Page 61 of Smoky Mountain Dreams

Chapter Thirteen

JESSEDIDN’T SEEM TO WANT TOwatch the recorded game at all anymore. He setthe television’s volume to a nearly imperceptible level before turning back toChristopher.

“I’m glad you came over tonight. I’d never have taken thenoodle war out back with them on my own.”

“Why not?”

Jesse shrugged. “I forget to be playful, honestly. Being theonly parent is hard. It’s getting the business done. I’d been applauding myselffor actually setting up playdates for them. But you made those kids’ night. Ikind of hate that Brigid missed out, though she’s awfully girly these days, andway too serious.”

“Like the cranes?”

“She’s obsessed.”

Christopher cocked his head. “Why’s that?”

“It’s a book her teacher sent home last month.”

“Ah,Sadako. That’s a sad one.”

“Ever since she read it, she’s had a goal of completing twothousand cranes before New Year’s Day.”

“Why not just a thousand, like in the book?”

With a small smile, Jesse shrugged. “I guess she’s anoverachiever.”

“Is she doing it to make a wish?”

“I don’t know. Is that what the book was about?”

“Yes. The book is actually the basis of the play I wasinvolved with in high school. The title character’s interest in the origamicranes comes from an old Japanese legend: if you make a thousand paper cranes,a wish will be granted. What do you think she’s wishing for?”

Jesse frowned. “I don’t know. A year without homework?” Hechuckled softly, but his concern remained etched in his eyes.

“You know how kids are. They really believe those oldsuperstitions. I just hope it’s not something she’ll be too disappointed by ifit doesn’t happen, because after all that work, that’d be crushing.”

Jesse frowned again, his eyebrows low and his mouth tight. “Thanksfor telling me. I’ll see what I can find out. I should have read the book whenthis all started, but things have been busy, and…it’s a lame excuse, I know.”

“It’s not. You have a lot on your plate.”

Christopher’s mind drifted back to the family portraithanging in the entry way of the house, and the wedding photo of Jesse and hiswife under dogwoods in the spring. He hadn’t gotten a good look at either ofthem, not wanting to be obvious about his interest. He wondered what it waslike for Brigid walking past that picture every day. Was it a happy reminderthat a woman had once been her mother and loved her? Or was it just as likelyto make her feel the gaping hole in her life all the more?

God, poor kid. Everyone needed their mother, after all. Heconsidered the question in light of his own mother and doubt filled him.

Sammie Mae is a mess, but she’s yourmama.

“I know, Gran.”

Jesse’s eyebrows shot up and Christopher nearly slapped hishand over his mouth. Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted the refill on the wine.It was stronger than the beer he usually indulged in. His cheeks burned. “I,uh, talk to my grandmother sometimes. In my head. And sometimes out loud. I’mnot crazy, though, I swear.”

Jesse laughed. “The question is: does she talk back?”

“Uh, she usually talks first.”

Jesse’s eyes glinted and he leaned forward, his red mouthlooking lush and somehow dangerous under the bright, overhead lights.Christopher wanted to lean forward and suck and bite it.

“I see. What kinds of things does she say?”

“Oh, the woman’s got an opinion about everything from applesto assholes.”