Chapter Eighty-Five
“I hope you didn’t eat one of those cookies, Puck.”
My son sat on the couch before eight o’clock, his yellow boots hanging over the edge. I knew he would tell me the truth…
“I didn’t…”
I could see the accompanied dejection.
“Good.”
“But. I put it up to MY LIP and I’m GOING TO EAT IT LATER!”
That. Was debatable.
Rose hadn’t been back home yet, we could tell. No bedding, no cats, just the peculiar odor that Puck described as…
“Stinkerbelle’s perfume. It doesn’t smell very good. Does it.”
Click, switch.
Puck’s eyes got big as the door to Rose’s apartment opened…
“Sun!”
The three girls had brought back Rose’s pets after an extended weekend, because of course Rose was working past 7:30 Monday night, and then still more till eleven at Mom’s and Dad’s, so they convinced her to spend the night again. They shared a couple of Fig Newtons before leaving. Carrie was taking Linnea and her friend shopping for madrigal dinner hair pieces. Twelve years later, and Carrie can still orchestrate Medieval costuming for children of all ages.
Puck really wanted to play mah-jongg. I didn’t remember half the rules, so I made up half the rules. He was happy.
An old tree had collapsed in the road from Sunday, apparently. Someone had already carved up the branches, like a giant troll had just lunched on the sidewalk. The whole thing was covered in sprouting green leaves like it was mid-spring. A pick-up crunched over the remaining stubs of bark and twigs in a whipping crash. Poor old specimen. Might have been there fifty years or more.
Sun pushed out. I guess it had to happen some time again. Already the foot of cold white was melting a lot, off all the trees, and patches of grass were showing everywhere.
We dropped off a sack of two peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwiches, two cuties, and six small chocolate chip cookies [from the forbidden stash Puck requested this morning] for The Bear. He chugged on right through lunch.
Puck sneezed as we drove through Forest Park…
“My body decides what sound it’s going to make when it achoos,” he informed me.
A little Classic 99 on the Internet. I guess those rumors of the station coming back weren’t entirely true after all…
Just under an hour at the Clayton library and ten minutes to run around in frozen air before picking up our Bear.
He lobbed another snowball at our car on the way out. Third time that day.
Billboards keep advertising this five-dollar combo meal at QT – sub sandwich, bag of chips, and a fountain drink. I decided it was time to give it a try. Tuesday nights are just right for an Italian, potato chips, and root beer.