Page 7 of Dad's Cop Buddy

“No, I think Lolita’s is perfect. Let’s go there.” In some weird way, his decision to go to my mother’s favorite restaurant feels like a sign of her approval from beyond the grave.

“Great. It’s my favorite, too, and I’m starving,” he says, opening the door for me.

I step out onto the porch, and as I step down onto the first step, my foot slips out from under me. My life flashes before my eyes as I brace for the humiliation that will follow falling off my own porch, but then, I feel Kent’s massive hands under my arms. He props me back up on my feet and says, “Careful, I was going to mention that earlier. With age, the wood on the treads has worn down, making them slippery. I’ll buy some non-slip mats for them and install them for you.”

Out of breath from this recent near-death experience, I say, “Thanks, and thanks for saving my life.”

He laughs and says, “The fall wouldn’t have killed you.”

“No, but the embarrassment would have.”

He laughs again and tells me, “You’re adorable, little girl.”

We set out down the winding dirt road that leads from my place to civilization, and I realize that with all the worry and excitement I was feeling about our dinner date, I’d almost forgotten to ask about his visit to the campus today.

“What happened on campus? Did you get to talk to Timothy Sanders?” I ask him.

“No, and you might consider that good news. He no longer works at the college. You won’t have to worry about running into him there anymore.”

“What? Why? Did they fire him for something?”

“Not yet. He hasn’t shown up for his past few shifts, so they’re going to take his badge when he returns.”

“What happens if he doesn’t return?”

“I guess they’ll just assume that he quit. Either way, he won’t be working there anymore.”

“So, how do you find him, then?”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that? I promise I’ll be speaking to him soon.”

“Alright. I trust you, I guess.”

“You guess?” he shoots me a stern glare.

“I trust you,” I smile.

“That’s better.”

We arrive at the restaurant, and he opens my door for me. I don’t think anyone has ever done that before, and it makes me feel kind of special. He takes my arm and escorts me inside. Lolita’s is nice but on the casual side, so I’m glad I decided to wear a sundress and sweater. I look at Kent and smile.

“What? Why are you smiling?”

“I just realized that we match,” I point to the tiny blue flowers on my dress. They’re the same shade as his shirt.

“So we do. I didn’t notice. I was so busy admiring you that I forgot what I was wearing,” he squeezes my hand and grins.

We’re seated at a small table in the back of the dining room where it’s quiet. Kent picks up the menu and asks me, “What was your favorite thing to eat here with your mother?”

The memories are so fresh I don’t even have to think about the answer, “Chicken piccata.”

“Chicken piccata? That’s a grown-up meal for a little girl. Are you sure it wasn’t chicken nuggets?” he teases me.

“No, I got the chicken piccata because that’s what my mother always had. I wanted to do everything like my mother.”

“Alright, two chicken piccata it is. Now, if I order a bottle of wine, are you going to tell on me?”

“No. Even my own mother would give me a sip of her wine when we ate here.”

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