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Peyton appears to have remembered that I’m here, standing beside the table and watching the family interact. Her head tilts to the side at the sight of me. She looks to Luke, who is scooping the thick soup onto a spoon.
“Who is that?” she asks.
“This is my friend Jillian. I wanted her to meet you.”
“To …” Peyton stammers, her jaw trembling as she begins to rock again. “To show her the freak show?”
“Peyton!” Mitch reprimands her just as the teakettle goes off, whistling as loud as can be.
Luke tries to feed Peyton, lifting a spoon to her mouth. She clamps down her jaw and turns away.
“You have to eat your lunch,” Luke says.
Her eyes lock with mine. Her mouth is clenched firmly. She is doubling down on her efforts to be defiant.
Luke’s firm with his order. “Peyton, open your mouth.”
She turns her chin to the side.
“Peyton, the doctor said you’ve lost too much weight. You need to eat.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Peyton!” he says more forcefully.
“No!” she cries out, her body jerking in a wild motion that sends the bowl of green soup flying across the room and hitting the back of the kitchen island.
“Damn it. That was uncalled for.” Mitch is stern with his daughter as he grabs a kitchen towel from the drawer.
“It was my fault,” Luke states as he gets up and grabs a roll of paper towels.
Mitch kneels down and starts picking up the bowl and cleaning the mess around it while Luke wipes up the splatters on the table and the nearby wall.
I rush into the kitchen to grab a sponge and wet it. If this incident was anyone’s fault, it was mine. Peyton might have trouble controlling herself, but she adamantly did not want to be fed in front of me. I walk to where Luke is cleaning the wall and start to wipe it down.
“No need. We got this,” Luke says reassuringly.
Peyton is jerking about in wild movements. Luke gets up from the floor and grips her shoulders, steadying her.
I finish cleaning the wall and help Mitch with the floor. Once it’s all cleaned, I get up and make my way out of the kitchen and toward the front door.
Outside, the sun is still shining, and the air is quiet. I take a seat on a sofa at the end of the porch and look out at the valley, wondering if Peyton’s condition is what Luke wanted me to see, if meeting her was even the objective. Did she suffer an injury at birth or possibly developed Parkinson’s? I can understand how her condition would worry a man with a child. Parkinson’s runs in families, but it’s not a given for it to be inherited.
My mind is reeling. If Peyton isn’t why I’m here, then I am confused as to why I am. I run my hands through my hair and stand and pace the porch, breathing in deeply and calming my frightened heart. I don’t know what to do, so I decide to take a seat again and wait.
Twenty minutes or so pass when the front door opens, and Mitch walks out. He has a thick photo album in his hands, the kind that is open, even when it’s closed because the pages are so full. He strolls toward me and groans as he takes a seat on the couch, then smiles.
“Sorry about that in there,” he says.
“I shouldn’t have been staring at her.”
“Peyton is like that with or without company. Not usually when Luke’s here though. He puts her at ease. He warmed her more soup and is still feeding her now, so we’ll give them some privacy for a little bit. He’ll bathe her after. She only allows certain people to assist her with that. Luke is one of them.”
I swallow and twist my fingers in my lap. “You’re an amazing father. Are you her full-time caregiver? I know my parents would have placed me in a nursing home or hired full-time help, not that it’s a viable option for everyone. They’d figure out a way—I’m sure of it. They don’t have your patience.”
“It’s … difficult.” He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his dewy brow. “As a caregiver, I have it easier than others. I have help. Luke is here on his days off, and the community has pitched in. Peyton has health insurance from her job. She was a schoolteacher, so the benefits help with medications and a nurse that comes by a few times a week. It’s daunting for all of us, but no more than it is for her.”
I nod lightly and scrunch my brows. “Was she in an accident?”
