“Mr. Caldera hasn’t been in our town that long, sweets. C’mon, you’re ten years old, Annelise. You have to get up close and personal to make a baby, and it takes nine months for a baby to get here. You know that.”
“Sogross,” Leesy said placidly.
Songs about boys appealed to Annelise’s sense of drama. The kissing part of boys and girls and whatnot still heebed her out a little. Thank God.
“Caitlynn’s dad is on the city council,” she said, with an offhandedness that fooled Eden not one bit. “That’s pretty important.”
So it was down to the competitive thing.
“Well, let’s talk about what makes a person important and what makes athingimportant. Who’s the most important person in your daily life?”
“Um... you?”
Eden stifled a laugh. It was a pretty low-risk guess. “Good answer, kiddo. You are the most important person in the world tome. But you are also the most important personyouknow. And themostimportantthingto know is always be kind and sensible, right, because kindness comes back to us?”
“Right,” Annelise agreed cheerily.
Eden reminded herself daily to savor these years where her daughter took her wisdom as gospel, and didn’t know enough yet to ask questions like, “If you were so sensible, how did you get knocked up with me and wind up a single mom?” Those questions were a few years down the road yet, God willing.
“Baby, I can assure you that your father is talented and successful and cute, but nowhere near as cute as...you!” She lunged in for a tickle.
Annelise squealed in delighted outrage and dove right back at her for tickling.
Then Eden remembered she better not get her worked up before sleep.
“Okay, go brush your teeth and get into your jammies.”
“Okeydoke!” Annelise half danced, half skipped off to the bathroom. She never simply walked if she could get there in a fancier way.
It often seemed to Eden like morning arrived as soon as her head hit the pillow, and she was looking forward to it, though she had a lot to think about tonight.
She turned around to leave Annelise’s bedroom and then halted.
And slowly walked over to the Barbie Tableau.
The little doll she’d named Chrissie was perched atop Scrotal Ken’s shoulders, and Scrotal Ken and Winter were holding hands.
And from a scrunchie and a length of yarn tie, Annelise had fashioned what looked like a tire swing.
Chapter 6
“You’re awfully quiet, Lieutenant. You eat something wrong at Pasquale’s?”
Gabe and his softball team had gone from practice at the high school field out to pizza, then back to the Veteran’s Hall near city hall to work on a few repairs—wheelchairs, a tractor, a lawn mower, manly soothing activities requiring brute strength, grunting, and metallic clanks and clunks. With him tonight were Lloyd Sunnergren, who owned the feed store; Bud Wallace, who was seventy-two and tough and stringy as a guy thirty years younger and who had a sort of reserved dignity; Louis Hurlbutt, smart-ass ex-army; Mike Wade, also ex-army, a good guy with a mouth on him; Jordie Tahira, ex-marine, best wheelchair basketball forward in the league and had a killer arm. No one made it every week, but everyone made it most weeks.
Usually Mac joined them, too. He was busy with the donkey barn tonight, though.
“Everything is wrong at Pasquale’s,” Gabe said with a little grunt as he attempted to wrench a rusted screw loose. “That’s why we like it.”
“Usually you’re in full lecture mode right about now about how we did at practice.”
This was true. Lecturing: a principal’s habit. Kind of a lieutenant habit, too.
“Just thinking about my game. Deciding if I have any anymore.”
“What are you talking about? You scored at least half the points last game.” Bud’s voice was a little muffled. He was upside down under a tractor.
“He’s talking about women, nimrod,” Mike said placidly.