“Good,” Josh said. They walked several paces, Josh moving backward and facing Peter. “So, I guess you know about the race then too.”
Peter nodded. “I was there. I saw it.”
Josh didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. He smiled, “Don’t hold it against me. Sometimes I act before I think. I guess you could say I was inspired.”
Peter would never hold that against Josh. If Peter acted on just a small portion of his thoughts, especially when he tried to rally himself to oppose Chipper, his life would be a lot better.
“I’m only here for a short time. Until my parents sell the house, or something else,” Josh said, pausing.
“What do you mean, ‘something else?’” Peter asked.
Josh wiped the sweat from his face and looked toward the sky. “That’s a conversation for another day,” he said, and from his tone, Peter knew Josh was done talking.
They dropped the second plank and slid it across the driveway until it touched the other plank. From the dead-end direction of Ranch Street, the golf cart from a couple minutes earlier puttered toward them, now carrying two men. Josh lifted his arm over his head to stretch his shoulder. The cart slowed as it passed, the passenger leaning his head across the lap of the driver to get a better view. He looked like a carbon copy of the driver with his sunglasses, khaki shorts, and sleeveless vest. The driver rested his arm on the steering wheel as he drove. The Plexiglas windshield was folded over, and his hand dangled in the open air.
The expression on Josh’s face changed. He dropped his hands to his side and returned the golfers’ stares with a hard, vacant look. Suddenly, the simple conversation and Josh’s small grins seemed miles away, and again Peter saw the wild animal in his neighbor.
“Do you know them?” Peter asked.
Josh’s eyes followed the slow-moving golf cart. When the golfers were gone, Josh just smiled at Peter without answering.
Most of the interactions Peter had with the golfers and residents of Willow Creek Landing were similar to the exchange with the guy who’d lost his ball. They either ignored Peter or treated him like he worked for them.
CJ appeared in the side yard between their houses, swinging the lasso over her head. She let the loop fly, barely missing the shrub she aimed to rope in.
Josh watched, the dark cloud that had enveloped him now evaporated. “She’s pretty good with that thing.”
“She thinks she’s a superhero.”
CJ tried to rope the shrub again, casting glances at her audience as she wheeled the lasso over her head. She let go and the loop landed over the top of the shrub.
“Gotcha,” she shouted. CJ pulled from her end and the shrub bowed.
“You better be careful before the shrub gets mad and catapults you across the street,” Josh shouted.
CJ stopped applying pressure on the rope. She had no idea what catapult meant, but it didn’t sound good.
“What’s Uncle Herb doing?” Peter said, hoping his sister would get the hint and leave. Peter knew she wanted them to welcome her over. Usually, CJ wouldn’t wait for such formalities, forcing her presence wherever Peter might be, but Peter knew she wasn’t completely sold on Josh yet. Neither was Peter.
“He’s napping,” CJ replied.
Peter sighed. Where was it written that big brothers had to include little sisters in everything they did? Peter made a mental note to himself that once school starts he would poll his classmates and take the results back to his mother.
As if on cue, his mother’s car pulled into the driveway at the usual high speed.
“Mom’s home, Peter!” CJ said.
Peter didn’t want to leave. He was enjoying helping Josh, one of the few people he had spoken to this summer who wasn’t related.
Peter noticed his mother looking at him as she put the car in park and removed the keys from the ignition. She stepped out and waved. Dressed in a gray business suit and with her hair pulled back into a knob, Peter thought she looked very pretty. Recently, Peter had rarely seen her with makeup or jewelry. He remembered how his father made her very angry once when he’d told her the pink sweatpants she wore every day “would walk on their own soon.” Her response was something like If you had my life, you’d do the same. His father, as usual, made a joke, further infuriating his mother. He’d love to wear pink sweatpants, he said.
Abby stopped next to CJ in the middle of the strip of grass that separated the two houses. She rubbed the back of her head.
“Hi, Joshua. I’m Abby. We met briefly when we first moved in last summer. You left for college shortly after,” she said.
“Josh,” he said, and bent down to pick a twig that stuck out of his sandal like a flag.
Peter sensed uneasiness in his mother. She waved Peter over and he obeyed, wondering if she had a problem at work. When he reached her, he whispered, “How did it go today?”
“Good. I think I have my first client.” She looked at Josh. “I recently started working again. As a realtor.”
Josh nodded. “Congratulations.” He twisted the cap off a water bottle. “I asked Peter if he could help me for a minute. I hope you don’t mind.”
Peter noticed the pause before his mother answered.
“Of course not. What are you building? A third floor or a ladder to poke the clouds for rain?” she said and laughed. The laugh didn’t sound right to Peter. It was the same fake laugh she used with Josh’s mother.
“Just a project,” Josh said with a shrug.
Abby nodded, though visibly not satisfied with the answer. “I’m really sorry to hear about your parents. Is there anything we could do to help?”
Josh shrugged again.
Abby shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Yeah, well . . . if you can think of anything. What do you say we go check on Uncle Herb, guys?”
CJ took off. Peter half-waved to Josh as he left, avoiding eye contact mainly because he felt Josh’s eyes on him. Inside, Peter ran to the kitchen window facing Josh’s house and watched as Josh pointed at the bundles of wood, counting.
From behind, Peter heard Uncle Herb’s wheelchair buzz into the house from the backyard and his mother saying, “I’m so sorry, Herb.”
“Me too, Uncle Herb,” CJ added.
Peter turned to the French doors in the kitchen that led to the back patio. Uncle Herb was there smiling, half of his face and hairless head completely sunburned, while the other half, his normal shade. He fell asleep on the back porch only partly protected from the sun. He looked like a fishing bob.
Abby left the kitchen and returned with a jar of moisturizer and dropped the container in CJ’s lap. She held a small mirror in front of Uncle Herb’s face. He laughed at his reflection.
She patted Herb’s arm, then asked, “Did anyone call?”
The answer came in chorus: No, nope, and no-o-o.
By the way she paused before grabbing the cordless phone and marching out of the kitchen, Peter knew anyone meant his father.
CJ dragged a stool over to Uncle Herb and climbed to the top. Standing on the circular seat, she opened the moisturizer jar and starting rubbing cream on her uncle’s head.
“The burn might not have been so bad if you had more hair, Uncle Herb,” Peter said. Uncle Herb had only a few strands, each combed over to the side.
“Anks, Pita.”
For every glob of moisturizer that managed to reach