“What did we do on this date?”
“We played mini golf at Peter Pan.”
“Were we seriously that cheesy?”
“With a capital C. And we had a picnic at Zilker Park.”
I smacked my hand to my head. “So we got even worse.”
He laughed. “At least we didn’t go on a Ferris wheel. All the cheesiest movies have the couple on a Ferris wheel.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s a ride. A big wheel with seats. You find them at carnivals.”
“Never heard of a carnival, either.”
“They have a bunch of rides, and you buy tickets to go on them. They have games of skill, like popping balloons with darts to win a prize.”
“Sounds ridiculous.”
“Most people find them fun. There’s one pretty much year-round on the south side of town. Would you like to go?”
“No.”
He couldn’t hide the way his face fell. What did he expect? I’d been putting him off since he found me.
“Okay. Well, here are the roses for our first date. You can give them out to customers. Might get you better tips.” He shoved them at me and walked away.
I watched him go, his head down.
Damn it, Tucker.
He needed to let me go. I wasn’t going to put anyone else near my time bomb. Eventually, a seizure wouldcome, and it would obliterate everyone. With all the seizures he talked about, he had enough problems of his own. He didn’t need mine.
For a few days, I felt bad about what I’d said to Tucker. He’d been nothing but nice to me. It wasn’t his fault my stomach dropped every time I saw him.
I kept the roses. I hid them in Big Harry’s office. Big H saw me sneaking out with them, but he didn’t say anything.
Weeks passed without Tucker showing up. I worried he was gone for good. Or that a seizure had gotten him. I pictured him collapsed in the street, rushed to the hospital. I had no way of contacting him. No phone number. No email.
I guessed I could go see Grandma Flowers.
Stupid past. I didn’t want it. My life was fine.
Then one day, there he was, back on the bench outside the diner.
I sat down next to him. “What have you got for me today?”
He handed me an envelope. Inside were several pieces of paper, full from top to bottom with typewritten words.
“What is this, a story?”
“Sort of. It’s everything I know about you. Everything you told me. How we met. What we used to do. You mentioned before that you had put together a book of your old stuff. The flowers from your wall and all that. I thought this could go in there. Information. Nothing more.”
I’d already started reading. Disco room. AC/DC. His family.
God. His parents and brother were dead.
