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“Really?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s easier that way. Graham, give her your poem. You can read Lucy’s.”
We look at each other, and then he does as she says, passing over the small notebook.
I look at his neat writing. Not your typical doctor’s chicken scratch. It’s actually impressive how pretty it is. I think it might be better than mine.
I push my shoulders back and then start to read it.
“Branches and leaves
The soft summer breeze
On the ground, in the shade
So many hours, so many days
Solace from the world is found
Right there, on the ground
A path away from home
Leads me to a realm unknown
Under the green, quiet awaits
A hidden haven, life creates
Sitting beneath a tall hovering guide
Protected from the world inside.”
“Oh my gosh, Graham,” Morgan says, her voice wrenching me from the trance I was in as I read the poem. “You wrote that?”
“I did,” he says, grasping his hands behind his back. Something about the way he’s standing there reminds me of a much younger Graham. The way his shoulders curve toward each other, the slight rounding of his spine. He looks almost shy. Which doesn’t really fit with the overly cocky man I’ve been spending time with.
He looks to me. “It’s about the tree in my backyard.”
Right. The one he used to hide under when his parents were fighting. Why do I suddenly feel a pricking sensation behind my eyes? I blink the feeling away.
“Graham,” I say, looking at the man. “This is really good.” I hold out the notebook, and he takes it from me, putting it in the pocket of his white coat.
“Okay, Lucy,” Morgan says. “Let’s hear yours.”
“You know what,” I say. “I ... didn’t get around to writing one.”
Graham’s brow creases. “Yeah, you did; I saw you writing it.”
“No, that was something else.”
“What about all the smack talk earlier?”
“It was just smack talk,” I say to him. “I was trying to get you riled up. Anyway, you win.” I reach for the phone to hang up on Morgan.
“Hold on a second,” he says, leaning toward me. Before I can pull away, he reaches over and snags the folded piece of paper out of my pocket.
“Give me that,” I say, grabbing for it, but he holds it away from me. Not one to give up, I try again. This goes on for a bit.
