find me another room.”
The cool, clipped tones in which he spoke said everything. Michael could play nice or play by himself. He’d worked too hard to get Andy to the point where he’d even talk like that to screw it up now. Bunching and releasing his fist once, twice, and then a third time eased a little of the tension Michael could feel creeping up along the edges of his jaw and at the corners of his eyes. A smile creeping across his face, Michael shook his head.
“Bossy little bo—boy.”
The corner of Andy’s mouth quirked up.
“Changed your mind about word choices?”
Michael dropped his head forward. Andy had him by the short and curlies. A wicked, wonderful, devilishly fun idea flashed across his mind, and Michael lifted his head back up, tilting his chin at a jaunty angle as he began to speak.
“Yes. I surely did, on both counts, babe. Andy, this is my mother, Donna Jean Rose. Mama, this beautiful bit of trouble is your future son in law.”
Andy’s mouth rounded into a perfect ‘o’ as his eyes opened so wide he resembled a gorgeous three dimensional anime character. A zinging sense of perfection sparked every nerve in Michael’s body simultaneously. The smirk he’d been trying to hide grew into a full face grin. The woman with Andy—Cheryl, giggled. The tiny, girlish sound was something an eleven or twelve year old would make, and hearing it spring from the Viking warrior princess looking woman tickled Michael’s fancy. She patted Andy’s shoulder.
“Well, I can see that the two of you are well matched. I’ll leave you here, Andy, and go let the nurses know you won’t need any assistance to get settled in.”
She reached into her pants pocket, extracting a card, which she handed to Andy with a battlefield worthy flourish.
“Here you go. If you need anything, call me. We Norse folks have to watch out for one another, ja”
Never taking his eyes off Michael, Andy clutched the card tightly in his hand. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before visibly swallowing.
“Ja.”
With a smirk at Michael, Cheryl turned and headed for the door. As she passed Michael’s mother, she briefly laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Nice to see you again, Donna. We’ve missed you on Thursdays.”
Shooting a furtive glance at him, his mother answered in a soft enough voice that she probably thought he couldn’t hear her.
“Oh, they changed my schedule at the restaurant. I found another meeting though. I’ve got my two year chip now.”
Cheryl squeezed her shoulder and continued out the door, calling back over her shoulder.
“My number’s still the same. Give me a ring; we can get together for coffee at that dessert place you love so much. And it doesn’t even have to be on a meeting night.”
Chapter Eleven
As Andy locked the wheels on the wheelchair and flipped up the foot pedals, he mulled over the implications of Donna Jean and Cheryl’s little exchange. He’d bet his next paycheck that they knew each other from some sort of twelve step program. There was no way he could let Michael just write the woman off, not when Andy knew down to the soles of his beloved half boots, that the damned idiot would regret doing so for the rest of his life. A tiny sigh escaped Andy at the thought of his boots. They were perfect. Gazing into the mid-distance for a second, he smiled—They’re exactly like the ones worn by Andrej Pejic in an amazing photo op, thank you very much, even if mine were thirty-five dollar EBay knock-offs of the pricey military lace up combat boots the famous model wore.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Would you mind helping me over to my bed. I think I’ll be fine, but the stuff they gave me last night may make me a little wobbly when I get up, and I know Michael’s not supposed to be getting up right now.”
Andy quite deliberately neither met Michael’s eyes as he spoke to the fool’s mother, nor did he meet them as she stepped to his side proffering her arm for him to hold onto as
The cool, clipped tones in which he spoke said everything. Michael could play nice or play by himself. He’d worked too hard to get Andy to the point where he’d even talk like that to screw it up now. Bunching and releasing his fist once, twice, and then a third time eased a little of the tension Michael could feel creeping up along the edges of his jaw and at the corners of his eyes. A smile creeping across his face, Michael shook his head.
“Bossy little bo—boy.”
The corner of Andy’s mouth quirked up.
“Changed your mind about word choices?”
Michael dropped his head forward. Andy had him by the short and curlies. A wicked, wonderful, devilishly fun idea flashed across his mind, and Michael lifted his head back up, tilting his chin at a jaunty angle as he began to speak.
“Yes. I surely did, on both counts, babe. Andy, this is my mother, Donna Jean Rose. Mama, this beautiful bit of trouble is your future son in law.”
Andy’s mouth rounded into a perfect ‘o’ as his eyes opened so wide he resembled a gorgeous three dimensional anime character. A zinging sense of perfection sparked every nerve in Michael’s body simultaneously. The smirk he’d been trying to hide grew into a full face grin. The woman with Andy—Cheryl, giggled. The tiny, girlish sound was something an eleven or twelve year old would make, and hearing it spring from the Viking warrior princess looking woman tickled Michael’s fancy. She patted Andy’s shoulder.
“Well, I can see that the two of you are well matched. I’ll leave you here, Andy, and go let the nurses know you won’t need any assistance to get settled in.”
She reached into her pants pocket, extracting a card, which she handed to Andy with a battlefield worthy flourish.
“Here you go. If you need anything, call me. We Norse folks have to watch out for one another, ja”
Never taking his eyes off Michael, Andy clutched the card tightly in his hand. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before visibly swallowing.
“Ja.”
With a smirk at Michael, Cheryl turned and headed for the door. As she passed Michael’s mother, she briefly laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Nice to see you again, Donna. We’ve missed you on Thursdays.”
Shooting a furtive glance at him, his mother answered in a soft enough voice that she probably thought he couldn’t hear her.
“Oh, they changed my schedule at the restaurant. I found another meeting though. I’ve got my two year chip now.”
Cheryl squeezed her shoulder and continued out the door, calling back over her shoulder.
“My number’s still the same. Give me a ring; we can get together for coffee at that dessert place you love so much. And it doesn’t even have to be on a meeting night.”
Chapter Eleven
As Andy locked the wheels on the wheelchair and flipped up the foot pedals, he mulled over the implications of Donna Jean and Cheryl’s little exchange. He’d bet his next paycheck that they knew each other from some sort of twelve step program. There was no way he could let Michael just write the woman off, not when Andy knew down to the soles of his beloved half boots, that the damned idiot would regret doing so for the rest of his life. A tiny sigh escaped Andy at the thought of his boots. They were perfect. Gazing into the mid-distance for a second, he smiled—They’re exactly like the ones worn by Andrej Pejic in an amazing photo op, thank you very much, even if mine were thirty-five dollar EBay knock-offs of the pricey military lace up combat boots the famous model wore.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Would you mind helping me over to my bed. I think I’ll be fine, but the stuff they gave me last night may make me a little wobbly when I get up, and I know Michael’s not supposed to be getting up right now.”
Andy quite deliberately neither met Michael’s eyes as he spoke to the fool’s mother, nor did he meet them as she stepped to his side proffering her arm for him to hold onto as
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