cook for us.”
Normally someone referring to my sweet grandmother as old lady would get my dander up, but Craig said it with affection.
He told me good-bye, then bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and disappeared out of sight.
It of course dawned on me that Craig might have felt more than brotherly toward me. I had entertained that same assumption a few times back in high school when I’d turned around in class and found him staring.
He was handsome, intelligent, hardworking, and all the other things I would want in a man, but romance was the last thing a dying woman needed. And the last thing a young man in his prime needed was to develop a crush on a dying woman. I decided, for his sake, I would tell him everything over dinner.
For my father, the truth would have to wait. I leaned into the doorjamb, resting my shoulder against it as I watched him. “Sea of Love” faded to silence. He set his paintbrush on the easel, walked over to the CD player, and hit a button.
The song began again.
Chapter Eight
I stood next to Craig as he studied the lit Chuck E. Cheese’s menu hanging above the glass counter.
Taking Isabella’s face in my hands, I guided her to look at me. “Do you want plain or pepperoni?”
“Pepperoni!” The way she bounced around, I’d have thought she needed to use the bathroom if I hadn’t just taken her.
The teen behind the counter pulled a loose thread from her red polo shirt as she waited.
I stepped forward and ordered the family value meal. Turning to Craig, I asked, “Do you want anything besides pizza?”
He tilted his head as though considering his choices, then said no. The teen set four paper cups on the counter, a small sandwich board with a number twenty-three on it, and a cup full of gold coins. Isabella snatched them up, bent her neck over the cup, and shook it. She jangled behind us as Craig and I made our way toward the empty booth straight ahead. While I filled Isabella’s pockets with tokens, he slid into his seat.
A dark smudge ran under Isabella’s left eye like Indian war paint. I licked my thumb and rubbed it away before she could protest. “You want me to come with you?”
Of course I already knew the answer. She required my assistance at Chuck E. Cheese’s as much as I required hers at Pier 1. She mumbled something I couldn’t make out and left.
Craig held up the hand the staff had stamped when we’d entered. “Invisible ink—how cool is that?”
I watched dirty white socks emerge from the end of the tube slide, followed by the little boy who wore them. When his gaze met mine, I wiggled my fingers at him. Sheepishly he looked around, jerked his hand halfway up, then ran off. “Bella thinks everything about this place is cool.”
Bells rang, whistles blew, and children all around us shrieked. Craig looked around and shook his head. “This place is like Vegas for kids.”
I set our small plastic number in the center of the table and grabbed the cups. “C’mon, let’s go get our drinks.”
Craig followed me to the fountain machine, his eyes darting from preteens riding mock Jet Ski video games to the little boy pedaling like mad on a bike that rose on a pole from his efforts. An Asian girl zinged by, nearly toppling Craig. He caught her right before she plowed into him. Muttering an apology, she tore away, chasing after a blonde girl about the same age.
He glanced around. “Where’s Bella?”
I held a cup against the Hawaiian Punch lever, watching ice cubes bob in the rising red liquid. “She’s around. I don’t worry too much here. You can’t leave without matching numbers. She’ll be fine. Besides, hawkeyed mothers lurk everywhere.”
I filled my own cup with Sprite and Craig got himself a Coke. I snapped a lid on each, and Craig came behind me, stabbing in straws.
Just as we set our drinks down on the table, Isabella popped up in front of us like a jack-in-the-box, took a sip of her punch, slapped three rows of paper
Normally someone referring to my sweet grandmother as old lady would get my dander up, but Craig said it with affection.
He told me good-bye, then bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and disappeared out of sight.
It of course dawned on me that Craig might have felt more than brotherly toward me. I had entertained that same assumption a few times back in high school when I’d turned around in class and found him staring.
He was handsome, intelligent, hardworking, and all the other things I would want in a man, but romance was the last thing a dying woman needed. And the last thing a young man in his prime needed was to develop a crush on a dying woman. I decided, for his sake, I would tell him everything over dinner.
For my father, the truth would have to wait. I leaned into the doorjamb, resting my shoulder against it as I watched him. “Sea of Love” faded to silence. He set his paintbrush on the easel, walked over to the CD player, and hit a button.
The song began again.
Chapter Eight
I stood next to Craig as he studied the lit Chuck E. Cheese’s menu hanging above the glass counter.
Taking Isabella’s face in my hands, I guided her to look at me. “Do you want plain or pepperoni?”
“Pepperoni!” The way she bounced around, I’d have thought she needed to use the bathroom if I hadn’t just taken her.
The teen behind the counter pulled a loose thread from her red polo shirt as she waited.
I stepped forward and ordered the family value meal. Turning to Craig, I asked, “Do you want anything besides pizza?”
He tilted his head as though considering his choices, then said no. The teen set four paper cups on the counter, a small sandwich board with a number twenty-three on it, and a cup full of gold coins. Isabella snatched them up, bent her neck over the cup, and shook it. She jangled behind us as Craig and I made our way toward the empty booth straight ahead. While I filled Isabella’s pockets with tokens, he slid into his seat.
A dark smudge ran under Isabella’s left eye like Indian war paint. I licked my thumb and rubbed it away before she could protest. “You want me to come with you?”
Of course I already knew the answer. She required my assistance at Chuck E. Cheese’s as much as I required hers at Pier 1. She mumbled something I couldn’t make out and left.
Craig held up the hand the staff had stamped when we’d entered. “Invisible ink—how cool is that?”
I watched dirty white socks emerge from the end of the tube slide, followed by the little boy who wore them. When his gaze met mine, I wiggled my fingers at him. Sheepishly he looked around, jerked his hand halfway up, then ran off. “Bella thinks everything about this place is cool.”
Bells rang, whistles blew, and children all around us shrieked. Craig looked around and shook his head. “This place is like Vegas for kids.”
I set our small plastic number in the center of the table and grabbed the cups. “C’mon, let’s go get our drinks.”
Craig followed me to the fountain machine, his eyes darting from preteens riding mock Jet Ski video games to the little boy pedaling like mad on a bike that rose on a pole from his efforts. An Asian girl zinged by, nearly toppling Craig. He caught her right before she plowed into him. Muttering an apology, she tore away, chasing after a blonde girl about the same age.
He glanced around. “Where’s Bella?”
I held a cup against the Hawaiian Punch lever, watching ice cubes bob in the rising red liquid. “She’s around. I don’t worry too much here. You can’t leave without matching numbers. She’ll be fine. Besides, hawkeyed mothers lurk everywhere.”
I filled my own cup with Sprite and Craig got himself a Coke. I snapped a lid on each, and Craig came behind me, stabbing in straws.
Just as we set our drinks down on the table, Isabella popped up in front of us like a jack-in-the-box, took a sip of her punch, slapped three rows of paper
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