Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Tina Swanson, that was Mom, turned and broke down, hugging me tight. I patted her back, told her it would all be okay, and Casey came over and put his arm around her.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he soothed her.
She turned from me and squeezed the stuffing out of him, which he pretended to hate, but I saw his face. He wasn’t fooling anyone.
Sam came in then, and Tina walked over to him and held out her hand. “Thank you so much for finding my baby.”
He gestured for her, and she walked forward, into his arms, and leaned.
“Casey, would you like something to eat?”
The way he was watching Tim hoover down my lasagna, I was thinking it looked good to him.
“Yes, please.”
I pointed. “There are plates right there. Have as much as you like.”
He squinted at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I have two more pans warming in the oven.”
Pleased, I could tell from his face, he put an enormous serving on his plate.
“Nice,” Kola said, coming up beside him. “I eat that much too.”
“Do you want me to get it for you?” he offered, clearly liking the look of my son.
“Yeah, g’head.”
“Who is outside with the candy?” I asked my son as Casey filled his plate with two pieces of lasagna that I couldn’t imagine eating.
“Jake. He wanted to get away from the food.”
“Poor Jake,” I said sadly. “His jaw probably won’t be better by Thanksgiving.”
“It might make it, but if it doesn’t, we can make dinner again for him once he’s better. You can always make a turkey with all the fixings,” he said, and bumped Casey gently with the back of his hand. “Am I right?”
He nodded. “You are.”
Kola smiled and then walked over to the table to sit down, taking a seat next to Tina, who Hannah had just put a plate down in front of. I had poured her a glass of ice tea, and she had turned down the offer of sugar. She drank it unsweetened, as did I. Originally, I had asked if she wanted some chianti, and she said yes, she really did but she couldn’t. I didn’t delve, and I got the feeling she appreciated that.
Kola cleared his throat. “So, Mrs. Swanson––”
“Please, call me Tina,” she said softly, still a bit shaken up. I understood; losing your kids, even for a short time, was an emotional event. I was betting she could use a nap. “You and your family have been so lovely to us.”
“Tina,” my son began again, “I work at a counseling center for kids, and I think it would be great if Casey wanted to come after school. We play sports and talk, we just got a climbing wall from Kinetic out on the West Coast, and it’s really awesome. They sent us three trampolines as well.”
I saw Casey’s eyes light up over trampolines.
“I would love to take him, but we don’t have any extra funds at the moment, and with the holidays coming up it’s––”
“Oh no, it’s not like that. We have a mix of kids at the foundation, so it’s not going to cost anything. When you come see me, I can show you what I mean. But don’t worry about the cost, since there won’t be any for Casey.”
She grabbed his wrist; it was a reflex action. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure,” he said, “and sorry, I can’t call you Tina. That wouldn’t be respectful since you’re a mother and older.”
She did a slow pan to me, and I nearly spit out my water. “I know. You’re instantly old. Imagine, if you will, the kinds of things he says to me.”
“I’m only thirty-five,” she griped at me.
I snickered. “But to him––”
“I’m ancient,” she said, horrified but smiling as well.
“What?” Kola rushed out. “No, I didn’t mean––”
She grunted, getting her bearings back. “Give me all the information. I’ll bring my young fourteen-year-old son by on Monday.”
Kola looked at me. “What’d I say?”
“Never mind, eat your food,” Hannah told him.
I only smiled.
The cleanup, as usual, was a monster, but since we were done with candy by eight and food by ten, by midnight we were done. Sam got worried when we couldn’t find Chilly anywhere, not worried that he left the yard because even if he left the house, he never went further, but scared that he had crawled off and hidden somewhere to die. It was a thing for us, as Chilly was getting up there in age. We all checked to make sure he was breathing when he slept. But he was up in our closet on the blankets piled next to Sam’s gun safe, snoring away.
“I’m telling you, the vet is insane,” he told me, pointing to where Chilly was. “She’s telling us he’s old—I just don’t buy it. He has to jump to get up there. He has to balance on the hangers and—I mean, how?”