Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

circle of friends. All of whom had big appetites.

Since Ben’s dad, Herschel, owned only one barbecue, he’d no doubt gained the cooperation of several neighbors, and was cooking ribs and chicken on multiple grills at once.

Sebastian started toward the party, past all the cars that had forced him to park a block away. He carried a gift under one arm like a football, even though the invitation had specified no gifts. He’d never had an easy time following rules he didn’t personally agree with.

Atlanta weather was humid in the summer. But not here, thanks to Misty River’s altitude. Cool mountain breezes tugged away some of the stress of his workweek.

The Colemans’ house had been built in the late sixties in a style that reminded him of the Brady Bunch house. Roomy, with a retro rock fireplace, it had a stairway made of wooden slats that led upstairs from the front door. Because the house was located at the end of a cul-de-sac, the backyard widened from the porch like a pie slice, expanding out into undeveloped land.

Based on previous cookout experiences, he knew it would be loud and crowded inside, so he let himself through the side gate into the backyard. The sound of conversations increased as he neared.

CeCe, Ben’s mom, would kill him if he showed up in scrubs, so he’d brought a change of clothes with him to work that morning. His jeans were in good shape, but the car ride had creased the light blue dress shirt he wore untucked.

People he didn’t know were playing cornhole beneath the big sweetgum tree at the far edge of the lawn that had once supported a tree house. When he’d first started coming here, he and Ben had been thirteen. They’d been too old to play in tree houses, but Sebastian had still used it as an escape whenever he’d needed a break from all the talking, eating, and cleaning inside the house.

He’d grab his homework or one of the books he’d checked out from the library, and climb the wooden rectangles hammered into the trunk. Through an opening in the floor, he’d enter the simple square box with no roof.

He remembered sitting on the tree house floor in hot weather and in cold, when the space had seemed large for his frame and after it had become small. The branches provided privacy. Spider webs stretched across the corners, and twigs and leaves littered the floor. The wood had been old and rough, quick to give splinters.

The final time he’d visited the tree house, he’d been seventeen and had almost reached his full height. When he’d pulled himself up into it, the entire thing had creaked and threatened to collapse.

He’d sat very still, his weight evenly distributed, reading a textbook. He’d been in a relatively good place in his life. He’d been on his way to achieving his goals. He had the Colemans. Yet on that day, his eyes had stung with sorrow, because he’d known that trip to the tree house would be his last.

He wasn’t a crier. During his childhood there were many times when crying would’ve been the healthiest response. But on those occasions, his eyes had remained dry and his heart had been cold as stone.

On his next visit to the Colemans, every piece of the tree house had been gone. The only sign that it had been there was the damaged bark where the steps had been. The loss had hit him like a blow.

He threaded his way through the guests, nodding to people he knew, making his way onto the deck.

He found Ben’s dad exactly where he’d known he’d be, in front of the barbecue, surrounded by friends.

“Sebastian,” Hersh said with deep affection. The older man hugged him and bumped a fist against his back. “Love you, man.”

Love you, man and yeah made up about half of Hersh’s vocabulary. For decades he’d worked for a company that sold trucks to corporations. A big man with a bald oval head and a goatee, Hersh was so good-natured that smile lines permanently indented his face.

Hersh extended his tasting plate to Sebastian, who pulled off a crispy piece of rib meat. Sebastian chewed slowly. “Delicious.”

“Good, right?”

“Better than good.” Sebastian licked his fingers.

Hersh made a merry sound and snuck another taste for himself. “What’s that you got there?” He indicated the present Sebastian carried.

“A gift for your wife that she’ll probably like better than whatever you bought for her.”

“Man, I booked a trip for the two of us to Mexico. There’s no way your gift is better than that.”

“You’re right. It’s not better than— ”

“I believe I get to be the judge of that.” CeCe had arrived. Short, plump, and opinionated, she made up in feistiness what she lacked in inches.

She’d combed her graying black hair tightly away from her face into a twist at the back of her neck. In the mid-2000s, she’d decided she had “springtime coloring” and since then had worn only pale purple clothing. Her features were plain. But when you spoke with her, nothing about her read as plain because of the force of her personality.

After the earthquake, Ben was the one who’d invited Sebastian over numerous times. CeCe was the one who’d insisted he become a part of their family. She’d been very firm on that, especially the times when they’d butted heads and he’d tried to pull away. Her own kids had never found a way to disobey her, and neither had Sebastian.

CeCe gave him a hug filled with the scent of a flower garden and the press of long, fancy fingernails. Then she clasped her hands on either side of his face, eyes narrowing as she studied him. “You’re late,” she said.

“Hi.”

“You’re late,” she repeated, setting her hands on her round hips.

“I can’t be late until the barbecue is served. Also, the invitation said this was a come-and-go thing from five until ten.”

“Not for you! You’re family, so you should’ve been here at 4:45 to help deal with me when