Page 37 of Proof

Chris and Carter walked to Chris’s Jeep Cherokee and put the gear in the back. As soon as they were strapped in, Carter looked at his father. “Dad? Do I have to move to Chicago?”

So she did tell him. “What did your mother have to say about it?”

“She didn’t say anything. I heard her talking to Bruce.”

“When was this?”

“About a week ago.”

“And you didn’t mention it to me?”

“I thought I misunderstood, but then she was making a big stink this morning about going to see a lawyer.”

“How much of this conversation did you hear?”

“She was pretty mad. She told Bruce that she didn’t care what you did. We were all moving.”

“Did she know you overheard her?”

“I’m not sure. As soon as I went into the kitchen, she stopped talking.”

“And you didn’t ask?”

Carter pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

Chris drew a deep breath. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll talk some more after we get a few barbecue ribs in you.”

“And fried onion rings?” Carter’s face lit up.

“Whatever you want.”

“Even though I flubbed at practice?”

“Right now, I’m your dad, not your coach.” He reached over and tousled Carter’s black hair, the same color as his. Carter also shared his father’s slightly exotic look. He could end up being a heartbreaker in a few years, but Chris was resolute on emphasizing integrity, responsibility, loyalty, kindness, and generosity. So far, his plan seemed to be working. Carter was a good kid. He showed empathy toward others. Chris wondered if that was Luna’s influence. Not that Chris wasn’t empathetic, but that was the core of Luna Bodhi Bodman.

They pulled into Jack’s Bar-B-Que’s parking lot, and Carter jumped out, brushing the remaining dirt off his pants. “I guess I should have reminded you to bring a change of clothes,” Chris said.

“I had them in my backpack, but Mom was in one of her tizzy modes, and we left the house without it.”

Chris made a mental note. Lucinda was starting to rack up some failing grades.

They were regulars at Jack’s, and the hostess seated them in their favorite booth, where they could watch the big-screen televisions that were hanging over the bar.

The waitress came over to their table. “Howdy there, dudes.” Her name was Wanda. She had been working at Jack’s since Jack’s father opened the place fifty years ago. “What’ll you boys be havin’ tonight?”

“Hey, Wanda. I’m thinking I’ll try something different tonight,” Chris said.

“Really? No ribs?”

“I didn’t say ‘no ribs,’ but I’m going to have a side of curly fries this time.”

“Oh, you’re such a kidder, Marshal.” She looked at Carter, who was finally smiling. “And what about you, young man?”

“I’ll have my usual and a side of fried onion rings.”

“Fried onion rings and cheese fries?” She eyed him over the glasses that sat precariously on the tip of her nose. Wanda never wrote anything down. She could take an order for a table of ten, including appetizers, entrees, sides, beverages, and dessert, and never miss a thing. It was remarkable, a gift very few possessed.

Carter looked at his dad and nodded like a bobble-head, asking for permission.

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