A few minutes later John Ross came out the back door leaning on his cane, carefully negotiated the worn steps, and limped over to where she twisted and bobbed in the swing. Nest steadied herself as he came up, grounding her feet so that she could watch him.
“I guess that question about your father touched a sore spot,” he said, his smile faint and pained, his eyes squinting as he looked off toward the approaching sunset. The sky to the west was colored bright red and laced with low-hanging clouds that scraped across the trees of the park.
Nest nodded without replying.
“I was wondering if you would walk me to your mother’s grave,” Ross continued, still looking west. “Your grandfather said it would be all right for you to do so. Your grandmother gave him one of those looks, but then she agreed, too.” He turned back to her, his brow furrowed. “Maybe I’m misreading her, but I have the uncomfortable feeling she thinks she’s giving me just enough rope to hang myself.”
Nest smiled in response, thinking of Wraith.
Ross ran his hand slowly down the length of his staff. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think your grandmother trusts me. She’s a very careful woman where you are concerned.”
Nest supposed that was so. Gran was fierce about her sometimes, so consumed with watching out for her that Nest would find herself wondering if there was a danger to her that she did not realize.
“So, would that be all right with you?” Ross pressed. “Would you be willing to walk me over to the cemetery?”
Nest nodded, climbed out of the swing, and pointed to the gap in the hedgerow. She led the way wordlessly, setting a slow pace so that he could follow, glancing back to make certain he was able to keep up. In point of fact, he seemed stronger and more agile than she had expected. She wondered what had happened to his leg, if there was a way she could ask him without being rude.
They crossed the yard, pushed through the gap in the hedgerow, and entered the park. The evening ball games were already under way, the diamonds all in use, the benches and grassy areas behind the backstops crowded with families and fans. She led Ross down the service road behind the nearest backstop to the crossing gate at the park entrance, then along the roadway toward the burial mounds and the cliffs. Neither of them spoke. The day’s heat hung thick and heavy in the evening air, and there was little indication that the temperature would change with night’s coming. The insects buzzed and hummed in dull cacophony in the shade of the trees, and the sounds of the ballplayers rose sharp and sudden with the ebb and flow of the games’ action.
After a moment, she dropped back a step to walk beside him. “How long are you visiting?” she asked, wanting to know something more about him, about his involvement with her mother.
“Just a few days.” His movements were steady and unhurried. “I think I’ll stay for the fireworks. I hear they’re pretty spectacular.”
“You can sit with us, if you’d like,” she offered. “That way you’ll be with someone you know. You don’t know anyone else in Hopewell, do you?”
He shook his head.
“This is your first visit?”
“This is my first visit.”
They crossed the road at the divide and turned west toward the turnaround and the entry to Riverside. John Ross was looking off toward the cliffs, out to where the Rock River flowed west on both sides of the levy and the railroad tracks. Nest watched him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be seeing something beyond what he was looking at, his gaze distant and distracted, his expression riddled with pain. He looked almost young to her for an instant, as if the years had dropped away. She thought she could see the boy in him, the way he was maybe twenty years ago, the way he had been before his life had taken him down whatever rough road it was he had traveled.