“They’re all sweet on me,” she said, deflecting his dig, moving toward the picnic table. “Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t. But if that one were any sweeter, he could be bottled for syrup.” Pick sniffed. “Classic case of youthful hormonal imbalance.”
She laughed “Since when did you know anything about “youthful hormonal imbalance”? Didn’t you tell me once that you were born in a pod?”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t know about humans. I suppose you don’t think I’ve learned anything in my life, is that it? Since I’m roughly ten times your age, it’s probably safe to assume I’ve learned a great deal more than you have!”
She straddled one of the picnic bench seats, and Pick slid down her arm and jumped onto the table in front of her, hands on hips, eyes defiant. At first glance, he looked like a lot of different things. A quick glimpse suggested he was some sort of weird forest flotsam and jetsam, shed by a big fir or blown off an ageing cedar. A second look suggested he was a poorly designed child’s doll made out of tree parts. A thick layer of bark encrusted him from head to foot, and tiny leaves blossomed out of various nooks and crannies where his joints were formed. He was a sylvan, in fact, six inches high and so full of himself Nest was sometimes surprised he didn’t just float away on the wind. He never stopped talking and, in the many years she had known him, had seldom stopped moving. He was full of energy and advice, and he had a tendency to overwhelm her with both.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, clearly agitated that he had been forced to wait on her return.
She brushed back her cinnamon-colored hair and shook her head at him. “We walked over to the cemetery and put flowers on my grandparents’ and mother’s graves. What is your problem anyway?”
“My problem?” Pick huffed. “Well, since you asked, my problem is that I have this entire park to look after, all two-hundred-odd acres of it, and I have to do it by myself! Now, you might say, “But that’s your job, Pick, so what are you complaining about?” Well, that’s true enough, isn’t it? But time was I had a little help from a certain young lady who lived in this house. Now what was her name again? I forget, it’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”
“Oh, please!” Nest moaned.
“Sure, it’s easy for you to go off to your big school and your other life, but words like “commitment.” and “responsibility.” mean something to some of us.” He stamped hard on the picnic table. “I thought the least you could do was to spend some time with me this weekend, this one solitary weekend in the whole of this autumn that you’ve chosen to come home! But no, I haven’t seen you for five minutes, have I? And now, today, what do you do? Go off with that Keppler boy instead of looking for me! I could have gone to the graves with you, you know. I would have liked to go, as a matter of fact. Your grandmother was my friend, too, and I don’t forget my friends… He trailed off meaningfully.
“Unlike some people,” she finished for him.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Oh, not for a minute.” She sighed. “Robert came by to apologize for his behaviour last spring at the funeral.”
“Oh, that. Criminy.” Pick knew right away. They might fight like cats and dogs, but they confided in each other anyway.
“So I had to spend a little time with him, and I didn’t think it would hurt if we walked over to the cemetery. I was saving the rest of the day to work with you, all right? Now stop complaining.”
He held up his twiggy hands. “Too late. Way too late.”
“To stop complaining?”
“No! To do any work!”
She hunched down so that her face was close to his. It was a little like facing down a beetle. “What are you talking about? It isn’t even noon. I don’t have to go back until tonight. Why is it too late?”