His smile disappeared.
"She's beyond being hurt," he said. "You've got to be able to see and smell and feel to know when you're in pain, and she's beyond that.'
"That's not true. Harley."
"It's true. Okay." he said. "I'll rise, but I'm not sure I will shine."
I stepped closer to his bed and seized his hair. He looked up surprised.
"You'll rise and you'll shine and you'll help make this the best birthday of my life, or else," I said shaking him a little harder than he anticipated.
"Ow," he cried reaching for my hand. He held my wrist a moment and looked up at me.
"You still haven't had the decency to wish me a happy birthday, Harley Arnold."
I let go of his hair, but he held my wrist.
"Happy birthday. Summer." he said and sat up, pulling me closer so he could kiss me on the cheek. His lips were very close to mine, so close that when he began to pull back, he gazed them with his mouth.
For a small moment, our eyes locked, and then I rubbed my cheek.
"Shave," I ordered.
My heart was thumping. He let go of my wrist.
"And get dressed and come out to help," I continued.
He just stared up at me, his shoulders gleaming in the sunlight that now poured through his windows.
"Okay," he said, his voice breaking, not reaching more than a whisper. He recovered quickly and gave me one of his impish smiles. "Your majesty," he added.
He started to get out of bed. I couldn't recall exactly when I had become self-conscious about his seeing me half-dressed, but he never seemed to care about my seeing him, even now. Maybe that was just something peculiar about boys. I thought, or maybe it was simply because of the way he and I had been brought up together.
Whatever the reason, it made me catch my breath in my throat. I didn't leave so much as run away.
2
The Party Begins
.
The musicians arrived well before the guests and began to tune up just as Harley stepped out of his house. He was wearing the same pair of jeans and shirt he had worn yesterday, and he hadn't brushed his hair so that strands floated down his forehead and over his eyes. Uncle Roy was always after him to get a shorter haircut and often threatened to cut it himself if he didn't. It didn't go that far, but there were times when it almost had.
"If he ever tries it," Harley growled. "he'll reget the day he was born."
Every birthday lately, I wished for two big things: Mommy being able to walk again and Harley getting along with Uncle Roy. Neither seemed possible.
"You ain't coming to this party looking like that," Uncle Roy told him as he walked up from the house.
"I'm going to change after we all go swimming. Isn't that what happens first?" he asked turning to me.
"Yes," I said.
"Lucky for the lake or he wouldn't take a bath." Uncle Roy told Daddy.
Harley's face turned white instead of red. White anger was the worst sort.
"Cmon." I said before their hot words could spark a big fire. "Help me bring out the party favors and put them on the tables."