Page 25 of The Fall Back Plan
Mr. John gives her a fake scowl. “Now did I say we were going to do that?”
“No, but we will. Kind of how Uncle Lucas always saysLittle House on the Prairieis so boring, but then he watches it with me every time I put it on.”
Oh no. She’s given me another heart pang, one that strikes right at the patched-over part that shut Lucas out in high school. Can’t have that.
“I better get back to work,” I tell them. “Lots to be done before we open tonight.”
Mr. John takes the cue and leads Brooklyn out, nodding at me once before the door closes behind him. It’s a nod I’ve seen a lot in my life, the nod of an adult who is granting approval for a job well done. I got it from teachers, then professors, then managers. It’s always satisfying, but there’s something about Mr. John’s nod that also makes me feel . . . warm?
What is happening?
Irritated by the syrupy feelings trying to slip around inside me, I turn toward my office, which is when I catch Tina watching me as she checks the candles in each tabletop hurricane glass. She’s wearing a smirk.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing, boss.”
“Say whatever you need to say,” I tell her.
“Nothing to say,” she says, “except that you’re not tough.”
This makes me grumpy. “Let’s see if you feel the same way when I get my hands on Apple Hat and his friends.”
She grins. “I’m living for it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lucas
Brooklynisheroldself.
It’s a miracle.
She was in a good mood when I got home Friday. We didn’t talk about how she’d miraculously “healed” enough to go shopping. I didn’t press my luck by following up on her “fine” when I asked how it had gone. Lately, every conversation is a minefield, and I never know what will set her off. But she stayed mellow through dinner.
We had a non-grumpy weekend.
And then . . .
Then she got up this morning for school on time. No complaints.
She comes to the table in jeans and a T-shirt. No oversized hoodie in sight. Pops and I exchange looks. We hadn’t discussed whether we should bring up the bra thing, but we seem to be reaching a mutual decision to keep our traps shut. If Brooklyn hadn’t been comfortable enough to bring it up with us in the first place, I’m fairly sure she won’t welcome a conversation now.
She sits, eats her breakfast, and comes out to the car with me without any nagging. “Can I walk to the library after school today and have Pops get me there?” she asks.
“Sure.” Brooklyn has pretty decent common sense. There’s no danger in letting her walk from the school to the library. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“Keeper of the Lost Cities,” she says.
The book she and Jolie had discussed. “Would I like it?” I ask.
“Doubt it.”
“Why not?”
She grunts. Danger sign. “It’s not about World War II.”
I chuckle. “Fair enough.”
