Page 54 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“We’re just friends,” Joe announced with a forced smile. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure,” Kathleen said.

Joe set up his chair beside me, then asked, “Everyone got what they need? I’m going to go get some lunch.”

“We’re good,” Liz said.

“How could you?” I asked as soon as he’d left. “Kathleen O’Sullivan, stay out of my business.”

“Or what? You’ll tell Mom?” Kathleen laughed. “I can’t believe how much in denial you are. You’ve been in love with Joe your entire life. Even Mom and Dad knew. The only people who didn’t have a clue were you two.”

I looked at my watch. “It’s almost time for pie. Hurry up and eat.”

Liz checked her phone. “There’s a whole half hour left, and it isn’t that far.”

“We don’t want them to run out,” I insisted. If I could only herd my sisters away from Joe, maybe my embarrassment would end.

But then he was back. “Say, did Di tell you about the parent who wanted his daughter to pet a bison calf?” he asked.

“She did,” Liz said.

“People are idiots,” Kathleen added.

“I’ve been working on this one,” Joe said. “Listen up.

There once was a parent named Joe

Put his kid on a buffalo

A cowboy was born

When the kid grabbed a horn,

And, the beast raced across the plateau.”

“Not bad,” Liz said.

“Thank you.” Joe beamed, but his gaze was on me.

“Don’t give up your day job,” I said.

“I already did,” Joe said with a grin and plopped down beside me.

~ ~ ~

The afternoon sun intensified. I succumbed, and put on my hat, even though I hate wearing them. I’d found as I’d gotten older that hot sun could quickly dehydrate me and make me dizzy. Kathleen dug sunscreen out of her tote, and we slathered it on.

After securing our seats in the park near the venue for the buffalo chip chuck, Liz took out her pad and sketched while Kathleen and I reached for our books. Joe excused himself and wandered through the crowd, occasionally stopping to chat with strangers.

“He’s someone who likes people,” Kathleen observed.

“He can strike up a conversation with anyone, even people I know he disagrees with. And he listens. He’s like a sponge absorbing the essence of the person he’s talking with.”

“Didn’t you say he was writing a book?” she asked. “What’s it about?”

“A mystery novel about suffragettes,” I said.

“The mystery is why we’re still fighting for our rights,” Kathleen commented.

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