“HERE YOU GO,” I say, setting the platter down. It clatters against the table, causing both Nana and Peck to look up from the sink. “Cheese ball.”
“You got it away from Machlan?” Nana asks, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m impressed.”
“Peck. Outside,” Walker barks, storming behind me and making a beeline for the door.
“Now it’s time to eat,” Nana says. “Peck and I have everything in the dining room.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
Pecks flashes me a look. “Remember. Nurse Shelby,” he whispers as he follows Walker out the door.
Instinctively, my heart in my throat, I follow him and stop at the glass. They stand at the edge of the house, the vein in Walker’s temple throbbing, his finger in Peck’s chest. Peck’s hands are up in the air in a “don’t shoot” stance, his back to the house. The rumble of Walker’s voice trickles through the door and I can hear the emphatics in his tone, but Peck’s climbs louder, over the shouts of his cousin.
“What’s going on out there?” Lance asks, coming up behind me. “Oh, fuck.”
“It’s not Peck’s fault,” I whisper. “Do something.”
Lance claps a hand on my shoulder, the feeling strangely comforting. “Don’t worry about it. Walker knows this has nothing to do with Peck too. Peck’s just the one he can . . . vent to.”
“That’s venting?”
“In Walker’s way, yeah. It’s therapy.”
“I can assure you he doesn’t pay Peck enough for that.”
Lance laughs, squeezing my shoulder. “Peck can handle himself, Slugger.”
Glancing up and behind me, I take in his hazel eyes. “Not you too.”
He winks before flicking his gaze back outside. “They’ll be fine. Let’s go eat.”
“I don’t know . . .” I mutter, watching Walker get right into Peck’s face. “He said to take him to Linton General and ask for Shelby.”
“Oh, I bet he did,” he chuckles. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Spinning around, I look at him in disbelief. “We can’t leave them out there like that.”
“I thought you had brothers? You should know how this works.”
“My mom would’ve killed them had they acted like this,” I say, jabbing a finger towards the door. “My brothers just exchange barbs until Ford gets them down and makes them submit.”
“Ford sounds like my kinda guy,” Machlan teases as he walks by with a pitcher of tea. “Now come on. The sideshow is wrapping up and Nana’s gonna have a fit if we don’t get to the table.”
Lance follows Machlan, their conversation making a one-eighty shifting to baseball as the door behind me opens. Startled, I turn around to see Peck. He’s not grinning his usual goofy smile, but he’s not bleeding either.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” he says, blowing me off.
“Where is he?”
“Peck? Sienna? Get in here. Time to eat!” Nana calls from the dining room.
“You heard her,” Peck says, motioning towards the doorway.
Not knowing what else to do but knowing one hundred percent that this conversation is over, I put one foot in front of the other and make my way to the table. Continuously looking behind me and out the window, I don’t see Walker. I want to ask, but there’s no way to do that without everyone hearing me.
The table is lined with a dozen platters of meat, potatoes, salads, and sides. It reminds me of Savannah. If I closed my eyes, I could open them to see my family at the table, waiting to dig in. Instead, I rest my sights on the Gibson boys and their Nana, all waiting for me to take the seat Peck has pulled out for me.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling flushed. “This looks great, Nana.”
“Thank you,” she says, fanning her face with a napkin. “Where’s Walker?”
The boys glance around the table. It’s a scene I know well from having a large family. They’re silently conspiring, covering for one of their own. As terrible as I feel for being the cause of this situation, my heart also warms at their camaraderie for Walker despite his being as ass.
“He had to chop wood,” Peck rushes, his eyes bulging when he realizes the stupidity of his words in the middle of summer. “I mean . . .”
“He had to take a call. Something about the shop.” Machlan rearranges his silverware and pointedly doesn’t meet Nana’s gaze. “He’ll be back. He just needs a few minutes.”
“That boy,” she huffs, instructing Lance to lead the family in prayer.
We bow our heads, Lance giving thanks for the meal in front of us and family around us, before closing it out with an “Amen.” When I look up, Machlan is grinning at me.
“What?” I ask, taking the bowl of mashed potatoes he offers.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t be rude,” I say in the same tone I’d use with my brothers. “Say what you want to say or stop insinuating you want to say it.”
“Exactly,” Nana cuts in. “I like the way you put that, Sienna. You handle these boys well.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say, thinking of Walker and how I haven’t handled him at all. “You have any tips for me?”
“For these rascals?” she sighs. “Well . . .”
“I could give you some tips,” Lance jokes.
“You will not. Not with that tone.” Nana looks at him over the rim of her glass of tea.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Lance says.
“I can imagine.” She sets her glass down and looks at me. “I always think intention is more important than action. Take, for example, the time Peck wrecked my town car.”
Peck drops his fork. “I didn’t wreck it. I hit the gear shift with the hose while I was cleaning it out.”
“You took out an entire shed,” Machlan cackles. “You wrecked it.”
“The important thing,” Nana says, giving Machlan a stern look, “is that he was trying to do good. Or, since you are so ready to jump into this conversation, Machlan, take the time you shorted out half the house with a bobby pin.”
Lance bursts out laughing, much to Machlan’s dismay. “I’ll never forget that as long as I live.”
“Fuck you,” Machlan mutters.
“Excuse me?” Nana looks at him. “At my table, sir?”
“Sorry.”
She turns her attention to me. “Actions have emotions incorporated in them. Other people and things can factor in too. I’ve always been an advocate of looking into someone’s intentions as opposed to how those actually turn out. I think it tells you a lot more about the person than their results. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” I gulp, the squeak of the back door flooding my ears. I sense him walking into the room, smell his cologne way before I see him. His energy hits me like a seismic wave, rolling over me and demanding me to pay attention.
Looking up, I’m not a bit surprised he’s looking at me, but I am surprised at how. The fury is gone, the tightness in his jaw eased. Instead, there are lines furrowed in his forehead and his hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
“Sit down and make a plate,” Nana says, motioning towards the seat at the other end of the table.
He studies me intently before rocking back on his heels and moving his gaze to Nana. “I know I promised you I’d be here today. But, um, would it be okay if I miss dinner?”
She rests her fork against her plate and folds her hands on her lap. “Go ahead. I can tell it’s important.”
Walker looks down. Taking a deep breath, one that we all watch him take, he finally blows it out as his head turns to me. “Would you mind going with me?”
I forget to answer. The words just dangle in the back of my throat, mixed up in the emotion that’s drifting from Walker’s face to mine. Finally, Peck elbows me in the side.
“Um, sure,” I croak. “Would that offend you, Nana? If I went with him?”
“It would me,” Lance offers, getting a chuckle from Machlan.
“It’s the intent,” Nana smiles softly. “Go. I’ll pack a meal for you to take home with you when you get back.”
“Thank you, Ms. Gibson.”
She starts to correct me, but thinks better of it. “See you soon. Boys, get back to your dinner before it gets cold.”
Scooting my chair back, I give Peck a squeeze on the shoulder.
“Go get him, Slugger,” he whispers loud enough for only me to hear.
Heading to the doorway, Walker steps to the side to let me through. Not sure what to do or what to say, I keep walking until I’m out the door.