“You need to go see about a girl,” she says.
I laugh. “Did you by chance watch Good Will Hunting recently?”
“Just last night, with Beverly Jo and Gladys. Felice had plans. She’s dating this geezer from a nearby retirement home.”
“Are they your roommates?”
“No, my cats.”
“Oh?”
She laughs raucously. “Of course they’re my roommates. You don’t think I’m some old cat lady, do you, sugar?”
I join her in laughter.
Her sense of humor is kind of like mine. Except mine’s been on hiatus since Ralph.
Maybe it’s time for it to make a comeback.
Maybe it’s time for a lot of things to make a comeback.
“Listen, Henry,” she says. “You go see about your girl. But as soon as you can find the time, I really would like to see you. I’ll even dig out that old bronze baby shoe for you if you want.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Nah, it is. For me. I want to see it again. I may have missed out on your childhood, but maybe it’s not too late. Maybe you’ll let me know my grandchildren.”
“I—”
“No pressure, of course. Whatever you say goes. Like I said, you don’t owe me anything.”
“I know I don’t. But I do look forward to meeting you. I’m going to go see about that girl, and then the two of us together will pay you a visit. How about that?”
“Sounds perfect, sugar. Good night.”
“Good night, Franc— Frankie.”
Forty-One
Tabitha
Ugh. Fine. I’ll go.
I’ve been mulling it over for the last fifteen minutes. Henry’s phone call threw me. But at least now I know that Francine isn’t some other woman. I mean, I was pretty sure she wasn’t, but logic doesn’t always reign supreme where jealousy is concerned.
Of course, I’m about to go out on a date myself.
Not a date. A drink. A thank-you to the man who saved my life. A man who I’ll hopefully never see again after tonight.
I’m not going to flake. I’m not a person who flakes.
I’ll still head over early to grab that extra drink, though. It’s about to get dark, and I know better than ever before not to walk around in the dark. I’ll have Lance walk me back to my place after we finish up. Hopefully it’ll be an early night.
I slowly rise off the couch, check my hair and my makeup in my hallway mirror. I’m not looking my best after a ninety-minute drive, but I look presentable. I’m not exactly trying to entice Lance anyway.
I walk over to Caesar’s and choose a stool in the corner, far away from anyone else.
The bartender approaches me. She’s pretty, with medium-length curly blond hair. Probably a student at CU who’s bartending to make some extra cash.
