the disdain in her voice, makes me want to rush out of the room.
Luke doesn’t flinch at her words.
“It’s okay, P. You can be mad if you want.” He rubs her back and places his head against her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down. “Are you ready to go to the kitchen to eat?” He pulls a walker over to her. “You can get there yourself, or do you want your chair?”
She doesn’t answer him for a while. The comedians on TV laugh in the background while we wait in silence for Peyton to make a choice. Eventually, she motions toward the walker.
Luke assists Peyton to a standing position. Her back is hunched as she grips the walker lightly with one hand and struggles to keep upright. Luke places her other hand on the walker and helps her get a grip while holding her hips to get her balanced. Slowly, the two walk through the room, the tennis balls on the ends of the walker gliding softly on the hardwood.
I step back to let them out of the bedroom and follow them into the kitchen. It takes Peyton a long time to walk. Her body sways, yet she maintains a determined gait to make it into the kitchen. I wonder if she’ll use a wheelchair to get back because the activity seems to take a toll on her—the journey of thirty feet like running a marathon.
She sits at the table, and Mitch is at her side.
“I have split pea soup for lunch today. Your brother brought it for you from the restaurant you like in Walden.”
Peyton doesn’t reply to her father, yet she motions for Luke to take a seat. While Mitch warms up the soup, Luke sits down at the table and gives Peyton his attention.
“You good?” she asks him, her body moving less than it was in the bedroom.
“I am.” He smiles at the calm tone in her voice.
I wonder if, with Peyton, you never know which version of her you’ll get—the sweet child or the angry adult. Growing up with her must have been difficult, and it must have also required a tremendous amount of patience.
Luke leans back in his chair, seeming more comfortable. “There was a house fire last week in my town. I had to rescue two dogs from an upstairs bedroom. You would have loved them. Golden retrievers. Absolute beauties.”
Her face lights up. “I love golden retrievers,” she says.
Mitch shouts from the kitchen, as if excited she remembered, “Yes, you do!”
The microwave beeps, and Mitch opens the door and takes the soup out of the appliance and then pours it from the glass dish he warmed it in into a rubber bowl. He walks the soup and spoon into the kitchen and sets it down in front of Peyton.
“She loves dogs,” Mitch explains to me. “We had one when the kids were growing up. Lady. She was a good girl.”
“I miss that dog,” Luke muses.
“Surprised you have a cat then,” I say.
“A dog is too much maintenance,” Luke replies. “Cats can live independently.”
