Page 4 of Smoky Mountain Dreams
“That’s some pass,” Tim said, with a twinkle.
“Seriously, Grandpa, I thought it was gonna go down in thegully and another ball would be a goner.”
Jesse smiled as his father-in-law reminded Will not to go inthe gullies after balls.
“They’re steeper than they look. Besides, this time of yearthe bears are out fattening up on the mast crop. Don’t need to provide themwith something tastier to eat.” Tim reached out and tousled Will’s hair. “Wecan get a new ball, but we can’t get a new Will.”
Will’s eyes lit up with interest at the mention of bears,and Jesse sighed, fairly sure he’d have to remind the kid all over again aboutthe very real danger of attempting interaction with the beasts.
Nova chose that moment to ask Brigid about her friendCharity. “We haven’t heard much about her lately. How is she doing?”
Brigid shrugged. “She’s busy. We don’t see each other muchanymore.”
Nova frowned and caught Jesse’s eye. He felt a small burr offrustration snatch at his heart. Obviously he was supposed to know about thisand, as usual, he’d missed something important when it came to his daughter.The truth was that though he loved Brigid more than he could say, he just didn’tunderstand her very well. She was nothing like Marcy and not a thing like himeither. Worse, for the most part girls had always been a mystery to him, andnot one he’d ever intended to try to unravel.
“What’s Charity busy with?” he asked.
Brigid’s shoulders lifted and fell again. “Other friends.”
“Did you two have a fight?”
“Not really. She just doesn’t get it.”
“Get what?” Jesse asked.
“The cranes. She says she’s tired of making cranes. So that’sfine. She can do something else during recess. I don’t care.”
Jesse paused with his fork close to his mouth and then wentahead and took a bite. He thought about Brigid’s words as he chewed,considering the one hundred and forty-seven paper cranes residing in a box inthe hallway outside Brigid’s room.
“Sweetheart, don’t you think you’d have more fun playingwith Charity than making the cranes?” Nova asked.
“No.”
Jesse caught Nova’s eye and shrugged. Brigid had set a goalof making two thousand paper cranes before Christmas, and he felt torn betweentelling her that her obsession was unhealthy and applauding her drive to stickto it even when the going got tough. Each crane took her small hands a littleover two minutes to make, and Jesse had done some calculations—to complete hergoal, she’d need to spend one hundred hours folding. With Christmas less than ahundred days away, that meant spending at least an hour a day on her project.It wasn’t exactly normal for his daughter to be so focused on something thatephemeral, was it? Especially at the expense of playtime with her friend?
Maybe I should ask Dr. Charles.
But still. It was just cranes. Surely being tenacious anddriven wasn’t really a problem. Her grades were good, and Dr. Charles had toldhim not to hover too much. She was growing up and needed to be her own person.Jesse thought maybe the cranes were just part of that in some way he didn’t understand.
“It’s a wonderful meditative practice,” Tim said. “We madethree each earlier, and I felt quite calm after.”
Nova seemed skeptical, but as Jesse added more spaghetti tohis plate, she changed the topic. “Was business good at the shop?”
“It was steady enough. Why?”
“I heard from Howard that the tourists were thick today. Raninto him by the mailbox.”
“I saw him yesterday at the post office,” Tim said, dippinga slice of garlic bread into the excess sauce. “He says the shop’s doing great.He’s thinking of opening a second store down in Knoxville too.”
“He’d be spreading himself awfully thin,” Jesse put in,wondering at the kind of man who had a booming trade, made more money at histourist trap store than he’d ever need to live on, and yet still wanted more. “Idon’t see how he’d have the hours to spare.”
“Well, he doesn’t have any kids or a wife to take up histime,” Nova said softly.
Jesse thought of Marcy lying back against the winter grassin Cades Cove, her eyes on the line where the mountains met the sky. Heremembered the curve of her lips, the gleam of her teeth, and the way herlaughter echoed against the hills. He shoved another forkful of spaghetti intohis mouth and swallowed hard.
When Tim started reciting Shel Silverstein poems, signalingthe end of dinnertime, Will chortled, Brigid rolled her eyes, and both toyedwith the final bites of their spaghetti. Jesse only half listened, givinghimself over to old memories.
The October evening he’d first come to the McMillan housefor dinner changed his entire life. It’d started at his own home, though—downin the basement, with his tongue in Dean Scarborough’s mouth, and his verypissed off father barging in. Jesse could still hear his father’s voice echo inhis mind all these years later.
