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Chapter Thirty-four
Asher
Coming home to this house—to Allie—is like a dream come true. This is my home base now. She’s my true north. I can’t believe what a lucky man I am.
“Dad!”
I drop my bags inside the front door as Bug rushes through the living room and wraps me into a hug.
I was worried she’d hole up in her room the entire three days I was gone, but she’s here greeting me as she always has after a business trip. It gives me hope.
“Hey, sweetie. How did it go?”
She shrugs. “Fine, I guess.”
“Is your room unpacked? You need help with anything?”
“Nah. I’m good.”
I look around. “Where is Allie?”
“Shopping with her mom.”
“You weren’t invited?”
“I was busy.”
“With your room?”
She pulls me through the house to the very back. Through the sliding doors, I can see bright orange spray paint all over the back yard.
My eyes narrow. “You graffitied our back yard?”
“That’s going to be our pool.”
“Our pool?”
I open the sliding door and step out onto the deck, studying the outlines before I turn to her. “Youdid this?”
“I had help.”
The smile on my face is a mile wide. I knew my being gone would somehow bring them together.
“Hi, Bug.” My head whips around and I see a boy on crutches standing on our property line. He walks awkwardly, yet somehow confidently, toward me. When he’s within arm’s length, he loosens his grip on the right crutch, still keeping his forearm clipped in, and extends his arm. “You must be Darla’s dad. I’m Christian Cruz. I live next door.”
I shake his hand, suddenly realizing it wasn’t Allie who helped with this whole elaborate pool layout. It was him. “Nice to meet you. I’m Asher Anderson.”
“You picked a nice house for a big pool, Mr. Anderson.”
“Isn’t it great?” Bug says. “Christian had the paint in his garage. We looked up a bunch of stuff about pools. He said we should get a sports pool, which means it’s shallower on each end but deeper in the middle.”
“You could install a net in the center for pool volleyball,” the kid adds.
I study the young man. “You seem to know a lot about pools. Is your dad in the business?”
“No.” He holds up a crutch. “Pools are good therapy for people with CP.”
I crane my neck and look into his back yard. No pool. Why do I get the idea this kid will be spending more than a little time in ours? I look up at the outdoor entrance to Bug’s room and know I need to get busy padlocking the door.