Read Online Walk with Me (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) by Kaitlyn Stone - Free Book Online
Authors: Kaitlyn Stone
Tags: Romance
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bit.”
“Okay, hon. Oh, Matilda, can you bring me some peanuts for the blue jays please, before you get started?”
I walk through the door and yell back. “Sure.” I hear Donovan ask my uncle about calling me Matilda, a nickname he gave me when I was a little kid—Matilda Joy. I don’t know where it came from or what it means, but I like it and he’s the only one who calls me that.
I bring back the bag of peanuts and pour a few in my hand before handing him the rest. “Do you want me to put a couple on the wall for Rudolph?”
“Maybe one or two to bring him down.” My uncle points to the spot where he wants me to place the peanuts. Rudolph is a wild blue jay trained to land on my uncle’s shoulder and pick peanuts out of his pocket. This is the third or fourth generation he has trained to do this, and we spent many summer days sitting on the porch while they sat on the wall or the chair next to us singing.
I lay out a couple peanuts and go back in to the apartment to set up for dinner. I can hear Donovan’s surprised reaction from inside. “Wow. That’s amazing. And he’s a wild bird?” I don’t hear my uncle’s response because I walk into the kitchen for plates and utensils.
“Okay, lunch is on the table, boys,” I announce, peeking my head out the door. My uncle takes a hold of his cane for leverage to help himself out of the chair. Donovan steps in next to Uncle William and grasps him by the elbow for support. I point to the bandage on his arm. “Looks like they got you pretty good today on your arm. Did they have a hard time getting you to stop bleeding?”
He nods. “Yeah, I bled all over my sleeve. Maybe you can work on it for me after lunch.”
“Sure. I’ll soak it while we’re eating. Where is it?”
“It’s already soaking in the bathroom sink. Don’t worry about it now, Matilda. Let’s enjoy lunch here with your boy first.”
As with my room, Donovan takes in his surroundings when he enters my uncle’s place, making me pause for a moment and follow his gaze. My uncle’s apartment is a studio with his queen bed and long dresser in the middle of the living room. An avocado-green couch and wood coffee table is under the window and a four-person table is in the dining area. Donovan pauses at the pictures along the dresser. I never realized until this afternoon with Donovan’s comment that this is where my family photos are.
Donovan holds up a five-by-seven school photo. “Is this you, Kenna?”
“Um, yep, I think that’s my first school picture.
“What a pretty little girl you were. And such a happy smile.” He puts the picture down and looks over the others.
Yeah, happy times before Richard.
Donovan picks up another photo and directs this question to my uncle. “Is this you and Larry Brown when he was the head coach at UCLA?” It’s a picture of my uncle sitting in the row behind the UCLA basketball players, leaning in while head coach Larry Brown is running through plays with the team.
“That was taken at the NCAA title game against Louisville in 1980,” my uncle says in his usual humble lilt. I enjoyed going to the games with Uncle William and at one time I even knew all the names of the players, but I could never talk stats with him.
Donovan puts the picture down and walks over to the table with keen interest in my uncle’s wealth of sports knowledge. “Last I heard he was fired from the Bobcats. That they fired the whole coaching team.” Donovan sits down and fills his plate with food.
My uncle finishes a bite of chow mein and wipes his mouth. “I think there’s some talk that he might be joining the SMU Mustangs.” The rest of the lunch centers on sports talk, and I enjoy watching the casual banter between my uncle and Donovan.
After we all fill ourselves with chow mein and broccoli beef, I clear the plates while my uncle sits on his bed and Donovan settles on the couch. “Where’s your peroxide, Uncle William, so I can clean the blood from
“Okay, hon. Oh, Matilda, can you bring me some peanuts for the blue jays please, before you get started?”
I walk through the door and yell back. “Sure.” I hear Donovan ask my uncle about calling me Matilda, a nickname he gave me when I was a little kid—Matilda Joy. I don’t know where it came from or what it means, but I like it and he’s the only one who calls me that.
I bring back the bag of peanuts and pour a few in my hand before handing him the rest. “Do you want me to put a couple on the wall for Rudolph?”
“Maybe one or two to bring him down.” My uncle points to the spot where he wants me to place the peanuts. Rudolph is a wild blue jay trained to land on my uncle’s shoulder and pick peanuts out of his pocket. This is the third or fourth generation he has trained to do this, and we spent many summer days sitting on the porch while they sat on the wall or the chair next to us singing.
I lay out a couple peanuts and go back in to the apartment to set up for dinner. I can hear Donovan’s surprised reaction from inside. “Wow. That’s amazing. And he’s a wild bird?” I don’t hear my uncle’s response because I walk into the kitchen for plates and utensils.
“Okay, lunch is on the table, boys,” I announce, peeking my head out the door. My uncle takes a hold of his cane for leverage to help himself out of the chair. Donovan steps in next to Uncle William and grasps him by the elbow for support. I point to the bandage on his arm. “Looks like they got you pretty good today on your arm. Did they have a hard time getting you to stop bleeding?”
He nods. “Yeah, I bled all over my sleeve. Maybe you can work on it for me after lunch.”
“Sure. I’ll soak it while we’re eating. Where is it?”
“It’s already soaking in the bathroom sink. Don’t worry about it now, Matilda. Let’s enjoy lunch here with your boy first.”
As with my room, Donovan takes in his surroundings when he enters my uncle’s place, making me pause for a moment and follow his gaze. My uncle’s apartment is a studio with his queen bed and long dresser in the middle of the living room. An avocado-green couch and wood coffee table is under the window and a four-person table is in the dining area. Donovan pauses at the pictures along the dresser. I never realized until this afternoon with Donovan’s comment that this is where my family photos are.
Donovan holds up a five-by-seven school photo. “Is this you, Kenna?”
“Um, yep, I think that’s my first school picture.
“What a pretty little girl you were. And such a happy smile.” He puts the picture down and looks over the others.
Yeah, happy times before Richard.
Donovan picks up another photo and directs this question to my uncle. “Is this you and Larry Brown when he was the head coach at UCLA?” It’s a picture of my uncle sitting in the row behind the UCLA basketball players, leaning in while head coach Larry Brown is running through plays with the team.
“That was taken at the NCAA title game against Louisville in 1980,” my uncle says in his usual humble lilt. I enjoyed going to the games with Uncle William and at one time I even knew all the names of the players, but I could never talk stats with him.
Donovan puts the picture down and walks over to the table with keen interest in my uncle’s wealth of sports knowledge. “Last I heard he was fired from the Bobcats. That they fired the whole coaching team.” Donovan sits down and fills his plate with food.
My uncle finishes a bite of chow mein and wipes his mouth. “I think there’s some talk that he might be joining the SMU Mustangs.” The rest of the lunch centers on sports talk, and I enjoy watching the casual banter between my uncle and Donovan.
After we all fill ourselves with chow mein and broccoli beef, I clear the plates while my uncle sits on his bed and Donovan settles on the couch. “Where’s your peroxide, Uncle William, so I can clean the blood from
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