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Whatever the reason, Prosper wasn’t going to stand up Pinky after he had given her his word. He may be a lot of things, but he wasn’tthat guy.
He had enough time to go to the 24/7 Superstore, which would have everything he needed. Then he’d run it back to Jack and Maggie’s house and still have time to go to the motel and take a quick shower before picking up Pinky.
Prosper roamed the aisles. What the hell did you buy for an eight-year-old’s birthday party?The last one she was going to have with her mother, that unbidden thought flashed through Prosper’s overburdened mind and heavy heart as he loaded up.
Luckily things like paper products and party favors didn’t take up much room. He bought colorfulHappy Birthdayplates, cups, and napkins along with silly glasses, a whole bunch of stuff that glowed in the dark, bubbles in neon colors, an eight pack of something called slime, three kinds of noise makers, two large pouches of shredded bubble gum, crepe paper and balloons for decorating, aBirthday Girltiara and silken sash, and about a dozen candy bars.
The cake was chocolate and it was decorated in pastel-colored roses made from buttercream.
“Hey, can you put some more roses on this cake?” Prosper called out to the woman behind the bakery counter.
She dusted her hands off on her apron and came around from behind the counter. She was a short, heavyset woman with white hair, soft, deep wrinkles and kind eyes.
“More?” She gave Prosper a quizzical look. “That’s a whole lot of sugar on that cake already, honey.”
“Can you do it?” Prosper snarled back.
The woman, whose name tag saidMARIGOLD, put a gentle hand on Prosper’s arm where it was tight and flexed.
“There, there. Of course, I can do it. I can cover the whole thing for you … sides and all if that’s what you want. Should be a happy occasion, and by the looks in your basket there, you plan on having a heck of a celebration. Is the party for a little girl?”
Prosper nodded, and at the gentle touch of the grandmotherly baker, he began to relax. In truth, this birthday shopping had been tearing his heart out. He suddenly found himself all choked up.
“How about if I make you up a special cupcake for the birthday girl? Then you can buy this pretty cake without loading up on the frosting?”
“That’d be great,” Prosper muttered.
“I’m gonna go get you a nice cup of hot coffee, and you’re gonna go over to that table there and sit down and enjoy it while I frost that cupcake for you. Any special color?”
Prosper shrugged. “Don’t matter, so long as it looks good.”
The woman nudged Prosper towards a small table and chair, then walked over to the coffee bar and poured him a hot, fresh black coffee and brought it to him with cream and sugar on the side.
“All those lovely party supplies and I don’t see a birthday gift.”
“Ah, shit.” Prosper banged his hand on the table, and if the coffee hadn’t had a lid on it, both of them would have been covered in Breakfast Blend.
“Now, now dear, this store has everything. Why don’t you give it some thought while I work on that cupcake. I have eleven grandchildren, six of them are girls. You need an idea, you just say the word.”
“Okay, sure.” Prosper narrowed his eyes at her. He knew she was just being kind. The tight lines around his mouth, the tension in his body, the tone of his voice … the breaking of his heart, everyone knew that grandmothers had some sort of microchip or homing device that helped them zero in on private miseries. It was in their DNA to try to make things better. But if Marigold thought that a jazzed-up cupcake or a cup of coffee was gonna fix what ailed him, she was dead wrong.
“So, What do you think she’d like?” Marigold asked.
“I think she’d like her mother not to be dying,” Prosper shot back as a red-hot anger filled him. The injustice of it all suddenly hit him hard and made his fists clench. “Jesus … I’m sorry,”
Her kind eyes were filled with sadness and an unexpected measure of understanding. “Drink your coffee up now, dear”—she patted him on the shoulder— “and I’ll think about it.” Then she turned and walked away.
For the first time in … well … maybe ever, Prosper felt something that he thought might be remorse. He silently reproached himself for being such a rude bastard. Who else but a real asshole would lash out at a kindly, old woman who was named after a bright, sunny little flower for Christ’s sake.
In a matter of minutes she returned with the boxed-up cake and cupcake, and also placed a piece of lemon meringue pie in front of him. After she poured a cup of coffee for herself, she sat down and covered her hand over his.
“My daughter and her husband were mugged thirty years ago. They stole her purse, his wallet, and their wedding rings before they shot them both pointblank in the chest.”
“Jesus, I am so sorry …” Prosper stammered out.
She patted his hand. “We all are. It was such a long time ago and that pain of losing Adelaide and David is still as strong for me and my Bill today as it was then. She left behind three boys: seven, nine, and twelve years old. Of course, we took them in. I think the thing that saved us all was that we kept our minds occupied. We kept ourselves and those boys busy. Bill and I gave each of them whatever they wanted as long as it required dedication, practice, and concentration: music lessons, sports camp, little league, soccer, art lessons—you name it. Bill even bought an old Camaro, and he and the boys worked on restoring it. The deal was that they all worked on it, and after it was finished, the oldest got it when he graduated from high school. All in all, Bill and the boys restored three cars together, and they each got themselves a car.
“Those boys are all grown now, each with their own family, a good job, and most importantly, they are decent men. They triumphed over their tragedy and I know your little sweetheart will too. Sure, she’ll have some hurdles to work through and will need someone she knows she can count on … a safe place to fall. As long as there’s a strong support system for her, she’ll do fine.”
