The Treaty of Baxter Street

  

 The Treaty of Baxter Street

 

“Look at that!” Wilbur pointed to an object sitting near the donation receptacle. “Who donates a car seat to people asking for clothes and shoes?”

Gemma had begged her father to visit as a surprise for Stefan, who had grown sullen since his parents’ divorce and the obligatory move to the house on Baxter Street, far away from the friends and the life he had known.

 The reunion had already gotten off track.  Grandfather and grandson had once been close, but old age and adolescence had sharpened both their tongues.  In a matter of days, the visit had collapsed into a series of skirmishes between Wilbur and Stefan on everything from Stefan’s preoccupation with his new cell phone to how many times he walked the dog.  During past visits, Stefan had seemed unperturbed by his grandfather’s critical comments, but now, to Gemma’s dismay, Stefan fired back, answering Wilbur’s barbs with sharp rebukes of his own.

She had hoped Stefan had his earbuds in and missed his grandfather’s remark, her shoulders slumped as she heard him chime in from the backseat.

“You don’t think they need car seats, too, Gramps?” he queried.

“If they needed car seats, the sign would read “food, shoes, and car seats,” Wilbur retorted.

“Just because they didn’t ask, doesn’t mean they don’t need them. “

Stefan paused for a moment.

“You do know they have cars, right?”

Gemma’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as she merged onto the highway.

“Of course, I know that, boy!” Wilbur sputtered, “but we are discussing what they asked for!”

“I thought we were—”

“Stefan!” Gemma scolded, “that’s enough!”

“No, no, let the boy talk, Gemma!”

Wilbur glared at Stefan from the rear-view mirror.

“You’re the son of a lawyer, all right!” he snapped.

The car fell silent.

 Gemma held the wheel steady, blinking to keep the tears from blurring her vision. Before the silence hardened around them, Stefan leaned forward in his seat.

“I am also…”

He placed a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder.

“…the grandson of the first organic dairy farmer in Lancaster County.”

Gemma released the breath she didn’t know she had been holding as her father wiped his eyes.

 

“That you are,” Wilbur nodded, taking hold of Stefan’s hand. “That you are.”

 

Jacqueline Philyaw Hoskins

 

Jacqueline Philyaw Hoskins is a writer from Sterling, Virginia, near Washington, DC. She enjoys writing short and flash fiction as well as personal essays, hybrid forms and novel-length fiction. She currently has no publication credits, but is working to change that.

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