10
Annie
“How did the hike go?” my mom asks. “Other than you twisting your ankle again. . . .” She places a package of frozen peas wrapped in a dishcloth on my swollen ankle, which is resting on the ottoman.
Jack left to pick up some dinner for us.
I said we could just have cheese and crackers, but I think he wants a real dinner.
“I didn’t twist my ankle. I maybe rolled it a little.” The whole hike back I did my best to pretend my ankle was fine. But Brandon told my mom he thought I rolled it, and she’s been hovering.
“It was surprisingly fun.”
“Did those two play nicely?”
“They did for the most part, except Brandon lectured Jack when he said it was fine to drink straight from the waterfall.”
“Did Jack actually drink straight from the waterfall?” my mom asks, concerned. “I hope he doesn’t get sick. You know, your dad used to always do that . . . and then—”
“He got Giardia,” I finish. “I remember. I had to help clean the bathroom.”
“He never drank straight from a mountain stream again,” my mom laughs to herself.
“Who is more like Dad?” I ask. “Jack or Brandon?”
“Jack, of course.” My mom sits down next to me. “He reminds me so much of your father. You know, dashing and flirtatious and reciting poetry and Shakespeare. But Brandon is loyal like your dad and so devoted to Pepper, just like your dad was with you girls.”
“Jack is definitely dashing,” I say, thinking of my time with him standing under the waterfall.
I really do like Jack. But when Brandon’s around, my whole being is aware of his every move.
I think of when I slipped on the bank and Brandon caught me, lifting me with his competent hands.
Then I turned, and he was so close that I forgot what I was going to say .
. . or where I was . . . or that my ankle hurt.
All my senses were attuned to the bewildering thunderstorm building between us.
Then Jack whisked me away, and the pain came rushing back.
Brandon offered to carry me more than once on the way home, and I kept lying and saying I was fine, because the thought of him holding me .
. . well, it frightens me. I thought dating Jack had helped me get over Brandon, and now I don’t know.
But it would be crazy to throw away a man devoted to me for one that might never be emotionally available.
“Do you think Dad would like Jack?”
“Of course; he’d love him!”
“What about Brandon?”
My mom doesn’t answer right away.
“He would love Brandon too,” she says in a more measured tone.
“But he might not like him for you. You said Brandon has made it clear that he has no plans to date or remarry, even if he does have feelings for you. I think your dad would want you to be with someone who is wholly committed to you. I want that for you, too.”
I want to contradict my mom. I want to tell her she’s wrong. But I know she might very well be right. And Jack, walking through the door with tacos from the Taphouse, is so ready to commit he’s decided to delay the rest of his sailing trip.
“You said you wanted Mexican, and did your man deliver?” He bends down and kisses me on the cheek, smelling of tacos. I’d be a fool to waste another minute thinking of a man who’s not all that interested.
***
I spend the next day resting my ankle on the couch and watching K-dramas with Jack.
I probably should be applying for jobs. The one at the school in Redwood City is not guaranteed.
But when I mention job hunting to Jack, he tells me not to waste my time.
“Keep writing,” he says gazing at me intently with his deep blue eyes.
“The world needs your poetry.” It means a lot that Jack praises my poetry, although I mostly enjoy writing for myself when the mood strikes.
I’m not sure that’s a full-time occupation, but Jack’s unwavering support almost has me convinced.
Pepper shows up a couple hours later with a batch of Rice Krispie treats so tasty, Jack gobbles most of them up. I wonder if Brandon made them. I wonder where he is, and why he didn’t stop by.
“Does your dad know you’re here?” I ask Pepper.
“Yeah, he was busy with Edward. Said I could stay until you kicked me out.”
“These are the ultimate Rice Krispie treats!” Jack says, holding up his third one.
“You should try my chocolate chocolate chip cookies,” Pepper says with pride. “Dad keeps the cottage stocked with all the ingredients because they are so delicious.”
“They sound amazing!” says Jack.
“Maybe I’ll bake you some if you let me sit on the couch next to Annie.”
“It’s a deal.” Jack smiles and gets off the couch, and Pepper takes his spot snuggling in close to me. It’s kind of a relief to have Jack move; I was a little anxious about him getting too handsy in front of Pepper.
***
My ankle is much better on Friday, and by Saturday I’m back at the cafe. Brandon frowns at me when he sees me waiting tables during the brunch rush.
“Are you sure your ankle’s up to that?” he asks as I hobble-walk to their table.
