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“Yup.” He gave an exaggerated nod that made his straight blond hair fall over his eyes. “Look, we did art today. Miss Sarah says I’m a natural.”
I squatted down to look at the row of drawings, knowing instantly that the one of two fingers, one three times larger than the other, tossing a football across green grass, a worn wooden fence in the background. “Wow kiddo this is great. Excellent detail on the football.”
Mickey beamed with pride and threw himself into my arms for a tight, welcoming hug. “Thank you, Grandpa.”
“Think I can have that photo?”
Mickey giggled. “We’re havin’ a show, the paper is in my backpack.”
A show? “I can’t wait to hear all about it. Ready to head home?”
The little boy nodded and spent the next five and a half minutes bouncing from person to person, delivering a personal goodbye like he was the mayor of the daycare. “Okay. Ready!”
This was the best part of my day, his tiny hand in mine as he bounced and skipped beside me, recounting every single moment of his day. “And she beat me in a race, Grandpa. Girls aren’t s’posed to beat boys are they?”
“If the girl is faster or stronger or simply more talented than a boy, why shouldn’t she win?”
He gasped, wide green eyes stared up at me in shock. “That’s what she said.”
“She sounds smart too.”
“I guess,” he said in a half-pout as we entered Michelle’s two bedroom bungalow.
Inside the house, Mickey went through his after school routine, removing important papers and homework from his backpack while I worked on an afterschool snack. It wasn’t exactly how I thought I’d ever spend my days, especially once Michelle grew up, but I hadn’t felt this content in a while. It was crazy, being so content doing something so mundane when I spent the last thirty years in a haze of excitement and adventure.
Mostly.
“Is that wockamole, Grandpa?”
I turned with an amused grin. “Close. It’s guacamole.” I slowed my pronunciation to help him repeat it. “Some people just call it guac.”
“Guac,” he repeated the word as if testing it out on his tongue. “Guac. Guac-a-mole. Guacamole! I got it Grandpa!”
“Good job. Be sure to say it again so you don’t forget it.” I poured some pretzel sticks on a plate and shoved it across the table. “Gobble, gobble.”
“Yummy. You’re a good guac-a-mole maker Grandpa.”
“Thanks. I learned how to make it the hard way in a small Mexican village years and years ago.” It was nice to recall those skills to pass on to another generation.
“You’ve been everywhere Grandpa.”
“Not quite, but lots of places.” Too many places, it turned out, because I missed nearly all of my daughter’s childhood and a good chunk of her adulthood. “There a lot of the world to see Mickey.”
“I want to see some,” he said excitedly and fell silent for a few moments while he inhaled his snack. “Will Mama be home for dinner tonight?”
“I don’t know, but I think she’s stuck at the hospital tonight.”
“Too bad,” he said sadly, softly. “She’s going to miss out on dinner. What are we having?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at how easily distracted kids could be, how much they ate and how singlehanded their focus could be. “It’s a surprise.”
“I love surprises. Just give me a hint, please? I’m really good at guessing.”
“You want a hint? Here it is, pockets.” I liked to keep Mickey on his toes, guessing and using his brain. Besides, I liked to make dishes from my travels to teach him that it was all right to step outside of his comfort zone, when he developed one anyway.
“Pockets? Like pants pockets?”
I nodded.
“I’ll guess it.”
“Of course you will but while you think about it, I have a question for you. Park, story time or football in the yard?” It was how we spent most afternoons unless there was some town-sanctioned event to attend.
Mickey tapped his jaw and thought long and hard about how he wanted to spend the next couple of hours. “Story time and then football?”
“Sounds like a plan, but what do we do first?”
“Wash our hands!”
“That’s right. I’ll meet you in the yard.” I stood on the porch with a fantastic view, inhaled the crisp, clean air and ginned.
This was my life now and I loved every minute of it.
Chapter 3
Lacey
The long winding driveway that led to the gigantic white house aptly named, The Old Country House, was always a sight to behold. Gleaming white with tall columns and bright red shudders on nearly a dozen windows facing the road, it was such a beautiful place to hold a wedding. Since I never planned to get married again, I had to satisfy myself with glimpses of the venues for journalistic purposes.
I arrived five minutes early for the interview and Carlotta Montgomery, event planner extraordinaire, strolled out to meet me. Carlotta was always so well put together and today’s outfit was no exception. A pale teal color somehow highlighted the shades of brown in her eyes and hair. “Lacey, you’re early!” She wrapped me in a hug and squeezed tight. “Excellent. How are you?”
