The Ghosts of Now by Joan Lowery Nixon Page B

wouldn’t notice, something that can’t be seen.”
    “Forget it for now,” Del says. “It could also have been some kid in the neighborhood who hides out here for kicks.”
    We leave it like that.
    It’s good to forget for a little while. I drop our car at the house, climb into Del’s pickup, and spend a couple of hours munching through fat hamburgers and skinny fries and talking about nothing important because just being together is important enough. I memorize the crinkle laugh lines around the outer corners of Del’s eyes and the firmness of his lips and the way one corner of his mouth turns up more than the other when he smiles. So he cares for me, does he? Well, maybe I’m beginning to care for him.
    Finally he squeezes out of his side of the booth and holds out a hand to me. “Time for me to tend to my chores. Got some horses to get in.”
    “I’d like to see your horses some time,” I say.
    “Want to ride?”
    “I don’t know how.”
    “I’m a good teacher.”
    “Then I’d love to—after Jeremy’s better.” As we walk to the truck I cling to Del’s hand and say, “He
will
get better. I’ve got to help him get better.”
    “I know,” Del murmurs.
    As Del parks in front of our walkway, Mom comes around the corner of the house carrying a small birdhouse that’s painted yellow with a green roof. Sheholds it up as we climb out of the pickup and walk toward her. “Hello, Del,” she says. “I’m looking for a good place to put Jeremy’s birdhouse.” She stares at the birdhouse as though she’s never seen it before and adds, “Jeremy made this for me when he was a cub scout, years ago. We moved so often, it just didn’t seem worthwhile to put it up, and I packed it away.”
    “How is Jeremy?” Del asks.
    “The same. The doctor says that all Jeremy’s vital signs are good.” She takes a long breath that comes out in a shudder. “But he doesn’t wake up. He just keeps sleeping.”
    “Maybe that’s good for him,” Del says. “While he’s sleeping his body is working to heal itself.”
    “Yes,” Mom says.
    Del takes the birdhouse out of her hands. “Y’all tell me where you want this, and I’ll hang it for you.”
    “Where?” Mom repeats. “Oh, I don’t know.”
    “How about that mulberry between your house and garage? It’s a sheltered place, and Jeremy could see his birdhouse hanging there when you bring him home.”
    “That’s a great idea,” I answer, and Mom’s head bobs in agreement.
    It takes Del just a few minutes. He returns, accepts Mom’s thanks, and we all just stand there. I’m desperately trying to think of something light and conversational to say when Del says, “Is it okay if I get a drink of water?”
    “Sure,” I say. “I’ll get it for you.”
    “I don’t want to bother you,” he says. “I know whereyour kitchen is. You and your mother go take a look at the birdhouse. See if I put it in the right place.”
    Mom and I walk around the side of the house and stare up at the birdhouse.
    “Very nice,” Mom says.
    “It looks good there,” I tell her.
    This is dumb
, I think.
Why are we here, staring up at a birdhouse?
    Del strides across the lawn, a smile on his face. “Everything okay?”
    “Lovely,” Mom says, and she thanks him again.
    He grins at me. “See you, Angie,” he says, and leaves.
    As we watch his pickup move down the street Mom says, almost grudgingly, “He does seem like a nice, friendly boy, Angie.”
    I put an arm around her shoulders and lead her into the house, through the back door into the kitchen. “Where’s Dad?”
    “He’s at the hospital.”
    “Have you had anything to eat?”
    “I don’t remember.”
    I pull out a kitchen chair and guide her into it. “Mom, I’ll make you a sandwich. Okay?”
    “That’s too much.”
    “All right. I know we’ve got crackers and cheese. I’ll put them on the table, and you can eat as much as you like.” While I’m talking I’m moving, and before she can