“Fair enough,” Bryson says. “With all due respect, I’m more afraid of Amelia than I am of you. I only want to do what’s best for her and Harper.”
“You better,” Asher says. “Or you’ll be dealing with me too.” His arms are crossed over his chest, and Asher’s doing an impressive job of glaring at Bryson, but anyone who knows Asher at all knows he’s just a big teddy bear.
“It’s good to see you, Asher,” Bryson says. “That your gym down the street.”
Asher’s glare slips the tiniest bit. “It is,” he says in a careful tone.
“It looks really nice,” Bryson says. “You do any kind of training there? I want to run my first marathon next year.”
As though he’s totally forgotten he’s supposed to be suspicious of my ex, Asher grins. “That would be wife Clover’s department. She’s training a few groups that are planning to run long-distance races. It would just depend on your fitness level and—”
“Come on,” Harper whines, pulling on Bryson’s hand.
“You go,” Mom says, patting Bryson’s shoulder. “The money was a good start, but don’t think you’re off the hook with me either.”
“I don’t expect to be,” Bryson says, looking back over his shoulder as he lets Harper pull him toward the woods.
“Harper, stop pulling on Bryson,” I say. “We’re coming.”
No way am I leaving Bryson alone with Harper, even if the nature trail is only about a quarter of a mile long and visible from the playground.
“Have you found a lot of good rocks here?” Bryson asks as Harper leads him onto the trail, which is shaded by trees.
“Momma doesn’t let me keep them.” Harper crouches at the edge of the trail and picks up a rock, studies it and drops it back onto the dirt. A reject.
“If we take all the rocks, there won’t be any for the other kids,” I say.
“The other kids take rocks.” Harper glares up at me, ready to have the well-worn fight again.
What she doesn’t know is that her grandfather regularly plants rocks he finds on job sites on this trail. It wouldn’t hurt anything for me to let her take her treasures, but we like to go hiking in the mountains and our rule is to take only pictures. I have to stay consistent even if this trail is regularly stocked with non-native rocks.
I also don’t want Harper’s already sizable rock collection to get any larger. She already has enough rocks to fill a very nice driveway.
“What about this one?” Bryson deftly distracts Harper by holding up a boring gravel pebble.
Harper giggles. “That’s not pretty.”
She toddles ahead and crouches down again. She grabs a rock, studies it, and holds it out to Bryson. “This is a good rock.”
Bryson takes the rock, looking confused. It’s quartz with pink feldspar, making it a very pretty pink rock. “What makes this a good rock?”
“Quartz is pretty,” Harper says. With her baby pronunciation, it sounds like quats. She got a book about rocks for Christmas and has gotten pretty good at identifying the rocks she collects. She looks up at me. “What’s the pink?”
“Feldspar,” I remind her.
“Feldspa,” she repeats. “It’s pink. Good rock.”
Bryson nods like this is profound information. “You really are an expert.”
We spend the next half hour on the nature trail being schooled about rocks by Harper.
Bryson is patient, and he seems awed by everything she says and does.
He doesn’t stop smiling the entire time.
When we finally get back to the playground, Harper runs right to the swings, one of which is now free. I head that way to push her, but Mom beats me to the punch.
And I’m left alone at the edge of the playground with Bryson. Asher and my dad have both gone back to work.
