the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the parking lot in ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Daisy,” Father Laurent says.
I dash out, yelling a goodbye to Solomon.
He calls out after me. “Thanks, Daisy! And I meant what I said. You really weren’t that bad!”
I sprint down the stairs with his words in my head. I suppose it’s better than hearing, “You really weren’t that good!”
In my apartment, I grab a pair of khaki capris and a pink silk T-shirt that is nearly dry from being hand-washed the night before. I slip my feet into rose-hued espadrilles and run my fingers through my hair. I stop in the bathroom long enough to put mascara on the top lashes and a dab of peach-colored blush on my cheeks. A spritz of sweet pea body spray and I am out the door.
Mom meets me on the stairs. “What’s up?”
“Max forgot he was supposed to take Father Laurent and Liam to the airport this morning to pick up Liam’s dad.” I say this as I hurry past her.
“Oh,” she says, in a kind of peculiar, thoughtful way.
But I don’t have time for a conversation about Max’s shortcomings. I continue on my way and am through the door that leads to the back entrance of the building. Moments later, Father Laurent, Liam and I are headed east toward the airport.
Baggage claim at Minneapolis-Saint Paul is one long hallway of carts, wheeled suitcases, happy people embracing each other, and bored people holding up signs inscribed with last names. It’s just after ten-thirty in the morning, but the expanse of wide walkways and luggage carousels is bustling with activity. Liam and I are sitting on plastic chairs joined at the hip while Father Laurent checks the monitor for arrival information for his son’s flight.
I learned on the way over here that Ramsey’s car is at a friend’s house here in Minneapolis, but that the friend and his wife are in Chicago for five days. All I have to do is take Father Laurent, his son and his grandson to this friend’s house and they will be off on their own. And I will be off on mine.
Maybe I will pop over to Shelby’s and see how her date last night compares with mine. I turn to Liam sitting next to me.
“So, you must be really glad your Dad’s coming home.” I know full well how lame that sounds. Of course he’s glad.
“Yep.” Liam doesn’t elaborate.
“Did you hear much from him while he’s been gone?”
Liam swings his head around in Father Laurent’s direction. “He emailed me everyday. And we talked on Skype.”
Awkward silence.
“So what was your dad doing in Tokyo?” I venture.
“He builds gardens and stuff. He’s a landscape architect.”
“Wow. That sounds cool. You must have a nice yard at your house.”
“Which one?”
I hesitate. Does he mean which yard or which house? “Um, where you live when you’re with your Dad.” I hope I’m right.
“Yeah. It’s pretty nice, I guess.”
More silence.
“So you like playing the piano?”
“It’s okay.”
“Ever play any wrong notes?”
A smile creases his face. “Sure.”
“Your mom make you practice?”
Liam looks up at me like I’ve said something very strange. “No. She never hears me play. I have a keyboard with earphones, ‘cause she and Vic don’t have a piano. I play on my dad’s piano, though, when I visit him on weekends. He plays. He’s teaching me.”
“Oh. Must’ve been kind of hard to practice then while your dad’s been gone.”
Liam nods. “Yeah.”
“So did you?”
He smirks. “Sometimes.”
Father Laurent returns to us. “Ramsey’s flight landed ten minutes early. It looks like he’ll be heading for carousel fifteen.”
We are sitting near carousel seven.
“I’ll just stay here and let you guys reconnect,” I say.
“If you’re sure you’ll be all right?” Father Laurent’s tone is kind and endearing.
I wave a hand.
“Okay, then. We’ll be back soon, I think.” He and Liam head down the busy corridor.
I spend the next ten minutes watching the
“Thanks, Daisy,” Father Laurent says.
I dash out, yelling a goodbye to Solomon.
He calls out after me. “Thanks, Daisy! And I meant what I said. You really weren’t that bad!”
I sprint down the stairs with his words in my head. I suppose it’s better than hearing, “You really weren’t that good!”
In my apartment, I grab a pair of khaki capris and a pink silk T-shirt that is nearly dry from being hand-washed the night before. I slip my feet into rose-hued espadrilles and run my fingers through my hair. I stop in the bathroom long enough to put mascara on the top lashes and a dab of peach-colored blush on my cheeks. A spritz of sweet pea body spray and I am out the door.
Mom meets me on the stairs. “What’s up?”
“Max forgot he was supposed to take Father Laurent and Liam to the airport this morning to pick up Liam’s dad.” I say this as I hurry past her.
“Oh,” she says, in a kind of peculiar, thoughtful way.
But I don’t have time for a conversation about Max’s shortcomings. I continue on my way and am through the door that leads to the back entrance of the building. Moments later, Father Laurent, Liam and I are headed east toward the airport.
Baggage claim at Minneapolis-Saint Paul is one long hallway of carts, wheeled suitcases, happy people embracing each other, and bored people holding up signs inscribed with last names. It’s just after ten-thirty in the morning, but the expanse of wide walkways and luggage carousels is bustling with activity. Liam and I are sitting on plastic chairs joined at the hip while Father Laurent checks the monitor for arrival information for his son’s flight.
I learned on the way over here that Ramsey’s car is at a friend’s house here in Minneapolis, but that the friend and his wife are in Chicago for five days. All I have to do is take Father Laurent, his son and his grandson to this friend’s house and they will be off on their own. And I will be off on mine.
Maybe I will pop over to Shelby’s and see how her date last night compares with mine. I turn to Liam sitting next to me.
“So, you must be really glad your Dad’s coming home.” I know full well how lame that sounds. Of course he’s glad.
“Yep.” Liam doesn’t elaborate.
“Did you hear much from him while he’s been gone?”
Liam swings his head around in Father Laurent’s direction. “He emailed me everyday. And we talked on Skype.”
Awkward silence.
“So what was your dad doing in Tokyo?” I venture.
“He builds gardens and stuff. He’s a landscape architect.”
“Wow. That sounds cool. You must have a nice yard at your house.”
“Which one?”
I hesitate. Does he mean which yard or which house? “Um, where you live when you’re with your Dad.” I hope I’m right.
“Yeah. It’s pretty nice, I guess.”
More silence.
“So you like playing the piano?”
“It’s okay.”
“Ever play any wrong notes?”
A smile creases his face. “Sure.”
“Your mom make you practice?”
Liam looks up at me like I’ve said something very strange. “No. She never hears me play. I have a keyboard with earphones, ‘cause she and Vic don’t have a piano. I play on my dad’s piano, though, when I visit him on weekends. He plays. He’s teaching me.”
“Oh. Must’ve been kind of hard to practice then while your dad’s been gone.”
Liam nods. “Yeah.”
“So did you?”
He smirks. “Sometimes.”
Father Laurent returns to us. “Ramsey’s flight landed ten minutes early. It looks like he’ll be heading for carousel fifteen.”
We are sitting near carousel seven.
“I’ll just stay here and let you guys reconnect,” I say.
“If you’re sure you’ll be all right?” Father Laurent’s tone is kind and endearing.
I wave a hand.
“Okay, then. We’ll be back soon, I think.” He and Liam head down the busy corridor.
I spend the next ten minutes watching the
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