Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [119]
The park was filled with cars and people. Picnickers already occupied most of the tables and cooking stations. Blankets were spread under trees and along the bluff, softball games were under way on all the diamonds, and across from the pavilion the Jaycee-sponsored games were being organized. There was a ring toss and a baseball throw. The horseshoe tournament was about to start. Carts dispensing cotton candy and popcorn had been brought in, and the Jaycees were selling pop, iced tea, and lemonade from school-cafeteria folding tables. Balloons filled with helium floated at the ends of long cords. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from the pavilion’s rafters and eaves. A band was playing under a striped tent, facing out onto the pavilion’s smooth concrete floor. Parents and children crowded forward, anxious to see what was going on.
“Looks like the whole town is here,” Old Bob observed with a satisfied grin.
Ross glanced around. It seemed as if all the good places had been taken, but Gran led them forward determinedly, past the diamonds, the pavilion, the games, the cotton candy and popcorn, the band, and even the toboggan slide, past all of it and down the hill toward the bayou, to a grassy knoll tucked back behind a heavy stand of brush and evergreens that was shaded by an aging oak and commanded a clear view of the river. Remarkably, no one else was there, save for a couple of teenagers snuggling on a blanket. Gran ignored them and directed Ross to place the blanket in the center of the knoll. The teens watched tentatively as the Freemarks arranged their picnic, then rose and disappeared. Gran never looked at them. Ross shook his head. Old Bob caught his eye and winked.
The heat was suffocating on the flats, but here it was eased by the cool air off the water and by the shade of the big oak. It was quieter as well, the sounds of the crowd muffled and distant. Gran emptied the contents of the picnic basket, arranged the dishes, and invited them to sit. They formed a circle about the food, eating fried chicken, potato salad, Jell-O, raw sticks of carrot and celery, deviled eggs, and chocolate cupcakes off paper plates, and washing it all down with cold lemonade poured from a thermos into paper cups. Ross found himself thinking of his childhood, of the picnics he had enjoyed with his own family. It was a long time ago. He visited the memories quietly while he ate, glancing now and again at the Freemarks.
Should I tell them? What should I tell them? How do I do what is needed to help this girl? How do I keep from failing them?
“Did you enjoy the service, John?” Old Bob asked him suddenly, chewing on a chicken leg.
Ross glanced at Nest, but she did not look at him. “Very much, sir. I appreciate being included.”
“You say you’re on your way to Seattle, but maybe you could postpone leaving and stay on with us for a few more days.” Old Bob looked at Gran. “We have plenty of extra room at the house. You would be welcome.”
Gran’s face was tight and fixed. “Robert, don’t be pushy. Mr. Ross has his own Me. He doesn’t need ours.”
Ross forced a quick smile. “I can’t stay beyond tomorrow or the day after, thanks anyway, Mr. Freemark, Mrs. Freemark. You’ve done plenty for me as it is.”
“Well, hardly.” Old Bob cleared his throat, regarded the leg bone in his hand. “Darn good chicken, Evelyn. Your best yet, I think.”
They finished the meal, Old Bob talking of Caitlin as a girl now, recalling stories about how she had been, what she had done. Ross listened and nodded appreciatively. He thought it might have been a while since the old man had spoken of his daughter like this. Gran seemed distracted and distant, and Ross did not think she was paying much attention. But Nest was watching raptly, studying her grandfather’s face as he related