Page 23 of Perfect Pact
She looks back at all the work she still has to do. The piles of weeds she’s managed by herself is impressive.
You can see the battle playing out. “I guess one won’t hurt.”
“Great!” I pat the swing next to me.
Beth sits down, hands in her lap.
I pull out a bottle and twist off the cap. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” She tips the bottle to her gorgeous lips. The satisfaction on her face from the ice cold beer has me feeling a little hot.
“You’re welcome.”
She rubs her hand over the worn paint of the peeling swing, as if she has her own memories here.
“She needs a little work,” I say, remembering my grandfather asked I fix it up for him.
“Yeah, she does,” Beth agrees. “If I would have had the money, I would have fixed it up for him.”
“He wouldn’t have let you.”
“You don’t think?” She turns her head to look at me while taking another pull.
“Nope.” I begin to rock us back and forth. “My grandfather and dad built this swing together. When they were in the workshop, it was probably the only time they didn’t fight—or so he says.”
“You don’t believe him?” She looks at me in shock.
“Oh, they definitely fought.” I drain the bottle and open the other. “Especially about the swing. They wanted to stain it. My grandmother wanted to paint it white.”
“I love the color.” Beth finally turns her head, her eyes meeting mine. It’s the first time I think I’ve seen her look at me and not have hostility…or hurt in her eyes. The sunset behind her is casts a warm glow on her honey skin.
“Well, she won.” I pat the area between us, but I forgot her hand was setting there. As soon as our fingers brush, she pulls away.
“Mr. Jacobs loved her so much.”
“He did.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both holding on to our own memories. It’s not awkward. It’s nice.
“I have a question.” Beth is the first to break the silence.
“I have an answer.”
Beth twists around to face me and tucks a leg under her. She’s comfortable. Just her and I enjoying the conversation and sunset.
I didn’t miss what my grandfather said. I have the girl and the sunset, I just need to swap out the beer for a glass of sweet tea.
“How did your grandmother die?”
“Oh—” I clear my thoughts, the question catching me of guard. This subject used to be off limits when I was a kid. My dad had his version, and my grandfather his. No matter who told it, the ending was always the same.
“It’s okay.” Beth tries to pull away, but I reach down and grab her hand. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it,” I assure her.
“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to. I was just…”
“Seriously, it’s fine.” I take a drink, gathering my thoughts.