Page 43 of Creeping Beautiful

He pounds the ax head into the dirt near his feet, wipes his brow with the back of his free hand, and leans casually on the ax handle. “What can I do for you, Mr. Boucher?”

His accent is decidedly Southern. Like mine started to be when I was his age, but which was quickly trained out of me by my father. But it has creeped back in the years since he passed.

“You can call me Adam,” I say, walking up to him.

“No, sir. My grandfather would not like that too much.”

I shrug with my hands. “Where is he?” Meaning his grandfather. “Indie said he was sick. I hope he’s OK.”

“He’s fine. Just… resting today.”

Which is kind of a lie. I know the old man was diagnosed with emphysema a few years back and it’s hard to miss the truck that delivers oxygen tanks twice a month.

Still, it’s a polite lie. So maybe it doesn’t count.

“Is that why you’re here?”

“No.” I say it bluntly. “I’m here to talk about Indie.”

“OK. What should we talk about?”

“We should talk about…” I hesitate. Because he’s twelve. And Indie will throw a fit if she finds out I’m having this conversation with Nate. “She’s a girl.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But she’s not an ordinary girl.”

“Yes, sir. I know that.”

“And you should not make any plans with her.”

Nate makes a look of confusion at this statement. “What kind of plans?”

“Future plans. Girlfriend plans.”

Nate laughs. “No, sir. She’s just my best friend. Not my girl.”

“I know that, Nate. And that’s because you’re both still very young. But in a year or two you will feel differently. And I’d just like to head that off at the pass, if I can. Because even though Indie is a girl, she’s not girlfriend material.”

I get another confused look from Nathan St. James so I decide to just spell it out. “Do not kiss my…” I pause, trying to come up with a term that adequately explains what Indie is to me. “Do not kiss my Indie. Do not hold her hand. Do not fall in love with her. Do not plan a future with her. She is not that kind of girl.”

Nate just stares at me, face blank, stance relaxed. Then he says, “Can I fish with her?”

“Yes.”

“How about swim?”

“If you’re wearing clothes.”

He laughs and looks away. “Of course we wear clothes.”

“You can do all the things you two do. Just keep it… innocent.” It’s a bad word choice. Something a man would understand but not a boy. “Does that make sense, Nate?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” I suck in a deep breath. Let it out. Decide I’m done here and turn back to the path through the woods. But then I stop and look over my shoulder. “Don’t tell her I was here.”

“Yes, sir.”