Page 35 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

A man—probably the guy’s dad—answered the door.
Greta struggled for words. They hadn’t factored in parents.
He looked like he should star in a How to Be a Lumberjack
video, or at least be wearing a kilt and tossing a caber or two.
He had a bushy red beard and ruddy cheeks, with a bathrobe
pulled tight around his wide chest.
“Yes?” He leaned out the door and looked back and forth
between Greta and Ash.

Ash spoke first. “Is your…son…here?”
Please don’t say, “Which one?”
“Yes.” He didn’t budge from the doorway. “And you
are…?”
Greta found her voice. “We’re your neighbors from across
the street.” She pointed over her shoulder. “We all go to the
same school.” And pretty much ignore your son’s daily attempts

to make friends.
“Hmm. Right. Okay.” He leaned back and called, “Nate,
your friends are at the door!”
Nate—the ginger with the Volvo—appeared behind
his dad. He had a toothbrush in his mouth, spittle in one
corner. He held up a finger for them to wait and ducked out
of sight. His dad turned and disappeared into another room
too, leaving Greta to prop open the screen door with her foot.
Patty hated it when they did that—“heating the outdoors,”

she called it.
“Hey, guys.” Nate was back again, a little red in the face.
He regarded them on the porch, obviously confused. “I’m
Nate, by the way. Well, it’s Nathaniel, but I go by Nate.”

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