Page 16 of Grown-Up Second Chance

I looked over my shoulder. A lanky, awkward teen was striding toward me, his head down as he stared at his phone. Behind him, his parents strolled, seemingly unconcerned about their child.

He ran into me when I was balanced precariously, getting up from my crouch.

My arms flailed as I tried to regain my footing, images of a painful death by boiling water running through my mind. I clutched my phone desperately, determined not to lose it.

Someone grabbed onto my arm.

“I’ve got you!” Kathleen yelled. “Stop moving!”

“I’m trying,” I said, trying to compensate as she tugged me in a direction opposite from where my body had been intending to go. I threw myself back in her direction and landed on my butt.

“Oh!”

“You okay?” Liz asked.

I never knew my posterior could hurt so badly.

“Yeah, I suppose,” I said, trying to determine the most graceful way to get up without completing my tumble into the cauldron. My options weren’t pretty.

“Looks like you took a tumble,” a man said with false humor.

“No thanks to your son.” Kathleen moved so she was nose to nose with him. “And not even a sorry or an offer to help. He just kept walking.”

“Well, you know teens these days …” the woman said with a twittered laugh.

“Hmph. What I know is parents these days. Get your kid some manners.” As she stood there, Kathleen seemed to loom bigger than she was.

“And we don’t need your help,” Liz added, holding out her hand to me.

I shook my head and flipped to my hands and knees before struggling to a standing position.

The three of us stood shoulder to shoulder, forcing the couple to walk single file around us.

We stared after them.

Beyond, a ranger had caught up with the boy and was giving him a stern lecture.

We high-fived and continued on our way.

~~~

We’d been able to snag a picnic table by Gibbon Falls. As usual, Liz had prepared a feast. She insisted we lay out the handspun tablecloth and arranged a selection of sandwiches on a plastic plate. Bowls of potato salad and green salad sat along shallow dishes of two kinds of pickles and olives. A choice of ice tea and fruit drinks lay next to a promise of brownies for dessert.

“You took up the wrong occupation,” I said. “You should have been a caterer.”

“It’s simply art in a different form,” she replied.

I took another look at what she’d laid out and realized even the placement of everything had an artistic touch.

“Well, you two can admire the food as much as you want. I’m hungry.” Kathleen reached for a sandwich.

Liz and I laughed and dug in as well.

It was only as I was going after a second helping of potato salad that Kathleen launched her ambush.

“So how is Joe Kelly these days?” she asked with a fake casualness that told me how long she’d been planning the attack.

“Who’s Joe Kelly?” Liz asked.

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