“I didn’t get anything out to thaw for dinner,” Jack said. “There’s got to be a pizza place in town.”
“There is,” Morgan said grumpily. “Everybody will be there. It’ll be crowded.”
“Then we’ll order takeout and bring it back.”
Jack didn’t listen to any of the other reasons Morgan thought it was a bad idea, because it was a good idea. They hadn’t gottentheir pizza in Billings the day they got stuck in the blizzard, so the world owed them pizza.
He helped Morgan stand and simply continued with his plan, like it was agreed upon between them.
“Coats and boots downstairs,” he said, grabbing the keys from the counter in the kitchen, and then patted Morgan’s behind to make sure he had his wallet. “If we don’t hustle, we’ll be standing and waiting to order.”
He laughed when Morgan frowned, and savored the second, inside of a heartbeat, when the frown turned to a half smile and Morgan grabbed his cane and followed Jack down the stairs.
At the landing, Morgan pulled on his galoshes. Jack laced up his new boots and made a celebration of putting the tuque on Morgan’s head and the scarf around his own neck. Then, ready, they marched out into the growing, icy darkness, the sole parking lot light a beacon spreading a wash of blue light over the twilight-dark snow.
They crunched to the truck, and Jack leapt in to start the engine, then dashed back out to make sure Morgan got in okay. Morgan growled as Jack waited on him, then tugged on Jack’s coat to bring him close.
“Thank you,” he said, and kissed Jack’s mouth, then sighed as he settled into his seat. “Fine. I’m ready.”
Once the truck’s engine was warm enough, Jack made his way through town, slowly so Morgan wouldn’t have to keep using the floorboards as brakes, and turned onto Spurling Street to go just a little way past the bank.
For such a small town, the pizza place, in a strip mall with a liquor store, a beauty salon, and, oddly, a candy shop, was hopping. The parking lot was full, and the street was lined with cars for at least two blocks.
“Let me drop you off,” Jack said.
“No, I can walk,” Morgan insisted, giving his cane a good thump.
“You can’t, because the snow melted a little today, and now it’s ice. If I slip, it’s no big deal. But if you’re with me, then you slip, too, and that’s bad. Please let me drop you off.”
“Fine.”
Morgan didn’t have to like it, but for the moment, that’s the way it had to be. Once Morgan got more strength in his knee, he could decide for himself whether traipsing along an ice-covered sidewalk was what he should be doing. For now, the way things were, Jack would make the decision about that.
“Here,” Jack said as he pulled up in front of the pizza place. “Maybe they’ll let you sit inside and wait.”
“Maybe,” Morgan said, grumpy but compliant as he eased out of the truck and made his way to the front door.
Jack could see the steam fogging the glass and the small huddle of people just inside the door, and he wished he’d called ahead, so he wouldn’t have to worry about Morgan standing for too long in the cold, or even getting to order their pizza before it got too late.
Luckily, someone was pulling out of a space in the parking lot, and Jack zipped into it and then hustled to the pizzeria. When he stepped inside, he was greeted by a warm, garlic-smelling cloud. He peered between two people in front of him and scanned the room for Morgan.
It was a small place: two rows of tables lined either side of the room with four-person booths in the center, all done up in red Naugahyde. The floor was red-and-white checked, and there were limp red-and-white-checked half curtains along the bank of windows.
In the back was the kitchen, behind the pass-through lined with pizzas and salads and baskets of breadsticks. Up front wasthe old-fashioned cash register, where a shapely woman wearing a bright red apron that had flour and grease stains on it stood.
The place was packed, and the chatter was boisterous, and Jack felt a flutter of disappointment. They’d never get a seat, and he still couldn’t find Morgan.
The woman behind the cash register looked at him and waved him over. Thinking she was going to put him on a seating list or turn him away, telling him to call ahead next time, he bent close to hear what she was saying above the din.
“Are you Jack?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m looking for Morgan Malone. I just dropped him off.”
At the end of the first row of booth seats, he noticed Ambrose, Neville, and Maurice stuffing themselves with garlic bread, which they were dipping into a small bowl of red sauce.
They laughed and waved at him, and he felt even more glum about not having thought this through a little better. Morgan had been right. Everyone in town was there, all celebrating being able to get out of their houses and into the only pizza place in town.
“Follow me, please,” the cashier said, to his surprise.
