The Feel Good Factor(14)

“You deserve this, Sam. You taught him everything he knows about being a provocateur,” Mom calls out through the open kitchen window.

“I did not, Gail.”

“Oh yes you did, and now it’s payback time,” she says.

Shaw turns to Vanessa and me. “Place your bets, ladies. Will the juggler and star of the firemen calendar crush it at burger flipping, or will he absolutely crush it like no one has crushed it before?”

Vanessa cups the side of her mouth. “The judges haven’t ruled. We want to see what you can do first.”

“Behold.” Shaw fixes his eyes on Vanessa in her capri jeans and short-sleeve summer sweater. With the spatula, he tosses the first burger high in the air then whacks the next one skyward. As they fly, he wiggles an eyebrow, winking as he catches the first grilled burger on the spatula, then the second. He slides them back on the grill, holds his arms out wide, and takes a triumphant bow.

Vanessa claps. “And the judges have voted you on to the next round.”

“Hey, I’m on the jury too. I never vote in his favor,” I chime in.

Shaw turns to Dad. “See, Dad? And you never believed I had talent.”

Dad laughs again. “I always believed you had plenty of talent. That’s why I figured you’d join the big top rather than the fire service.”

“There’s still time,” I shout. “I heard the circus is having tryouts for clowns in a week.”

Vanessa provides a rim shot on an invisible drum set. “Hey Shaw, just how many burgers can you juggle?”

Dad swivels around, waving his spatula like a weapon. “Don’t encourage him or you’ll be banished, and I always liked you.”

Vanessa adopts the sweetest smile. “Of course, Mr. Keating. I won’t feed the circus animals anymore.”

We’re at our parents’ house for our usual Sunday supper. When Shaw and I aren’t on shifts, we come here every week and our parents treat us—and sometimes our friends too—to a feast, as we share the latest on jobs and life. Mom’s a former firefighter, one of the few female former chiefs in the state, and Dad’s a retired prosecutor. The apples didn’t fall far from the tree with Shaw and me.

Shaw darts through the open door to the kitchen and returns seconds later with a ketchup bottle, a mustard container, and some steak sauce, sending the three bottles spinning in the air.

Dad groans, but Vanessa cheers him on. “Higher! Higher!”

He does as he’s asked, a fierce look of concentration in his hazel eyes, and I swear he’s performing for her. Well, that’s not a surprise. Men tend to perform for women. Even if he’s known her for years, and Vanessa is practically our sister. Guys always try to impress the chicks.

“What else can you juggle?” Vanessa asks, as he sets the condiments on the deck railing.

Shaw scans the porch when Mom calls out, “Don’t even think about juggling plates, Shaw.”

He holds up his hands in innocence. “Who? Me?” To Vanessa, he says, “I can juggle pretty much anything. As soon as you get the hang of it, all you have to do is know the rhythm and keep it as you toss.”

“Can you, say, juggle bowling balls?” she challenges.

“Vanessa, do not let this trickster convince you that he can juggle bowling balls,” I warn.

“I just want to see if Shaw will try to convince me that it’s actually possible. Or really, if he can convince himself.”

He smiles at her. “I’ll have you know, I am a most excellent convincer. In fact, I have received a master’s degree in convincing.”

Mom pokes her head out onto the deck, using her best battalion chief voice. “All right, master convincer, why don’t you bring my ketchup, mustard, and steak sauce back inside, so I don’t have to convince you the hard way to set the table?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We head inside and mingle in the kitchen, grabbing drinks and chatting before gathering at the table a little later when Gabe and Arden arrive. As we sit down to eat, Mom clears her throat. “Vanessa, can you say grace? I always love how you say it.”

“Of course, Mrs. Keating.” Vanessa says thank you for the dinner in Spanish, her first language. She’s fluent in both Spanish and English, since she moved here from Colombia when she was six.

“Beautiful,” Mom says.

Shaw nods, echoing, “Beautiful.”

We dig into the meal, enjoying the salad, burgers, and corn as Mom quizzes my friends on what they’re up to these days, even though she saw the full crew only two weeks ago.

Arden tells a story about a book club she’s been hosting at the store, and Gabe catches my parents up on how his grandpa is doing—he’s holding on well enough.

Dad lifts a glass of water. “Sometimes ‘well enough’ is all you can wish for. I’ll drink a toast to that.”

“Me too,” Gabe says.

“And Shaw, how are you feeling about Charlie having moved away?” my mother asks, referring to the paramedic he was close with. Recently, Charlie returned to his hometown in Florida.

“Well, I miss the bastard.” Shaw brings the burger to his mouth and takes a bite.

Mom gives him a look. “Language.” She might have once hung out in the boy’s club at the firehouse, but that doesn’t mean she talked the dirty talk with them. “Why can’t you just say, ‘I miss my friend’?”