I shake my head and look at my salad. “Nope.”
“Oh, great—here’s my spare key.”
Gold!
“I need to get going but thank you so much.”
“You look really pretty. Where are you going?” Grey asks.
“Oh, thank you. I have a lunch date.”
“She looks super pretty, huh, Dad?”
I turn my head slightly to glare at my kid but pull it together quickly.
“You do. Have fun.”
Greer laughs and then winks at me. “Thanks, neighbor.”
I watch as she walks over to the café catty-corner from us.
“Let’s go, bud.”
We finish our lunch, put it in the trash, and are headed to football camp when Grey speaks up.
“Oh no, I only packed my soccer shoes!”
“What?”
“We have to go home to get my cleats.”
“We don’t have time to grab them.”
“Call Aunt Calla.”
“Calla is busy, bud. Can’t you just wear your soccer shoes?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why not? They’re both on the field, right?”
“It’s not the same. I have to have different ones. Didn’t you ever play sports in school, Dad?”
It takes all I have not to roll my eyes. I sure did. His persistence in having all the right equipment is me to a tee when I was his age.
“All right, well, you’ll have to be late then.”
“Hurry, Dad.”
I head home, driving only five miles over, and Grey runs inside to grab his shoes. While I wait in the truck, a flash of coral and white goes by my rearview mirror.
I thought she had a lunch date.
I watch as Greer parks her bike, takes off her helmet, and walks up the sidewalk to her front door. She looks over for a split second. It’s not much, but it’s enough for me to see the tear sliding down her cheek. She swipes it away and goes inside.
My heart instantly clutches as I reach for the door handle.
I pause and take a breath.
