Crash
I encourage Kelly to take her shoes off before we step off the deck onto the lawn. I've never felt grass as soft and plush as this—no crabgrass or prickles. The lawn was specially cultivated, the real estate agent told me. Not only that, they have gardeners here every week to tend it, along with the trees and hedges rimming the entire property, mostly hiding the security fence—and the neighbors—from view.
Pinned to my side, Kelly's eyes have only gotten bigger, scanning back and forth sometimes meeting mine, then flitting away like a bird.
But she leaves me to run to the pool, kneel down and dip her hand into it. "Can we swim now?"
"If you want to."
Kelly leaps to her feet, sprints back to me and throws herself into my chest. I catch her and swing her up as she wraps her legs around my waist.
I focus on algebra.
"Crash." Our noses almost touch.
"Yeah?"
"I love you. And I love your house."
