“Lynda, I’m about to melt into a puddle right here in the middle of the Trapp City Park.” Velma fanned herself with a wrapped Golden book while I poured a bit of water on the nape of my neck.
“You’re not the only one.” I leaned back in my camp chair, happy to be at Nathan’s first birthday party but silently wishing the Blaylocks weren’t there.
Fawn claimed she chose the park because it was Nathan’s favorite place, but more than likely, she feared the roof would blow off her double-wide if the families got too close to each other—like paint fumes to a pilot light. Not only did the outdoor venue provide better ventilation for the heated personalities, but it also included convenient escape routes.
Velma and I had come appropriately dressed in shorts, and Ansel, sitting catty-corner in a lawn chair, wore a pair of thin coveralls. Our grown children had changed out of their church clothes and were buzzing around us. JohnScott and Fawn hung balloons on the playground equipment while Dodd and Ruthie filled Styrofoam cups with ice.
Opposite us, at the park’s lone picnic table, hovered Neil and Susan—the Blaylock faction. Susan arrived straight from church services in her ridiculous dress and heels, and even though Neil hadn’t attended worship in more than a year, he seemed to have gone out of his way to dress the part—Western slacks, starched shirt, drawstring tie, and, of course, his trademark cowboy hat.
Susan shot a fake smile toward us, but Neil didn’t even glance our way. He paced in front of the picnic table, and I recalled Clyde’s adjective. Antsy.
Nathan, joyfully oblivious, toddled around the table, using the bench for balance. When he got to Susan’s knees, he paused before continuing his circuit.
“Come to Pops, son.” Neil picked him up under the armpits, and the baby kicked his feet, clearly wanting back down again, but Neil merely walked around the table and handed the child a Cheeto.
“Daddy, he’ll get you all orange,” Fawn called. “Proceed with caution.”
“Noted.”
JohnScott stood with one hand resting on the metal slide. “Fawn, should we open gifts first? That way we can hold lunch until everyone gets here.”
She gazed up the street. “I suppose it’s time.”
“It’ll take Nathan twenty minutes to open each gift anyway,” Dodd said.
Fawn nodded but didn’t smile. I figured she wanted to wait for Clyde, but no one dared make the request.
An enormous, ornately wrapped box sat on the edge of the cement slab near the table, and Neil squatted next to it, resting Nathan on his bent knee. “You ready for your surprise, boy?”
Nathan squealed and slapped his palms against the side of the box.
I noticed Clyde walking toward us from down the street, but not until then did I remember his car was broken down. He lifted his chin in greeting to JohnScott and Dodd, then positioned himself away from the commotion. Leaning against the slanted metal pole of the swing set, he glanced around casually, and then his gaze bounced to me.
My lungs felt as though a hundred dragonflies had taken flight during a windstorm, and I bit my bottom lip. Clyde couldn’t even get to his grandson’s birthday party on time, so there was no good reason for me to be feeling all fluttery inside. It was ridiculous.
He ducked his head as he watched Nathan, and I peered at him a moment longer, wondering if I should offer to trim his hair. His blond ponytail was the exact same color as Fawn’s, only shorter. It was surprising more people hadn’t figured out she was his daughter long before that news flash made the gossip circuit. In fact, nobody had figured it out. A swell of injustice crowded the dragonflies out of my lungs.
My gaze wandered to Clyde’s hands, one shoved in the pocket of his jeans, the other absentmindedly gripping the chain of a swing, and suddenly it seemed like a million years ago that I had felt the urge to hold his hand on the side of the road. Everything had happened too fast yesterday, and I had foolishly let Ansel’s prognosis and Velma’s despair drive me to Clyde for comfort. And I let him hug me.
Stupid.
I forced my mind and my eyes back to the party, only to find Susan watching me.
Her mouth twisted into a tight knot, but when she looked back toward Nathan, her smile spread.
The toddler had managed to expose only a corner of the box by ripping the paper piece by piece. He threw the strips over his shoulder, but Fawn was there to intercept them.
“Here we go, son.” Neil slid his hand under the edge of the wrapping and tore off a large chunk, exposing the label for a battery-powered, ride-on car. “Look there, Nathan. Look what Pops got for you.”
“And Mimi.” Susan’s plastic smile slipped momentarily. “I’m responsible for that snazzy wrapping job.”
“Let’s see what’s in here.” Neil’s eyes widened along with Nathan’s as he tore away the box to reveal a miniature replica of a Range Rover.
Child-sized, yet far too large for a one-year-old.
“Well, would you look at that.” Neil smiled at Nathan, but the boy pointed at a bird.
Susan bounced around the two of them, taking pictures with her phone, but Fawn glanced doubtfully at JohnScott before picking up more pieces of torn paper.
The car had doors like a real automobile, and Neil opened the driver’s side to nestle Nathan behind the wheel. “Ready, little guy?”
The toddler leaned forward and backward in the seat as though he could make it roll just with momentum, and Susan cackled.
“Hang on, and Pops will get you going.” Neil flipped a switch, and as the car began to roll, he walked alongside, steering to keep the child safely on the sidewalk.
Susan squawked that Neil should be careful, and Fawn and Ruthie waved and cooed and tried to get Nathan to look at their cameras.
Even though I despised the flamboyance of the gift, I smiled in spite of myself. I didn’t know which of them was acting the most juvenile. When I looked at Clyde, he winked at me, but I pretended not to see. That sort of thing would never do. I chided myself for agreeing to hike with him to Picnic Hollow after the party, but at least that would give me plenty of time to let him know how I felt.
Nathan spied Clyde by the swing. “Cyde?” The child held his arms through the open roof, flexing his wrists back and forth.
“Let’s try this little hill over there, son.” Neil steered the car away from the playground and toward a raised place in the sidewalk, but Nathan turned around in the seat and stood up.
“Cyde?”
As the distance between the Range Rover and Clyde lengthened, Nathan’s face screwed into a ball of emotion, and Fawn shuffled after them, retrieving her child from the plastic prison and laughing softly.
Tension settled over the playground as though we had all been sprayed by a crop duster. Neil’s behavior was odd, even for him. Something was definitely up with him, and I decided right then and there that antsy was too light a term to describe it.