I blinked as it clicked.We’ll get us a box.
Promise. His earlier words had been lined with promise. Just like his promise to get a box of peaches. One tangible and the other much more open-ended. Maybe it was the strangeness of the day, or being with Duke like this again, but I found myself growing excited about both.
19
We pulledup to a cheerful yellow farmhouse in the middle of a hay field, tucked down a short lane. Despite the proximity, I had only been to Idaho one other time. One weekend, during our summer with one of my mom’s more stable husbands, Bill, he had driven us all to Lava Hot Springs, an hour north of the Idaho border. I remember staying in his run-down camper and spending a glorious two days swimming and tubing with my giggly sisters down the windy Portneuf River that ran through the charming eclectic town. Despite the fact that Bill happened to be an occasional drunk who stole our TV and my mom’s credit cards when he left, even he couldn’t taint those precious memories of my childhood. I’d had so few carefree days in my life, the few happy moments I did have stayed close to my heart.
Hopping down from the truck and onto a gravel driveway, I breathed in the smell of hay and freshly mowed grass. The backdrop of the farm was a picturesque mountain chain, flanked by a dotted pattern of houses and fields. The sounds of cattle in a corral behind the house caused a stir of excitement in my veins. I remembered visiting a small farm for a field trip in elementary school. I wasn’t even sure what age I’d been, but I thought that was the last time I’d stepped foot anywhere near a cow.
The squeak of a screen door alerted us as we made our way toward the house.
“Is that my long-lost grandkid? Did you have to buy a map at the gas station to find yer way?”
Duke grinned, striding toward a small, gray-haired man in baggy jeans and suspenders, stooped with age but lively in countenance. “Maps are for old guys now, Gramps.”
I watched the man embrace his grandson, his thick, knotty fingers clutching Duke’s arms, gathering him close to his chest. He came up to Duke’s shoulders. It was so strange seeing people in a different light. With a different lens on the glasses. Duke’s strong frame had always stood tall when he led meetings and greeted clients. His voice rang out confident and capable. His handshake was sharp. Here, Duke’s impressive frame grew soft and pliable as he bent down and wrapped his arms around his grandpa. The organic sweetness of the moment both startled and melted me to the point where I felt like I was intruding.
Duke stepped back, motioning toward me, his voice extra loud. “Grandpa, this is my friend, Nora. She was hoping to help you with your website.”
His sharp blue eyes landed on me, appraising me with a twinkle in them. “Just a friend, you say?” He looked back at Duke incredulously. “Boy, you’d better get yer head checked. That girl needs to be more than just a friend.” He motioned me forward with an impatient flick of his hand. “Come here, Laura. We’re huggers in this house.”
Before I could blush or correct him on the name, I found myself being squeezed in a hug that nearly crushed my shoulders as I leaned down into his bony body. I met Duke’s eye and found him grinning broadly.
He pulled back. “I’m Bart, and this is my—“ He turned his head both ways but didn’t seem to find what he was looking for. “Birdie?! Where are you? The kids are here!”
A muffled voice from behind the screen door was slowly becoming louder. “I’m coming! The oven went off at the same time Duke pulled up.” The door opened, and out stepped a frail, matted, white-haired woman wearing a purple cardigan and holding a cane.
Her cherry-stained lips opened wide with excitement upon seeing her grandson, and she held open her arms. Duke hugged her tenderly before kissing her on the cheek. He motioned toward me. “Grandma, this is my friend, Nora. Nora, this is my grandma. Her real name is Roberta, but her favorite grandkids call her Grandma Birdie.”
“Nora, so nice to meet you.”
I went in for a handshake but received another hug. A pleasant floral scent mixed with a little homemade bread met my nose. Though frail, her arms squeezed me tight.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Goodness, you’re a pretty thing,” Birdie said to me, her cloudy blue eyes taking my measure. “I always wanted red hair like that, but mine was just plain old dirty-dishwater blonde. And now”—she pointed dejectedly at her white hair—“none of it matters.”
My eyes flicked to Duke’s in question. My hair was quite visibly dark brown. Not red.
Bart cleared his throat and motioned us all into the house.
“Birdie’s made some homemade bread and jam for you kids. Come on in.”
Duke opened the door for his grandparents to enter, and before I could cross the threshold, he leaned down, whispering, “Grandma’s almost blind in one of her eyes, and the other one is getting worse. She’s a saint, but I’d be wary of anything you’re about to put in your mouth.”
“Is that why she thought I was pretty?” I quipped. “Cause she couldn’t see my face?”
Duke’s face lifted in a silent laugh. “I guarantee that’s not the reason.”
His words warmed me as we followed his grandparents into the house, the smell of vintage furniture and mothballs greeting our noses. The decor was a mishmash of generations. Gold-rimmed mirrors and popcorn ceilings. And I smiled at a plastic cover over the long, gold couch in the small room to the right of the front door.
“That’s the company room.” Duke motioned to me. I had slowed down to take in every gold and crystal-infused detail. “Reserved for important guests.”
I laughed. “Can I go sit in there now, or do I need to wait to be invited?”
“Invitation only.” He stepped in closer to me. “And I should warn you that if you try to sneak in there and eat a plate of spaghetti on the squeaky couch, you will have to sit facing the corner for a good twenty minutes.”
I laughed, imagining a childlike version of Duke with a spaghetti sauce smear over his face, trying to eat on the couch. “No eating in the company room. Got it.”
