Heart Strings Read Online Free PDF Page A

nicknamed Tripp. Your names work well together.” Smiling, she picked up the cake container and motioned him to the door. “We'd better go. Eric Johannsen is firing up the grill.”
    * * * * *
     
    Tripp's stomach felt queasy as he followed Aunt Ev over to the Johannsen house. His system was well-accustomed to the fourteen pills he'd taken—two anti-rejection and twelve more to prevent side effects—but it wasn't pills that were bothering him. He'd told Keely that he and Evelyn weren't related, now all of a sudden, he was her nephew. The deceit was uncomfortable.
    Evelyn rushed the cake inside the house so the sun wouldn't melt the frosting and left Tripp alone with Keely. She looked pretty in shorts and a loose-fitting blouse with a ruffle around the neck. Her hair shone in the late afternoon sun and she smelled like some kind of fresh summery cologne.
    It was a Memorial Day picnic, even if the holiday was actually tomorrow, so he'd worn his black-and-white checkered shirt. “My mother bought it because of the 500,” he apologized. “She has this notion about wearing clothes in keeping with the occasion.”
    “I think you look nice,” Evelyn said, stroking his shirt sleeve as she joined them.
    “So do I,” Mrs. Johannsen said, coming out the back door with a basket of crackers and a cheese ball.
    He felt like a dork but, suspecting his mother's gifts were an apology for not being around on holidays, had worn what she bought. “Thank you, Mrs. Johannsen. You too…uh.” He couldn't quite bring himself to say Aunt Ev, although she smiled encouragingly.
    The two women chatted while Keely passed lemonade and iced tea around. “Name your poison,” she told Tripp.
    “Lem— Tea.” Lemonade used to be his favorite drink, but since he'd tasted Aunt Ev's—there, he was at least thinking the new name—tea, he'd had a craving for it. Maybe Mrs. Johannsen's would break the spell. He took a sip. Hers was good too.
    After a few minutes, Keely wandered over to the barbecue pit where her dad was tending burgers and Tripp followed. “Please call me Eric,” her dad said when Keely introduced them.
    “Thank you, sir … uh … Eric.”
    “It isn't necessary to call me Sir Eric. Just Eric will do,” her father said, chuckling, and Tripp felt a blush creep up his neck. If he called Mr. Johannsen by his first name, should he call his wife by hers too? Sara? Names had never seemed like such a big deal before today.
    Keely wrapped her arms around her dad's waist from behind. He leaned his head back against hers and Tripp felt a pang of jealousy. His relationship with his father wasn't that comfortable. The sides of the barbecue fireplace were staggered like steps, and, feeling like an outsider, Tripp sat on one.
    Expertly flipping a burger, Eric Johannsen smiled at his daughter. “I'm ready to put the dogs and brats on for those who prefer them. Will you take a head count?”
    Keely turned to Tripp. “Joey prefers hot dogs and Mom, who grew up in Cincinnati where German food is popular, loves bratwurst. My dad and I are burger hounds. How about you?”
    Bratwurst. Pronounced brawt and combined with “wurst,” bratwurst didn't sound that great, and as they were shaped like wieners but fatter and sort of gray-colored, didn't look good either. “I'm with you. Want me to see what … uh … Aunt Ev wants?”
    Keely looked at him sharply and he rushed off without waiting for an answer. All this secret stuff was making “uh” a major word in his vocabulary.
     
    *****
     
    The six of them crowded around the Johannsen's small picnic table, and Keely somehow ended up next to Tripp. Both happy and nervous, he concentrated on the food, which was excellent. Potato salad, baked beans: all the traditional picnic favorites, or so he'd been told. His family seldom had picnics.
    “Whoops!” Keely banged an elbow into Tripp's and he lost a bite off his fork.
    “Sorry.” She bumped him again, and afraid he was crowding her, he