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“Well, if they don’t come, let’s request him.”
Anita smiled. “All right.” She was pleased at Carly’s interest in befriending the older man. He’d given plenty of life advice without making anything sound like a lesson. She turned the key in the ignition and the Bug jumped to life. Both she and Carly kissed their fingers and touched the roof.
“How was Phyllis?” Anita asked. “She seemed chatty.”
“She’s always chatty, Mom.”
Anita smiled at that. “I suppose she is.”
“She’s just lonely, you know.”
Anita glanced over at Carly as guilt pricked. “That’s probably true. I haven’t seen her son show up for a few weeks.”
As they turned the next corner, Carly said, “Hey, Mom, do you think we can go to the video store tonight after my service hours are done?”
Anita didn’t hesitate. “Sure. What kind of movie do you want to watch?”
“Something funny.” Carly leaned forward in her seat. “I wonder if we could get Mr. Davis to tell us more about the Air Force. I think it’s cool that he was a pilot during the war.”
“Some people don’t like to talk about their war experiences,” Anita warned. “So you can’t push him.”
“I know.” Carly let the subject drop.
Once they reached the center, she parked, and they headed inside. The day before, they’d been told that today was craft day. The residents were already filling the tables by the time they walked into the dining room.
“There he is,” Carly said, pointing to where Mr. Davis sat alone at a table.
This morning, he wore a navy shirt, and he wasn’t in a wheelchair. Maybe it had been a good walking day?
Before Anita could tell her to not bother the man, she hurried over to his table.
“Is your family coming today?” Carly asked.
“Not until later,” he said, a smile appearing on his face. “Have a seat unless you have other plans.”
The man’s hair was mostly gray, but his eyebrows were dark, telling Anita that he’d had dark hair when he was younger. His face was angular, which made him look stern when he wasn’t smiling. But they’d quickly learned he had a soft side.
“We don’t have other plans.” Carly sat right next to him. “What’s the craft?”
Mr. Davis scowled. “I don’t know, but I hope it’s not anything with yarn. That blasted stuff makes my fingers feel like noodles.”
Carly laughed. “My mom uses yarn in her art. It’s not too bad.”
“Oh, is that right?” Mr. Davis glanced at Anita as she took her seat. “What kind of art?”
She had answered this question dozens of times. “I create portraits out of natural materials like leaves and flower petals.”
His brows tugged together. “Is yarn natural?”
“Not quite,” she said. “Sometimes I’ll use fabrics or yarns in colors that represent the person.”
He leaned back in his chair and threaded his hands together. “Interesting.”
“She’s making a portrait of a dead guy right now,” Carly blurted out. “The man’s wife sent a picture and a flannel shirt.”
One side of Mr. Davis’s mouth lifted. “I’d like to see one of your creations.”
Anita smiled, wondering if that was possible since today was their last day.
