After a quick kiss on the cheek he planted her feet back on the floor and released her. “Damn, you are skinnier than you were the last time I saw you. What you trying to do, waste away?”
She stepped back and stuck a pose. “I’m not skinny, I’m trim.”
“Oh, yeah. Looks like you’re headed toward an eating disorder to me. You’re not throwing your food up, are you?”
She whacked him good on the arm. “That’s not funny. Eating disorders are a disease.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Come here and give me another hug.”
This time he left her feet on the ground. “I think you felt a little heavier that time,” he said when he released her.
“Boy.” Pamela shoved him and turned away. “Mama’s in the den and Daddy’s out in the garage working on something.”
Chris followed Pamela back into the house. His mother sat on her favorite massage lounger with a throw over her legs, looking as regal as ever. To the naked eye Dakota Williams looked fine. Since Chris was a little boy, pain had been her constant companion. Her invisible illness hadn’t been easy to explain to anyone outside the family. But, after years of suffering, the final diagnosis was fibromyalgia.
“Hey Mom, how you doing?” He bent over and kissed his mother on the forehead before giving her one of his bear hugs. His heart swelled every time he saw his mother.
“I’m fine, baby. And happy to see you.”
“How’s the pain today?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s about a six. That’s why I’m sitting down here watching all these talk shows with Pamela.” She glanced up at Chris. “You know personally I’d rather read a book.”
Pamela crossed her arms. “I thought you wanted to watch The View?”
“I do, honey. The View or whatever that other show was you had me watching a few minutes ago. I tell you, I don’t see how those women have the energy to keep trying to outtalk each other every day.”
Chris chuckled and planted himself on the edge of his mother’s lounger. “If your pain gets up to an eight, you have Pamela help you to bed.”
“Honey, I’m okay. I swear, you worry about me more than I stress about myself.”
“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable is all.”
“I couldn’t be more comfortable than in this massager. Thank you again for the chair, it helps so much.”
“I’m glad. The minute I saw it I thought about you.” Chris looked at Pamela who was so engrossed in her talk show he doubted she remembered he was in the room.
“I’m going out to the garage and see what Daddy’s up to.” He gave his mother another kiss on the forehead.
“I hope he’s not working on another table out there. We’ve got enough already.”
Chris walked down the hall lined with family pictures from his childhood to the present. He opened the door to the garage and could hear his father’s radio playing quietly in the corner while he tinkered with another creation. When Chris closed the door, his father turned around.
“How’s everything, Chris? Glad you stopped by. Let me get your opinion on something.”
“Sure, what you up to?” Chris walked over to see what his father was taking apart now. Before Nathaniel Williams’s former employer up and left Danville, he had a very stressful career. Between work and taking care of his wife he needed an outlet, so he took up woodworking. Now Chris’s dad was one of the most sought-after table designers and furniture repairmen in the county. His original and custom pieces had been commissioned from as far away as the Caribbean Islands.
When Chris was young he used to help his dad build things for work, and remodel their home. Once he started playing football, he spent his summers working in construction for extra money. Between the two of them, they could build a house. And that’s exactly what Chris planned on doing.
Chris placed his hand on his father’s shoulder and observed the handcrafted cigar box he worked on. His father was an inch shorter than Chris’s six-two frame, and thinner too.
“Which one of those designs do you like?” Nathaniel asked, pointing to a piece of paper next to the box. “Mr. Richardson up the street commissioned me to create a set of cigar boxes for his boys about to go off to college.”
Chris frowned. “They smoke cigars?”
“I reckon not. He just wanted all of them to have something special from him.”
Chris picked up the paper and read the inscription written in two different fonts. “I like the second one. It’s fancy, but still legible.”
His father took the paper from him. “Perfect. That’s what I hoped you’d say. That’s my choice as well.” With the paper he tapped Chris softly upside his head. “Like I always say, two heads are better than one.”
“Or, great minds think alike. Don’t forget that one,” Chris added.
Nathaniel laughed. “So what brings you by so early? Your day’s not over already, is it?”
Chris walked over and balanced himself on a stool near the radio. “I’m on my way out to the Colemans’ to demo some new software. I had a few minutes to spare so I thought I’d drop by.”
“That’s your friend Rollin’s place, right?”
“Yes sir.”
“Umm-hum.” Nathaniel picked up the box and examined his handiwork. “Isn’t he the one whose sister was in the car with you when you totaled it last year?”
Chris usually kept his dates to himself, but everyone in town probably knew about that accident. “Yep, that’s him.”
“What’s his sister’s name?”
“Corra.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her around. She’s the manager over at Save-A-Lot, isn’t she? Or she used to be. Haven’t seen her around lately.”
His father did a lot of the grocery shopping for the family and he’d probably run into Corra on several occasions.
“Have you?” Nathaniel asked.
Chris shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen her since I’ve been back.”
“Why not?” Nathaniel asked, as he put the box down and cleaned up his work area.
Chris shrugged. “Haven’t had time. Opening the call center is a lot of work. Besides, I’m probably the last person she wants to see.”
“I thought you said you were on good terms with her when you left town?”
“Yeah I was. We even talked on the phone a couple of times after I left, but then I got busy and she never called me back. I haven’t spoken to her in months.”
“Son, I know you feel bad about the accident, but it wasn’t your fault.”
“I know. But if only I’d let her ride with her friends instead, it might not have happened.”
“Or, the drunk driver might have hit them and the accident could have been much worse. You can’t play what-if, or place blame anywhere other than on the drunk driver.”
“I hear you, but it’s still hard not to feel responsible. Especially when I wasn’t hurt, and she could have been killed.”
“Look at it this way. At least you two have something in common.”
Chris stood up laughing. “Yeah, that’s one way of looking at it.” He followed his father back inside the house.
Once Chris had his father, mother and Pamela in the den together