“What about a ‘good morning, Annie—how are you doing?’”
“I’m just worried about your ankle. You should have seen a doctor.”
“Seeing that I’m up and—”
“Limping,” Brandon cuts in.
“Hardly,” I say. “I think I made the right call. By the way, thank you for the Rice Krispie treats. They were delicious.”
“That was Pepper’s idea.”
“It was his idea!” volunteers Pepper, her mouth full of food. “But I was all for it.”
My eyes flash to Brandon’s, and for just a flicker he looks caught, and then his face goes blank and polite. I hate how he locks up his feelings. That’s one thing Jack has going for him; he’s open and honest and not afraid to show that he cares.
***
Jack’s helping me set out the s’mores buffet for tonight’s Starry Night Campfire, an event I lead most Saturday nights.
Guests gather around the campfire, and we sing songs and tell stories.
Being me, I can’t help but share a poem or two.
Usually a couple of guests sing a song or play the harmonica.
Once we had a comedian do some stand up.
Sometimes we play campfire games. But no matter how the program varies, it’s always a good time.
Technically, it’s part of my job, but I would do it for free.
“Here, have a Lindt ball.” I toss the chocolate to Jack, who I know is partial to the stuff and always ravenous. He deftly catches it and puts it in his hoodie pocket.
“I’ll save it for later. I ate the whole plate of cookies Pepper dropped off.”
“Pepper gave you cookies?”
“Yeah, she was waiting on my porch this evening with a hot plate of cookies. That kid’s really growing on me.”
“Yeah, Pepper’s great,” I agree, scanning the crowd for her. I fear she’s up to something.
I can’t spot her, but Brandon’s kneeling by the firepit, assembling wood.
Lighting the campfire is one of my responsibilities, but last summer, on a particularly harried night, Brandon pitched in and took over for me.
After that he offered to light the campfire whenever he’s in town.
I’m touched that he remembered that promise from last summer.
The man has some mad fire-building skills.
He refuses to use fire starter or paper.
Instead he uses wood shavings and dry pine needles meticulously placed under a pyramid of fine kindling he chopped himself.
He lights the fire with one match and the quick white light leaps up.
The kindling ignites, and the flames deepen into yellow, then a deep orange.
Brandon adds a log and soon the fire is ablaze.
Few of the guests milling about would guess that the man in the blue flannel is the park’s owner.
Most would get a kick out of it, but I won’t tell anyone. Brandon likes to keep a low profile.
“I never want you to see how many matches I use to light a fire,” I say from behind him.
He stands up, dusting the dirt off his hands. “I recall something of the sort from last summer,” he says with a faint smile.
“Either I use a bouquet of matches or vast quantities of lighter fluid.”
“I couldn’t bear to watch,” he says with a straight face and teasing eyes.
I laugh, and Brandon joins me. I love his face when he laughs. I can’t stop smiling at him, and he’s smiling back. Then somethings shifts, and we’re staring at each other and I’m thinking of that moment by the waterfall. I reach for a topic—any topic—before this gets awkward.
“I see you’re letting Pepper run a little more free this year.”
“Yeah, well, she is ten. I was riding my bike all over town when I was her age. I want her to have that freedom. Also, I started putting AirTags on her shoes.”
“So . . . not the same freedom at all.”
“No. But I’m trying.”
“You’re doing a good job. You are the best dad I know, and my dad was amazing.”
“You’re laying it on a bit thick there,” he says with a smile.
“I just feel so bad about what I said the other day, but it really is true.”
“I appreciate that. But that’s enough said on that conversation, okay?”
“Yeah, um . . . okay. Anyway, thank you for setting up the fire for me.” I place a hand on Brandon’s arm, just a friendly pat, but he stiffens at my touch.
I quickly step back. “I better finish getting ready,” I say, trying to hide my embarrassment before whirling around and walking toward the community kitchen where Pepper and Elinor are preparing hot cocoa.
Guests are asked to bring their own mugs to the campfire, but someone always forgets.
As part of the more deliberate branding of the park, Edward and Brandon are incorporating Elinor’s art into as much of the park materials as possible.
The compostable cups are fun because they have the new park logo—Elinor’s sketch of Lady Whimple, the majestic live oak with many ribbons fluttering from its branches.
Elinor is carrying out a full tray of steaming cups, and I waylay a chattering Pepper.
“Hey, do you have a minute?” I ask.
“For you, always.”
Pepper follows me to a copse of trees just behind the fire pit.
“Did you give Jack cookies?”