Scars Of The Past || Jerrie

Eight

Jade

Opening the slider, I observed Perrie's backyard. She had a fair amount of space, which was filled with what looked like obstacle-course equipment. Hatchi tore across the yard and jumped through a hoop suspended from a wooden frame, then ran back to Jackson before dropping into another play bow. I would have to ask Perrie what that was all about.

I took my time returning to the kitchen, not only because I was slightly nervous about the prospect of making conversation, but also so I could check out the den without Perrie watching me. A big-screen television in one corner was surrounded by various electronics. I saw a DVD player, what was probably a DVR, and, to my surprise, what appeared to be a video game console. I wouldn't have pegged Perrie as a video game player.

An overstuffed dog bed sat next to the leather couch that faced the television. In front of the couch was a coffee table loaded with remote controls and a game controller. So she really was a gamer. A cabinet full of DVDs—probably some games, too—sat next to a fireplace against the wall.

I fantasized briefly about becoming friends with Perrie. Maybe I would come over to watch movies. We could make popcorn and stay up late talking and laughing. I used to do stuff like that with friends, before Iraq. I'd taken it for granted that I never would again, but perhaps I could once more enjoy something so painfully normal as movie night.

I started to return to the kitchen when a framed photograph on an end table caught my eye. Telling myself not to be nosy, I tried to move past it without looking, but when I saw that it was of two people embracing, I stopped. Curiosity drew me to the picture, and I picked it up to study it further.

Perrie and a tan-skinned woman with dark, flowing hair stood in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, bundled up in sweaters, wrapped in an intimate embrace. The woman was kissing Perrie on the cheek while she laughed, open-mouthed. My heart beat faster as I tried to decide what I was looking at.

"Hey," Perrie said quietly, startling me into nearly dropping the picture. She stood in the doorway, watching. "I thought you'd gotten lost."

"I'm sorry." Fumbling, I returned the photo to the table. "I, uh...I was just—"

"It's okay. If you're ready to eat, dinner's on the table."

"Sounds great," I said quickly. Embarrassed to have been caught snooping, I resolved to be a normal person for the rest of the evening. This was hardly the way to make a friend.

I followed her into the dining area, impressed that the table was set and a casserole dish full of delicious-smelling pasta sat in the center. Next to it was a bowl of what looked like Caesar salad. A wineglass full of sparkling juice sat in front of each place setting. "Wow, this looks wonderful."

"It's roasted vegetable pasta. I hope you like that kind of thing."

"I'm sure I will." I waited until she pulled out a chair, then sat down opposite her. "You really went all out."

"I usually just microwave my dinner," Perrie said as she dished out a portion of the steaming, cheesy pasta onto her plate. "But I figured this was a special occasion."

"I'm a microwave chef, too."

"Hatchi enjoyed the change. He kept sneaking into the kitchen, determined to hoover up all the goodies I dropped."

"I'll bet," I said as I spooned out a generous portion of the pasta. Part of me felt awkward about eating in front of Perrie, but the other part of he, which felt almost faint at how good everything looked, was willing to get over it. "If he's half the chowhound Jackson is, I can only imagine how hard it would be to keep him away from a meal like this."