Page 13 of The Snuggle is Real
Of course, after all that, Charlie wasn’t sounding too enthused.
“It’s not Thanksgiving without my mom,” she said, peeking out at me with sad brown eyes. Gah, those eyes. They got me every time.
“Ah, kiddo. I bet it does feel that way.” I perched on the edge of the bed. “But I know your mom would want you to enjoy the holidays. That’s why she wanted you to come to Christmas Falls, right? It’s a fun place to be.”
“I guess.” Charlie sat up. “Plus, you’re here.”
“Iamhere.” I rubbed my tummy. “And I’ve been saving up so much room for turkey and stuffing. Won’t you come and watch me stuff my face? I might just eat thewholeturkey.”
Charlie giggled. “You can’t eat the whole turkey!”
“Well, you don’t want any, so why not?”
“It’s too much!” she exclaimed. “You’ll explode!”
I widened my eyes. “Do you think I really would?”
She filled her cheeks with air, making them puff out, then said, “Boom!”
“Ah!” I fell off the bed.
She laughed some more, and by the time we’d gotten dressed, watched some morning cartoons, and had some breakfast cereal, she was in better spirits.
It was a shame LuAnne was missing this time with Charlie. A little girl needed her mom, especially over the holidays.
I was probably a poor substitute, but I was trying my best.
“Ford, can you do my hair in a French braid?”
“Not a chance,” I said.
She blinked at me in confusion.
“How about a ponytail?” I asked. “I think I can manage that.”
“Pigtails?” she asked hopefully.
“What the heck. It’s a special occasion.”
Combing the rat’s nest on this girl’s head was a challenge unlike any I’d faced. She grimaced and yelped as I worked the comb through the snarls. Then I attempted to divide her hair evenly and comb it back into smooth pigtails.
Easier said than done.
Her hair was so disagreeable, every time I thought I had a handle on it, a lock of it slipped loose or wouldn’t lay flat.
Finally, I gave up and called it good.
They were a little crooked, but she was seven years old. You couldn’t get much cuter without trying, right?
We dashed next door, since the weather was nippy, and slipped in through Dottie’s front door.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” I called.
Dottie emerged from the kitchen, looking about as happy as I’d ever seen her. “Happy Thanksgiving. You’re here early.”
“I figured since I couldn’t shop, the least I could do is help cook.”
“You’re such a good boy.”
