CHAPTER 12
Valentina
W hen we head back, the kids have vanished from sight, but their voices drift in through the kitchen window.
He slides open a patio door. “The backyard. I’ll show you the basement when we come back in.”
My smile broadens as the boys struggle to set up the volleyball net, their sister helping.
“Val, can you show us how to play this game?” one of the boys calls out.
“Volleyball,” Eden corrects.
“Of course.” I nod.
“Let me first show Valentina around real quick.” Jason waves his kids away, guiding me closer. “There’s a trail in case you want to bike into town.”
“Can we bike into town?” Atticus bounds over.
“Not yet.” Jason starts across the pebbled walkway.
As we cross the open space, water trickles.
“Is that a stream?”
“It’s a brook,” one of the kids shouts. Apparently, they’ve abandoned their setup to trail us.
A boardwalk crosses it. The creek’s wide calm waters and rocky edges reminds me of a family camping trip with our outdoorsy friends. I pick up a few flat stones. “Do you guys ever skip rocks?”
“How do you skip rocks?” Eden asks, and the boys edge closer to gather their own stones.
I flick one sideways through the air, and it skips across the water. “That’s how you skip a rock.”
“Show me, show me!” The boys bounce out excitement, skipping around much like that stone.
“Your dad can show you.” I don’t want to overstep.
But Jason shakes his head. “I’ve never tried that.”
I wouldn’t know either if I hadn’t gone camping for years. I help them find smooth flat rocks and demonstrate the flick of the wrist required for skipping rocks. It turns into a playful lesson. Eden flashes a shy smile as her stone does several jumps over the water.
“Your turn, Grumps,” I encourage when his kids plead with him to join in.
He picks up a stone and gives it a go. It barely hops once before sinking. Rubbing his hands together, he calls it quits.
“You should try again.”
He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t realize we were having a competition.”
“We could turn it into a competition if you’d like.” I laugh, grateful he hasn’t really shown his grumpy side today.
With the kids skipping rocks, he tries a few more times. He’s a pro by the time we’re finished, though I tell them the actual world’s record is 88 skips.
We continue walking along the bridge, and he points out the way into town. “The road will deposit you behind the library parking lot, and you can’t miss Main Street from there.”
We make our way back, and the kids dart ahead. The boys dangle off nearby pine branches.
“What did I say about climbing trees?” Jason demands.
“Don’t you think it’s best to let them climb in your presence? That way you can teach them the right way rather than keeping them off it.”
“And you know this how?” He raises his eyebrow.
“I was once a kid.” I tug at a flimsy tall shrub along the edge. “I’m not convinced, but you might even have been a kid too.”
“Miss Know-It-All.”
At least Grumps’ tone is light.
Shifting my focus once we’re back in the yard, I offer to help Eden who’s fiddling with the volleyball net. It’s a portable net with adjustable-height aluminum poles, which makes setup and storage easier.
“Have you played volleyball before?” I inquire to engage her.
“There’s no time for volleyball.” She scowls and kicks at a clump of grass. “We’re always away commuting to and from school. I don’t even know how I get time for dance.”
“We’ll play some volleyball during spring break—and today, of course.”
Her shy smile rewards me.
Soon enough, we’re all caught up in volleyball. I show them imaginary court lines, net, and where players typically stand. Using the ball, I demonstrate the correct stance—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, hands together. As Jason leans against the tree, I have the kids practice the motion without the ball first, then use the ball to bump back and forth with Eden helping.
The boys, eager to get the game rolling, soon start kicking the ball, playing soccer instead.
I invite Jason to join us, and like the competitor he seems to be, he splits us into two teams. “Boys against girls.”
“You’re sure about that?” I eye his teammates, who now are chasing each other in a game of tag.
“Afraid of a little competition?” he challenges, then summons his boys.
“Dad, Val and I are going to take you boys down.” Eden swings the ball, practicing the basic skill of serving. Wow, that girl is a fast learner.
Jason gets into the game, anchoring his sons’ efforts.
“You sure you don’t want Eden to rescue your team?” I taunt between volleys.
He leaps for the ball when Atticus kicks it instead. Then Jason laughs, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’re managing just fine.”
The banter continues.
“Dad,” Eden chimes in. “If us girls win, you gotta let us all have ice cream for breakfast tomorrow.”
“And if the boys win?” Jason attempts a serve. The ball lands on the grass at his feet, and Felix kicks it.
She snorts. “You know you won’t win, Daddy!”
The game blurs the lines between competition and camaraderie, making for a spirited afternoon. By the time we finish, the kids declare they’re starving.
Jason suggests I join them for an early dinner. “It’ll give you an opportunity to explore the town and meet some of the locals you’ll soon become familiar with.”
“I can’t refuse.” I’m also curious about this slice of small-town life.
Inside Brook’s Diner, Grumps appears more relaxed and genuine compared to his urban persona. The cozy setting with its cutesy vintage posters brings out a different side of him as he chats with locals and calls them by name. A friendly server gives the boys crayons and coloring pages, and they settle into their seats. Eden opens a book but closes it long enough to order chicken tenders while the rest of us order burgers.
“You should try their fried pickles.” Jason nods at me across the table. Before I say otherwise, he tells the server to add the pickles to our food. “You can try and see if you like them.”
Fried pickles? My stomach curdles. “I can’t wait.”
“Who wants a soda?” he calls out as he heads across the room, drawing giggles from his children. Grinning, he makes a show of operating the vintage soda machine. He exaggerates his playful movements when the kids come over and drop in coins as he twists the handle.
Once the machine dispenses sodas and each kid has retrieved their drink, he beckons me over. “Want to try operating the machine?”
“I wouldn’t do any better than you.”
He still hands me coins from his pockets, and I slide them into the slot. With dramatic effects, he spins the handle. His smile, so sincere and unhurried, warms my heart.
We walk back to our table. I twist my grip, the condensation from the soda can cool in my hands. “You’re a natural here.”
“It’s a nice change from the city’s constant rush.”
This relaxed version of Jason is the kind I want to see every day. But how long before Grumps reemerges?