by Rosa Jordan
Booker looked at Kate. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“Those kids think it’s lunchtime. The smells coming out of your mama’s kitchen got me thinking the same thing. You reckon if we went in she’d give us a nibble of something?”
Kate laughed. “Sure! I already made cheese dip for crackers and raw vegetables.”
“Exactly what I had in mind,” Booker said, and yelled, “Hey, Justin!”
Justin turned, grinning. Then he tossed the ball straight up. Kate watched it sail up into the blue sky. It seemed to her like only pure happiness could make it go that high.
Booker gave a long whistle, then wheeled himself toward the back door, calling to Luther and Chip as he passed the corral, “Hey, men. Give us some muscle here.”
Together, Kate, Justin, Chip, and Luther hoisted Booker’s wheelchair up the three steps to the back porch. Just as they pushed through the screen door, somebody in the kitchen must’ve told a joke, because Kate heard Mom, Ruby, and the Wilsons burst out laughing. She looked at Justin, who was grinning. He was probably thinking the same thing she was: that Christmastime or anytime, it couldn’t get better than this.
