“Yes,” Hank replies proudly. “A big one.”
“All games are important,” Faulker adds, taking a sip of his shake.
Lucy turns to him, curiosity shining in her eyes. “Do you ever get scared?”
He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. “We become precise.”
She seems to absorb that, though I’m not sure she fully grasps its meaning.
“Why don’t you both eat the same thing?” she inquires of Hank.
“We all have our own routines,” Hank answers. “Keeps the universe in line.”
She looks back at Faulker. “Is that true?”
“Routine reduces variables,” he explains. “Variables lead to mistakes.”
Lucy nods, then watches me take a bite. She mirrors my actions, dipping her toast, taking a bite, and breaking into a smile.
They finish quickly. When Faulker stands to rinse his plate, Lucy starts to follow suit, then catches herself and sits again. She watches to see if I’m taking my time and follows suit.
Hank notices the cast and crouches in front of her, animated.
“You know,” he says, “I broke my arm once.”
Lucy’s eyes widen. “How?”
“Four-wheeler accident,” he says solemnly. “Poor judgment. Excellent story. Everyone signed my cast.”
“Everyone?” she asks.
“My whole family,” he confirms.
She studies her cast. “Did it hurt?”
“The accident, yes,” Hank says honestly. “But the signatures helped.”
She turns to me first. “Can you sign mine?”
There’s an order, and I’m first, and I make a vow to stay there, for her, for Lucy. “Yes. Of course.”
Then Hank. “You, too.”
“Honored,” he says.
Then she looks at Faulker and waits a beat before asking, “Would you sign it?”
“If you would like me to, I’d like that,” he replies.
She nods. “After Hildy. Then you. Then Hank.”
Her order is very intentional.
Faulker inclines his head slightly. “Very well.”
Hank walks over to a drawer and grabs a pack of markers, and we all pick a color. I’m not a pink girl per se, but I know she is, so that’s what I choose.
By the time the last signature dries, jackets are on, and keys are in hand. It’s nearly eight.
