“Yet you survived.”
“I did.” I turned on the bench so I could face him more fully. The next bit would be hard to say, but I’d been practicing. “I meant what I said about not really knowing how to be a friend, and I want you to understand why. I haven’t had to try hard with Lacey. She’s busy most of the time. If I’m clumsy with her feelings, she doesn’t seem to notice. Kimberley just tells you what she needs, no waiting around or confusion. And then there was Sean. He was the perfect friend. We could communicate more in a glance than most people say in paragraphs. Whatever one of us was feeling, the otherknew.” I sucked in a breath and looked away. “Words were rarely necessary.”
“Sara.” He slid an arm around my waist and pulled me to him.
“I get that you need more from me, and I want to give it to you. But it may take me a while to catch up.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I hope so.” I felt light and happy. Not to the burst-into-song level, but pretty close.
A little boy ran over to us, tapped Scott on the shoulder, and spoke in Spanish. The only word I recognized was fútbol.
Scott laughed. “Okay. Just a minute.” He stood and then helped me to my feet. “I’d better get back to the game. Want to play?”
“No, but I’ll watch.”
The afternoon cooled rapidly as the light faded. The noisy crowd watching American football on the TV was expanding. Many guests had already left.
Lacey and I stayed on the sidelines, cheering on our guys playing soccer. Scott and Eli were on opposing teams, which was only fair since they were two of the best.
A wave of melancholy swept over me. I excused myself and found a deserted picnic table. I climbed up and sat on top, feeling somewhat detached. It hadn’t been this way the whole afternoon, but a full stomach and laughter and the simple beauty of the day had suddenly overwhelmed me.
When the game ended, Scott joined me on the table. Once he was settled, I inched over to him.
“Not so sure you should get any closer. I’m sweaty.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Yeah. I am. Really.”
“Good. Hey, Sara, your father’s here.”
I straightened and looked around. My dad stood near the barn, a pie in his hands.
I hurried over to him. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, princess.” He handed me the pie. “Chocolate chess.”
“Perfect.” My mother’s signature dessert. I glanced past his shoulder, looking for...
“The holiday is hitting her hard. She’s not ready.”
“But you are?”
“I can’t say that I am. But you asked, and I want to try.”
Scott approached. “Hi, Mr. Tucker.”
“Call me James.”
“Yes, sir.” He shook my father’s hand. “We have plenty to eat.”
