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For one miraculous day in the middle of the week, the early August heat dissipates into a breezy, comfortable afternoon. Jemma thinks it just might be safe to head out into the sun without worry of melting, so she ushers Olive and Henry out into the front yard to play.
“Catch, Henry!” Olive hollers, chucking a beach ball across the lawn that smacks into her brother’s face. She turns quickly to her sitter. “Jemmy, Henry’s not hurt. He’s okay. Right, Henry?”
Henry scrunches his face up into a scowl, picks up the ball and hunkers down on the steps with Jemma. “Mine now.”
At seventeen years old, Jemma finds herself trying to smother her giggles over a two-year old with an attitude. “How about the sidewalk chalk, Olive?”
When the little girl has created a chalk mural halfway up the driveway and Henry has rolled himself over the beach ball enough times to collect grass stains, there’s a rather loud commotion from the house next door.
The big blue Victorian had been empty for almost two years, until it was sold and moved into by a rather large family about a week ago. Despite being at the Lewis household every weekday, Jemma still hadn’t managed to catch sight of any of the new residents.
“They’re outside!” Olive yelps and takes off toward the next yard before Jemma can even process that she’s moving.
“What’s up, Liv?” Someone cheers, and okay, at least there seems to already have been friendly introductions, Jemma decides as she scoops Henry up and hurries after the older of her charges.
Olive is standing on the bottom step of the huge porch, hands over her face as she giggles at the sight in front of her.
And it is indeed rather amusing. Two teenage girls stand on either side of the front yard, each with a tub full of brightly colored water balloons. They’re both soaked from head to toe, and one is holding the end of the hose while the other grips it further down, stopping the water from reaching the spout.
Jemma has to laugh, at least a little.
Olive smiles up at her, taking her hand. “Jemmy, these are our neighbors now!” She points to the girl holding the nozzle first, and then to the one holding the hose. “That’s Skye, and that’s Amelia. They come and play in the yard sometimes!”
“Hello!” Jemma chirps brightly. “Um, I’m Jemma Simmons. I live over on Wilton Street. And I watch Olive and Henry during the week.” It sounds terribly awkward and over-enthusiastic to Jemma’s ears, but both girls smile widely in return.
“Awesome to finally meet you, Jemma!” Skye calls, trying to yank the hose out of her sister’s grip.
Amelia holds on anyway. “Yeah, we’ve heard tons about you from our pal Olive here. Nice to see you.”
Before Jemma can respond, there’s a loud scraping sound as one of the windows from the second floor is pried open. Skye and Amelia move a little closer to the house with curious expressions, only to get an entire tub of water dumped on their heads from a story up.
Amidst the shrieking and laughter, Amelia makes her way over to wring her t-shirt out over Olive’s head. “Those morons up in the window are our brothers. Elliot is the one that looks sort of guilty, and Antoine’s the one that looks anything but. They’re great, you’ll love ‘em.”
Skye seems to suddenly notice that there’s no one stopping her from using the hose, but she drops it to the ground anyway and makes her way over. Olive looks up at her eagerly, tugging gently on the older girl’s fingers. “Skye, is Grant home today?”
The sisters exchange grins with one another before Skye answers. “Sure is, kiddo, he’s sitting up on the porch over there. He’s getting some reading done, but I’m sure he’d like it if you said hello.”
“He can read?” Olive asks quietly, awe in her voice. Jemma figures this must be a particularly gifted child to impress Olive, who’s already at a reading level superior to most in her age group.
“Sure can.” Amelia says, shaking her hair out once more before taking hold of Olive’s hand and pulling her toward the large covered porch. “Come on, let’s go see what he’s up to.”
Skye smiles at Jemma. “You should come meet him. I know I don’t know you all that well yet, which we’ll have to remedy very soon, but for some reason I have a feeling Grant will like you.”
“Oh. Alright, that sounds lovely. Don’t you think so, Henry?” She looks at the two-year old nestled on her hip, and he just shrugs and lays his head against her shoulder. “Well that was about as enthusiastic as he gets around new people, so I’d call it a win.”
Skye grins. “Come on.”
Jemma had been expecting a small child, maybe around Olive’s age, but this… specimen is definitely not a child. Definitely not.
“Hello.”
He’d been talking quietly to Olive, but his head lifts when Jemma speaks. “Hello.”
Amelia takes Jemma’s hand, and before she can react, pulls her over and places it against Grant’s palm. “Grant-man, this is Jemma Simmons. She watches our friend Olive and little Henry during the week. And she lives over on Wilton Street.”
Jemma’s admittedly taken aback, until she watches Grant’s head tilt toward his sister’s voice, as his fingers tap along to her pulse. “Jemma. It’s nice to meet you.”
He’s looking more toward Henry than directly at her, or he would be if his eyes were focusing on anything. He’s blind. “It’s nice to meet you too, Grant.”
His touch dances over her forearm until he reaches her elbow, and now when he smiles, it’s directed at her perfectly well.
She thinks suddenly that this boy is a wonderful surprise, something she didn’t realize she’d been lacking but now wants sorely. She smiles back at him, and though she knows he can’t see it, she thinks for a moment that his own lopsided grin might just grow a little bit wider. It’s like he knows her, though they’ve only just met. It’s like she knows him, though they’ve barely spoken more than twenty words back and forth between them.
Jemma’s not one to wax poetic, especially about the little things in life.
She suspects that knowing Grant Ward will be no small thing.