“No, not now. But soon. We should go see these things.” I catch Luc’s eye over her head. “Make a list, Luc. You’re good at those. And then, I don’t know, not every week, we’re too busy for that, but maybe, like, every two weeks, or once a month, we could hit up a new spot. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Maggie says hesitantly.
“Come on,” I cajole. “It’ll be fun. Like old times.”
She doesn’t have to say,That’s what I’m afraid of, because it’s written all over her face. But when she turns to Luc and sees he’s excited by the idea, she admits, “Well, for the last couple of years, Ihavebeen thinking about making a trip out to the abandoned Jazzland. A guy came into the bar who went there. He said it’s something to see.”
“Isn’t it illegal to jump the fence?” Luc asks.
She grins mischievously. “We could be lawbreakers together.”
He laughs. “How about the first Sunday of every month? We could meet at Café Du Monde for brunch and then head out on an adventure afterward.”
Maggie frowns. “Except some of these places might not be open on Sunday.”
“We should have a standing Café Du Monde brunch on the first Sunday of every month where we’ll plan an excursion for the following week,” I propose.
“Deal.” Maggie bobs her head.
“Shake on it,” I say, and she crosses her arms to offer each of us a hand.
Thankfully, I’m distracted from the soft feel of her hand in mine when a boy runs over to us. He can’t be more than five years old. His cheeks are cherub-round, and his hair is platinum blond. If not for the grubby knees of his jeans and the slightly ornery tilt to his eyes, he’d be damned near angelic.
“Can I pet your dog?” he asks.
“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Maggie tells him.
With a grin of delight, he falls to his knees. Yard, sensing a playmate, sits up and welcomes this newest addition to the group with a tongue-lolling grin.
“Where’s his other leg?” The scoundrel pets Yard on the head hard enough to make the dog blink. The silly canine seems to love it.
“He was a stray,” Maggie tells him. “Do you know what a stray is?” The boy shakes his head. “A stray is a dog that doesn’t have a home.” The boy’s bottom lip protrudes. “Since no one was taking care of him or watching out for him, he got hit by a car. To save his life, the doctors had to take off his leg.”
“Poor puppy,” the boy croons, throwing his arms around Yard’s neck.
“But you know what the good thing is?” Maggie asks, and the boy looks up at her expectantly. “I found him and gave him a home. And now every day he gets lots of treats and belly rubs. Besides, he doesn’t need that ol’ leg anyway.” She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “He gets along just fine without it. You want to see?”
The rascal nods emphatically, making his hair swing around his forehead.
“Throw that tennis ball as far as you can,” she says.
When the boy does as instructed, Yard takes off after the ball. The scamp squeals with delight, and the game of fetch is officially underway.
I turn to see a woman carrying a baby and holding tight to the hand of a toddler as she picks her way across the grass toward us. The boy’s mother, undoubtedly. She looks harried and a bit disheveled. But when she sees her son playing with the dog, her face glows with love.
It makes me picture Maggie as a mother. She’ll make a good one. She’s got more love in her heart than anyone I’ve ever known.
As soon as I have the thought, a shaky feeling spreads through my chest. To distract myself, I say, “Hey, little man. You got a girlfriend?”
“No way.” The boy’s face curls into a look of disgust.
“Good. At your age, it’s better to play the field.”
Maggie chuckles and elbows me just as the harried mother makes it to our bench.
“I’m so sorry,” she says breathlessly. “That boy is quick out of the chute. And seeing as how I’m hogtied with these two”—she tilts her head toward the drooling baby and the toddler hiding shyly behind her leg—“it’s a wonder I haven’t lost him to the wilderness before now.”
“Momma,” the boy says, “look it! He don’t got all his legs.”
