Free Bridge of Scarlet Leaves by Kristina McMorris Page B

on his sister’s friend. He surrendered the balled paper onto the table, tried his best for a nicer tone. “She’s not here.”
    Jo upturned her palm as if to say, You wanna elaborate?
    “She ... went to see our dad.” Based on periodic reports from the nurses, any visits were pointless. Maddie just hadn’t accepted that yet. “Afraid I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
    “Fine. Then tell her I swung by.” With a scathing smile, Jo added, “I’d stay and wait, but you might take up throwing knives next.”
    Once again, he watched her ponytail shake with fuming steps away from him. She certainly had a knack for jumping straight into his line of fire.
    “Hold on,” he called out weakly. Her shoulder flinched, indicating she’d heard him, but she didn’t stop.
    He marched after her. “It wasn’t you, okay?”
    Ignoring him, she opened the front door. He caught hold of her sleeve.
    “Jo, please.”
    She didn’t face him, but her feet held.
    “I just got a lot on my plate, with baseball and finals and ... everything.”
    Gradually she wheeled around. Her bronze eyes gave him a once-over. “That supposed to be an apology?”
    TJ found himself without a response. He had lost the skill of presenting a proper sorry. It was tangled up in the net of regrets that a million apologies couldn’t change.
    “You’re welcome to stay”—he gestured behind him—“if you wanna wait for Maddie.” Padding the peace offering, he told her, “No knife throwing, I swear.”
    A reluctant smile lifted a corner of her mouth. She glanced past him and into the house, considering. “I dunno.”
    Man, was she going to make him crawl over hot coals for her forgiveness?
    “Looks like we’ve both been cooped up too much,” she said. “Come on.” She waved a hand to usher him down the steps.
    He had to admit, it was a nice night. From the smells of leaves burning and cookies baking next door, he sensed his stress dissolving, making her offer tempting. Still, he felt the tug of obligation, recalled the equations that weren’t going to solve themselves.
    “Stop your fretting,” Jo said. “Your books aren’t gonna run off. Or your pencil—wherever it landed.”
    He gave in to a smile. “All right, all right. Let me grab a jacket.”
     
    TJ glued his gaze to the asphalt to avoid the lineup of houses they passed. It wasn’t the string of gingerbread cutouts that made him want to scream, but the normalcy.
    Middle class to upper class, nearly every ethnicity peppered the neighborhood—Russians, Mexicans, Jews, you name it. The families’ after-supper scenes, however, varied little. Fathers smoked their pipes, slippered feet crossed at the ankles, reading newspapers or books, or playing chess with a son eager to turn the tide. Mothers in aprons tended to children all bundled in nightclothes; they double-checked homework or darned socks beside the radio; they nodded to the beat of a youngster plunking away at a piano. Some even had the gall to hang Christmas decorations—December had scarcely arrived!
    TJ was so intent on blocking out these lousy Norman Rockwell sketches, he didn’t give any thought to destination until Jo spoke up.
    “This is it.” She jerked her thumb toward the sandlot.
    “This is what?”
    She rolled her eyes, making him wish he’d just played along. “You know, TJ, you’re about as good at apologizing as you are at listenin’.” She continued into the ballpark, collecting rocks from the lumpy dirt.
    TJ slogged behind. By the light of the moon, he took inventory of the place he hadn’t visited in at least a decade. The park was even more run-down than he remembered, and smaller. A lot smaller. When the new ball field had opened several blocks away, complete with kelly-green grass and shiny cages and splinter-less benches, kids had immediately shunned the old hangout. It was a toy they’d outgrown and dumped in a dusty attic.
    Only now did TJ detect a sadness etched like wrinkles in the