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I recognized the tell. He was close to losing it. Grayson had a hair-trigger temper lately, and a meltdown was impending. I’d give him the shirt if he’d spare my eardrums for now. “Comb your hair, bud.”
He rolled his eyes, heaved out a mighty breath, and stomped away. Another hair band snapped. Fuck whoever invented these.
“I can’t braid today,” I announced, giving up. “How ’bout a ponytail?”
“Okay,” she said, with the devastation of being told there were no more puppies on the face of the earth.
Crooked ponytail in place for Ivy and freshly combed hair for Grayson, we got our shoes on and went outside. The tension riding along my shoulders eased. Birds chirped all around us, hidden in the thick, green leaves of all the trees lining the boulevard and shading houses. The old farmhouse I had rented had long been crowded by other houses and a whole neighborhood over the century since it’d been built. Kids squealed from the small outside pool a few blocks away. The drone of cars was minimal.
Ivy held on to my pinky, and Grayson hopped the cracks in the sidewalk as we covered the five blocks to downtown.
We passed a long, flat, brick building that was an insurance office. Across the street was a small-engine mechanic, his garage door thrown wide open, and the steady beats of an impact drill escaping. A block beyond that was a small park with a set of swings, an old metal slide, and a picnic shelter. There was a short set of close-to-the-ground monkey bars Ivy couldn’t get enough of. We’d probably end up there for at least an hour after lunch.
This meal was more like an early dinner.
Shit, I needed to get groceries, and I had a conference call that’d take half the morning tomorrow.
When we arrived at the little Hummingbird’s Diner that made the best goddamn pancakes in the history of the world, I shoved my work worries to the back of my mind.
An older couple was sitting in the corner. I nodded at them. Two older men who I didn’t think ever left the diner were in the opposite corner. I picked the point farthest from them both.
The kids and I slid into an old, cracked red booth. My loafer caught on a crack in one of the black-and-white tiles, and the table wobbled. The owner of the place claimed to like the vintage look, but the cantankerous waitress saidhe’s a cheap bastard who thinks spending money is for fools. But what’s he going to do—have it all burned with him after he’s gone? ’Cause you know his family’s got plans for that cash.
The waitress reminded me of Barns.
She shuffled to our table, sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she brandished a pad and pen. I had a feeling she didn’t need to write down one single detail.
“Hey, Thelma. How’s the breaded cod special?” I’d grown to respect her frank opinion on the matter.
“A touch freezer burned, but Hal gives it an extra minute in the fryer so you can’t taste it.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Same as usual for you fellas?” she asked the kids.
Grayson nodded, scribbling with the crayons left on the table next to the salt and pepper shakers. The usual was the awesome pancakes, drowned in whipped cream and syrup that had never crossed paths with a maple tree. But we weren’t here for the type of breakfast that would polish my Father of the Year award.
“Uh, no,” I intervened. “They’ll each have the flank steak with mashed potatoes and green beans.”
Thelma raised a brow, and groans echoed from the kids.
“Pancakes are for special Sundays,” I said. “You need heartier food.”
“White or chocolate milk?” Thelma asked, like she was trying to get ahead of the complaints.
Both kids hollered chocolate.
I tapped my fingers on the tabletop. “Plain milk, please. For all of us.”
Ivy let out a frustrated growl and rested her head on the table.
“Got it,” Thelma said, her tone full of censure, as if she thought I should let the kids have pancakes and chocolate milk for all three meals because life was short and who cared about sugar lows.
“I got a batch of new crayons,” she said to the kids, bypassing me in case I insisted on being the fun police all day. “Want them?”
My precocious daughter turned demure around Thelma. “Yes, madam.”
Thelma smacked her teeth against her lips. “I ain’t no one’s madam.” She winked at me. “Maybe once upon a time.”
