Very angry. “Can’t say for sure, Dad. So maybe even you, playa that you are, can see why turning on the Casanova might be bad timing just yet.”
His father shook his head, the thick strands of his silvery white hair falling across his forehead. “Nope. I say strike while the iron’s hot. You’re a good boy. You sure ain’t no wife-beater. You like her. That’s enough for me.”
“Uh, Pop, she has to be a willing participant.”
“Says who?”
“Law enforcement.” Campbell plunked down the brightly colored salad on the table along with half a turkey sandwich on whole wheat with mustard.
Garner eyed him from across the small, round table, the corners of his blue eyes wrinkling with amusement. “So you gonna go get her?”
Campbell grinned back. “Yep.”
“Atta boy.”
“You ready, Maxie?”
Tightening her ponytail, Maxine nodded into the bathroom mirror. “Be right there,” she called to her mother just as Connor came in to stand behind her.
“You’re going like that?”
She frowned back at him. “What does ‘like that’ mean?”
His dark brown head, which topped her by at least six inches these days, cocked to the left. “It means you don’t have any makeup on, and you’re wearing Gram’s really bright sweats. It hurts my eyes to look at you.” He squinted for dramatic effect, placing a broad hand on her shoulder. “I think you’re in a slump, Mom.”
With a drop of her shoulders, she realized Connor was right. What a shock to his system to see her looking so downtrodden.
And in neon yellow with black piping, no less.
He still hadn’t gotten over her less than glam-wow appearance these days. Who could blame him when he’d almost never seen her looking anything less than fabulous even when she was doing nothing more than staying in.
But things changed. Priorities changed. She needed a gallon of milk more than she needed to coordinate her eye shadow with the color of her shoes.
The half of her that was exhausted and rebelling against anything remotely adorned or primped to impress, protested. “I think this is a good color for me.”
“Yellow sucks, Mom. Nobody should wear it,” he said with a solemn tone and a facetious grin.
A roll of her eyes signaled her discontent. “Look, I’m not going to Bingo Madness to get a hot date. I’m going because the village is paying me good money to call the numbers as a stand-in for Midge Carter. Her psoriasis is acting up. So lay off your old mother, would you? This isn’t a beauty pageant.” Thank Jesus, too. On a day like today, for sure, Teona Wilcox would have no trouble stealing that much-desired crown she’d spent twelve pageants chasing after Maxine for.
A stab of self-consciousness niggled her. The will to summon up some longing for pretty clothes and mani-pedis escaped her. It had run away just like she had.
If she wasn’t careful, she and her “will” would end up on the back of a carton of milk. What did it matter what she looked like anyway? It was just a bunch of little old men and women playing bingo. Besides, it took a whole lot less effort and goop to slap your hair in a ponytail and put on some sweats. She’d get an “A” for time management if someone were giving them out.
Connor scoffed at her with an impatient grunt. “You’re not old, Mom. You’re seasoned .”
Or way overmarinated. “Yeah? Is that your new vocabulary word for the week?” she teased.
“Maxie! Get a move on, would ya? If we don’t shake a leg, that damn Deloris Griswald’s gonna steal up all the good bingo mojo seats. That woman makes me want to pull every last hair out of her lucky troll doll’s head.”
Maxine let her chin fall to her chest while she massaged her temples and asked the man upstairs to keep her from purposely falling on a sharp Ginsu in front of her unsuspecting son. When she looked up, Connor was covering his mouth with his forearm to keep from laughing. “Do your homework, okay? And try to restrain
His father shook his head, the thick strands of his silvery white hair falling across his forehead. “Nope. I say strike while the iron’s hot. You’re a good boy. You sure ain’t no wife-beater. You like her. That’s enough for me.”
“Uh, Pop, she has to be a willing participant.”
“Says who?”
“Law enforcement.” Campbell plunked down the brightly colored salad on the table along with half a turkey sandwich on whole wheat with mustard.
Garner eyed him from across the small, round table, the corners of his blue eyes wrinkling with amusement. “So you gonna go get her?”
Campbell grinned back. “Yep.”
“Atta boy.”
“You ready, Maxie?”
Tightening her ponytail, Maxine nodded into the bathroom mirror. “Be right there,” she called to her mother just as Connor came in to stand behind her.
“You’re going like that?”
She frowned back at him. “What does ‘like that’ mean?”
His dark brown head, which topped her by at least six inches these days, cocked to the left. “It means you don’t have any makeup on, and you’re wearing Gram’s really bright sweats. It hurts my eyes to look at you.” He squinted for dramatic effect, placing a broad hand on her shoulder. “I think you’re in a slump, Mom.”
With a drop of her shoulders, she realized Connor was right. What a shock to his system to see her looking so downtrodden.
And in neon yellow with black piping, no less.
He still hadn’t gotten over her less than glam-wow appearance these days. Who could blame him when he’d almost never seen her looking anything less than fabulous even when she was doing nothing more than staying in.
But things changed. Priorities changed. She needed a gallon of milk more than she needed to coordinate her eye shadow with the color of her shoes.
The half of her that was exhausted and rebelling against anything remotely adorned or primped to impress, protested. “I think this is a good color for me.”
“Yellow sucks, Mom. Nobody should wear it,” he said with a solemn tone and a facetious grin.
A roll of her eyes signaled her discontent. “Look, I’m not going to Bingo Madness to get a hot date. I’m going because the village is paying me good money to call the numbers as a stand-in for Midge Carter. Her psoriasis is acting up. So lay off your old mother, would you? This isn’t a beauty pageant.” Thank Jesus, too. On a day like today, for sure, Teona Wilcox would have no trouble stealing that much-desired crown she’d spent twelve pageants chasing after Maxine for.
A stab of self-consciousness niggled her. The will to summon up some longing for pretty clothes and mani-pedis escaped her. It had run away just like she had.
If she wasn’t careful, she and her “will” would end up on the back of a carton of milk. What did it matter what she looked like anyway? It was just a bunch of little old men and women playing bingo. Besides, it took a whole lot less effort and goop to slap your hair in a ponytail and put on some sweats. She’d get an “A” for time management if someone were giving them out.
Connor scoffed at her with an impatient grunt. “You’re not old, Mom. You’re seasoned .”
Or way overmarinated. “Yeah? Is that your new vocabulary word for the week?” she teased.
“Maxie! Get a move on, would ya? If we don’t shake a leg, that damn Deloris Griswald’s gonna steal up all the good bingo mojo seats. That woman makes me want to pull every last hair out of her lucky troll doll’s head.”
Maxine let her chin fall to her chest while she massaged her temples and asked the man upstairs to keep her from purposely falling on a sharp Ginsu in front of her unsuspecting son. When she looked up, Connor was covering his mouth with his forearm to keep from laughing. “Do your homework, okay? And try to restrain
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