Besides, there were more pressing problems just now. There was school; she had to earn grades high enough to allow her to continue to train and to compete. There was Pick, who was persistent and unending in his demand that she give more of her time and effort to helping him with the park - which seemed silly until she listened to his reasoning.
And, right at the moment, there was the matter of the house.
She dressed slowly, thinking of the house, which was the reason she was home this weekend when her time would have been better spent at school, studying. With her grandfather's death, the house and all of its possessions had passed to her. She had spent the summer going through it, room by room, closet by closet, cataloguing, boxing, packing, and sorting what would stay and go. It was her home, but she was barely there enough to look after it properly and, Pick's entreaties notwithstanding, she had no real expectation of coming back after graduation to live. The realtors, sensing this, had already begun to descend. The house and lot were in a prime location. She could get a good price if she was to sell. The money could be put to good use helping defray her training and competition expenses. The real estate market was strong just now, a seller's market. Wasn't this the right time to act?
She had received several offers over the summer, and this past week Allen Kruppert had called from ERA Realty to tender one so ridiculously high that she had agreed to consider it. She had come after classes on Friday, skipping track–and–field practice, so that she could meet with Allen on Saturday morning and look over the papers. Allen was a rotund, jovial young man, whom she had met on several occasions at church picnics, and he impressed her because he never tried to pressure her into anything where the house was concerned but seemed content just to present his offers and step back. The house was not listed, but if she was to make the decision to sell, she knew, she would almost certainly list it with him. The papers he had provided on this latest offer sat on the kitchen table where she had left them last night. The prospective buyer had already signed. The financing was in place. All that was needed was her signature and the deal was done.
She put the papers aside and sat down to eat a bowl of cereal with her orange juice and coffee, her curly hair still damp against her face as golden light spread through the curtained windows and the sun rose over the trees.
If she signed, her financial concerns for the immediate future would be over.
Pick, of course, would have a heart attack. Which was not a good thing if you were already a hundred and fifty years old.
She was just finishing the cereal when she heard a knock at the back door. She frowned; it was only eight o'clock in the morning, not the time people usually came calling. Besides, no one ever used the back door, except …
She walked from the kitchen down the hall to the porch. A shadowy figure stood leaning into the screen, trying to peer inside. Couldn't be, could it? But, as she stepped down to unlatch the screen door, she could already see it was.
'Hey, Nest' Robert Keppler said.
He stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans and one tennis shoe bumping nervously against the worn threshold. `You going to invite me in or what?' He gave her one of his patented cocky grins and tossed back the shoulder–length blond hair from his angular face..
She shook her head. `I don't know. What are you doing here, anyway?'
`You mean like, "here at eight o'clock in the morning;" or like, here in Hopewell as opposed to Palo Alto"? You're wondering if I was tossed out of school, right?'
`Were you?'
`Naw. Stanford needs me to keep its grade point average high enough to attract similarly brilliant students. I was just in the neighbourhood and decided to stop by, share a few laughs, maybe see if you're in the market for a boyfriend: He was talking fast and loose to keep up his confidence. He glanced past her toward the kitchen. `Do I smell coffee? You're alone, aren't you? I mean, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?'
'Jeez, Robert, you are such a load' She sighed and stepped back. `Come on in'
She beckoned him to follow and led him down the hall. The screen door banged shut behind them and she winced, remembering how Gran had hated it when she did that.
`So what are you really doing here?' she pressed him, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the kitchen table as she reached for the coffee–pot and a cup. The coffee steamed in the morning air as she poured it.
He shrugged, giving her a furtive look. `I saw your car, knew you were home, thought I should say hello. I know it's early, but I was afraid I might miss you'
She handed him the coffee and motioned for him to sit down, but he remained standing. `I've been waiting to hear from you,' she said pointedly.
`You know me, I don't like to rush things' He looked away quickly, unable to meet her steady gaze. He sipped gingerly from his cup, then made a face. `What is this stuff?'
Nest lost her patience. `Look, did you come here to insult me, or do you need something, or are you just lonely again?'
He gave her his hurt puppy look. `None of the above: He glanced down at the real estate papers, which were sitting on the counter next to him, then looked up at her again. `I just wanted to see you. I didn't see you all summer, what with you off running over hill and dale and cinder track:
`Robert, don't start. .
`Okay, I know, 1 know. But it's true. I haven't seen you since your grandfather's funeraclass="underline"
And whose fault is that, do you think?'
He pushed his glasses further up on his nose and screwed up his mouth. 'Okay, all right. It's my fault. I haven't seen you because I knew how badly I messed up:
`You were a jerk, Robert'
He flinched as if struck. `I didn't mean anything.'
`You didn't?' A slow flush worked its way up her neck and into her cheeks. 'My grandfather's funeral service was barely finished and there You were, making a serious effort to grope me. I don't know what that was all about, but I didn't appreciate it one bit'
He shook his head rapidly. `I wasn't trying to grope you exactly'.
`Yes, you were. Exactly. You might have done yourself some good, you know, if you'd stuck around to apologise afterward instead of running off
His laugh was forced. `I was running for my life. You just about took my head off.
She stared at him, waiting. She knew how he felt about her, how he had always felt about her. She knew this was difficult for him and she wasn't making it any easier. But his misguided attempt at an intimate relationship was strictly one–sided and she had to put a stop to it now or whatever was left of their friendship would go right out the window.
He took a deep breath. `I made a big mistake, and I'm sorry. I guess I just thought you needed … that you wanted someone to … Well, I just wasn't thinking, that's all.' He pushed back his long hair nervously. 'I'm not so good at stuff like that, and you, well, you know how I feel.. ' He stopped and looked down at his feet. `It was stupid. I'm really sorry.'
She didn't say anything, letting him dangle in the wind a little longer, letting him wonder, He looked up at her after a minute, meeting her gaze squarely for the first time. `I don't know what else to say, Nest. I'm sorry. Are we still friends?'
Even though he had grown taller and gotten broader through the shoulders, she still saw him as being fourteen. There was a little–boy look and sound to him that she thought he might never entirely escape.
'Are we?' he pressed.
She gave him a considering look. `Yes, Robert, we are. We always will be, I hope. But we're just friends, okay? Don't try to make it into anything else. If you do, you're just going to make me mad all over again: