Page 64 of The Fall Back Plan
I choose not to entertain these questions.
“Come on in and let me take your sweater,” he says. “You’ve met Pops.”
“Hey, Mr. John,” I say, but I’m wondering what Lucas thinks of my top.
“Hey, honey.” He’s pushing up from his recliner in front of the local evening news. “Let me get you some tea.”
“Oh, no thank you. Truly, I’m fine. You stay comfortable. Is Brooklyn here?”
“Hey.”
I turn to see her standing at the opening to a hallway. “Hey, Brooklyn. I was wondering if we could talk for a few minutes, about good things, I hope.”
She shoots a look at her uncle, who nods. He wears a small smile but says nothing.
“Uncle Lucas says we can have some ice cream if you want to come in the kitchen?”
“Ice cream is only my favorite,” I say.
“Mine too,” she says, still shy but looking less nervous. “Um, you can follow me?”
Lucas sits on the sofa to make it clear he’s giving us space, and I follow Brooklyn to the kitchen.
“We only have chocolate chip ice cream,” she says. “It’s my favorite. Is that okay?”
I sigh and shrug. “It’s only my second favorite, but I guess I’ll live. Why don’t you tell me where the bowls are?”
She smiles and points, then asks for my first favorite flavor while she rummages through the freezer.
“Butter pecan because I was apparently born with the tastes of an eighty-year-old woman,” I tell her as I scan the cabinets. I spot the bowls I want and pull them down, grinning, then dig through the silverware drawer.
Brooklyn turns around with the carton of ice cream the same time I turn around with two large salad bowls and two serving spoons instead of cereal spoons.
“These look like the right size,” I say.
That wins a big grin and a happy nod as we settle in at the table.
“Why don’t you scoop?” I say, and she digs in, piling about half the carton in my bowl. I smile as I watch her, asking questions to relax the atmosphere even further. “Did you get a chance to readKeeper of the Lost Citiesyet?”
Her face lights up. “Oh, my gosh. I just finished the second book. It’s soooo good,” she says in that particular squeal only girls her age can do. I love it, and I listen to her chatter about the characters and plot points as she dishes the other half of the entire carton into her bowl.
I nod in approval when she’s finished serving. “This is how it should be done.”
“Oh, wait, one more thing!” She goes to the pantry and comes back with a bottle I haven’t seen in forever.
“Magic Shell,” I say with delight. “I haven’t had that in years.”
“It’ssogood, Miss Jolie,” she says.
“You can just call me Jolie. So how’s life?”
She shellacs our ice cream with the topper as we fall into an easy conversation about school. It doesn’t sound like she hates it, so that’s a win.
When she winds down, I set my spoon in my bowl. I’m only halfway through my ice cream, and I’m going to need a rest to finish it, which I have every intention of doing. “Did your uncle tell you why I wanted to come over tonight?”
“Kind of. I don’t know if I totally get it,” she admits.
“I know we’ve only talked a couple of times, but I feel like we have a lot in common. We laugh at the same jokes, for example.”
