I laid the crayon down, humming as I inspected my work.
“Whatcha think?” I asked as I slid the napkin over to Dad.
He studied it for a long moment.
I held my breath as he reached for the crayon box, pulled out the green, then started making additions to the stem and leaves.
I blew out a breath of relief as discreetly as possible, then raised my gaze to the other two men at the table.
Wilbur and Adair were talking quietly, not paying us much mind, and I had the feeling that was on purpose.
They didn’t watch Dad like he was a train crash, but they hadn’t left us either. Hadn’t fled to “give us space” or to “not embarrass us” like so many had done before, especially at the previous facility.
Like I’d done to Ari.
“You all right, darlin’?” Wilbur asked, and I gave him a small smile in answer. It was the best I could do right now.
“Thank you for asking Adair to call me,” I said, looking Wilbur over with a frown. “Are you okay?”
It was only now that I realized how tired he looked too.
“Just fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Adair huffed at that response.
“It sounds like your grandson disagrees,” I said teasingly.
Adair and Wilbur looked at each other, something passing between them before Wilbur smiled fondly.
“He worries too much. Always has,” the older man said, still smiling. “I’m just getting used to some new medication we’re trying, and it’s made me feel, well… like an old, wet washrag that’s been left out in the sun, if I’m being honest.”
Adair cocked his head to the side, his gaze assessing. “Dry mouth? Muscle pain?”
“Water, rest,” Wilbur countered, and Adair laughed softly.
“It’s a camellia,” Dad said gruffly, and all three of us turned our attention to him.
He held up the napkin, which was much improved from my rough sketch, then handed it over to me.
“Devotion, adoration, and longing,” he added matter-of-factly. “And a much better state flower than Georgia’s.” He frowned deeply and aimed it at Wilbur. “The Cherokee rose is problematic as hell, not to mention invasive as fuck.”
I dropped my chin to my chest to hide my laugh, and Adair brushed his hand over his mouth, his chest shaking with his own repressed laughter.
“Well,” Wilbur said finally. “I suppose it’s good I live in Alabama now, Beck.”
16
IRELAND
It was clear that both Dad and Wilbur needed to rest, so when Wilbur stood shakily from the table and asked Dad if he was ready to go, I was relieved.
“We’ll follow you up.” Adair stood up from his chair, then seemed to catch what he’d implied, looking my way with an apology. “Sorry, I mean, if that’s good with you?”
“It is,” I said, scooching my chair backward.
He braced one arm on the back of his vacated chair and bent forward, reaching toward my longboard. And again, I was caught in the trance that was his flexing muscles. His baggy shirt fluttered away from his body as he scooped my board up and handed it to me.
“Here ya go,” he said with a smile, and I forced my eyes to his.
