Reminders of Him(81)

“You do that a lot,” she says.

“I do what?”

“You point all the time. It’s rude.” She sounds amused rather than offended.

“I don’t point all the time.”

“You do too. I noticed it the first night I came into your bar. It’s why I let you kiss me, because I thought it was hot. The way you kept pointing at things.”

I grin. “You just said it was rude. You think rude is hot?”

“No. I think kindness is hot. Maybe rude was the wrong term.” She leans her head against my shoulder. “I find your pointing sexy.”

“Do you?” I let go of her knee and point at a mailbox. “See that mailbox?” Then I point at a tree. “Look at that tree.” I tap on my brakes as we close in on a stop sign, and I point at the sign. “Look at that, Kenna. What’s that? Is that a fucking pigeon?”

She tilts her head and looks at me curiously. When I come to a full stop at the sign, she says, “Scotty used to say that sometimes. What does it mean?”

I shake my head. “It was just something he used to say.” Patrick is the only one who knows where that phrase originated, and even though there’s no huge secret or story behind it, I still want to hold on to it. Kenna doesn’t press me. She just lifts up and kisses me before I pull out onto the street. She’s smiling, and it feels so good to see her smile like this. I look back at the road and put my hand on her knee again.

She rests her head against my shoulder, and after a quiet moment, she says, “I wish I could have seen you with Scotty. I bet you two were fun together.”

I love that she admitted that out loud. It feels good to hear, because at some point, we’re all going to have to move past the fact that Scotty died the way he did. I think I’m at a point where I want his memory to be accompanied by only good feelings. I want to be able to talk about him with people, especially with his father, but in a way that doesn’t make Patrick cry.

We all knew Scotty, but we all knew him in different ways. We all carry different memories of him. I think it would be good for Patrick and Grace to get to hear the memories Kenna has of Scotty that none of the rest of us have.

“I wish I could have seen you with Scotty,” I admit.

Kenna kisses my shoulder and then rests her head there again. It’s quiet until I lift my hand and point at a guy on a bicycle. “Look at that bike.” I point at an upcoming gas station. “Look at those gas pumps.” I point at a cloud. “Look at that cloud.”

Kenna releases laughter mixed with a groan. “Stop. You’re ruining the sexiness of it.”



I reluctantly dropped Kenna off at her apartment two hours ago. It might have taken fifteen minutes for me to stop kissing her long enough to walk back to my truck, but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to spend the rest of the evening, and possibly even the night with her, but my parents are assholes who don’t believe in schedules, and they’re always showing up at the worst times.

At least this time it was in the middle of the day. They once showed up at 3:00 a.m. , and I woke up to my father blasting Nirvana in the backyard and cooking steaks on the grill.

My father made burgers tonight, and we just finished eating dinner about an hour ago. I waited throughout the whole dinner for them to ask me about Kenna. Or Nicole, rather. But neither of them brought it up. All we’ve talked about tonight has been their latest adventures on the road and my latest adventures with Diem.

They were disappointed to find out Diem and the Landrys are out of town. I suggested they call ahead the next time they feel like dropping in. It would make it easier on all of us.

My parents have always gotten along with Scotty’s parents, but the Landrys had Scotty later in life, so they’re a little older than my parents. I would say they’re more mature than my parents, but immature isn’t the right term to describe my parents. They’re just a little more carefree and unstructured. But even though I wouldn’t categorize the four of them as actively close, they share a bond because of Scotty and me.

And because Diem is like a daughter to me, she’s been like a granddaughter to my parents. Which means Diem is important to them, and they want the best for her.

Which is probably why, as soon as my father goes to the backyard to clean up the grill, my mother slides onto the barstool and gives me one of her many smiles. This is her “You have a secret, and you better spill it” smile.

I ignore her smile, and her, and continue to wash the rest of the dishes. But my mother says, “Get over here and talk to me before your father comes back inside.”

I dry my hands and sit across the bar from her. She’s looking at me like she already knows my secrets. It doesn’t surprise me. When I say my mother never forgets a face, I don’t say that lightly. It’s like a superpower.

“Do the Landrys know?” she asks.

I play dumb. “Know what?”

Her head lilts to the side. “I know who she is, Ledger. I recognized her the day she walked into your bar.”

Wait. What? “The day you were drunk?”

She nods. Now that I think about it, I remember her staring at Kenna when she walked into my bar that day. Why would she not say anything to me about that? She didn’t even bring it up when I spoke to her on the phone a few days later and told her Kenna was back in town.