For The Right Reasons. Kara Lennox
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When Eric was a kid, he’d loved the stars, even though he hadn’t been able to see all that many in the city. He’d checked out book after book on astronomy and had even thought he might make that his life’s work. He remembered dragging Travis up onto the roof of their apartment building and pointing out the constellations—the Big Dipper, Orion’s Belt, Cassiopeia’s Chair.
“There’s so many stars,” MacKenzie said softly, almost to herself, a tinge of awe in her voice.
“Some weekend we’ll go camping, and we’ll get a telescope and look at the stars and the moon and the planets. Would you like that?”
“Uh-huh,” she said almost absently, her head leaning against the window as she took in the blanket of diamonds overhead. She remained quiet for the next thirty minutes, just looking at the night sky. It warmed his heart to think maybe she’d inherited his love for studying the heavens.
“Are we almost there?”
“Almost. Suzy says ten more minutes.” Suzy was the name they’d given the female voice on his car’s GPS.
MacKenzie sighed.
“What flavor ice cream do you want?”
“Pineapple,” she said decisively.
“They might not have pineapple ice cream. We’ll just have to see. Did you finish your sandwich?”
She held up what was left of the half sandwich Elena had made for her. She’d eaten a few bites, at least. At her foster home, MacKenzie had developed the unfortunate habit of hoarding food. She seldom ate very much, choosing instead to save her food for later. No matter how many times Eric reassured her that she could eat as much as she wanted, she obviously was still fearful about going hungry.
“I’m going to have dinner at the diner before my ice cream,” he said. “How about you?”
“Do they have grilled cheese?”
“I imagine so. Maybe soup, too.” She loved soup, and it wasn’t something she could hoard.
The momentous decision of what to choose for dinner occupied her until they crossed the city limits of the great metropolis of Tuckerville.
It was a little bigger than he’d expected, with a quaint main street boasting old-fashioned streetlights, a theater showing last year’s movies, an antiques mall and a quilt shop. Most everything except the theater was closed, the sidewalks deserted. Then he spotted the Home Cookin’ Café, right where Bree had said it would be, at the corner of Main and Maple.
The café was like something out of an old movie, all chrome and rounded corners and an Art Deco neon sign advertising Shakes, Malts and Sodas. He wondered if it was the real thing or someone’s retro fantasy.
He pulled into the small parking lot, which was nearly full. Clearly the place was doing a brisk business.
MacKenzie was more than ready to be released from the confines of her child seat.
“What is this place?” MacKenzie asked.
“It’s a diner. Or a café. Have you ever been to one?”
“Is it like McDonald’s?”
“Sort of. But they serve the food on real dishes and they bring it to your table.”
“Oh, like Little Italy?” Little Italy was a neighborhood restaurant that Travis and Elena had introduced them to. It hadn’t been open when Eric had lived in the neighborhood, before Tammy’s death. Funny, that was how he thought of his life now, in three distinct segments: Before Tammy’s Murder, Prison and After Prison.
“You’ll see what it’s like.”
She grabbed on to Eric’s hand. New situations and new people made her nervous. No, more than nervous. Really stressed.
“Will there be people there?”
“Yes. We’re going to meet a nice lady named Bree. You’ll like her.”
“No, I won’t,” she said decisively.
Eric didn’t challenge her. He couldn’t make her like people and she certainly knew that not all adults were worthy of her esteem. Eric himself wasn’t sure he liked Bree—although he was looking forward to seeing her again. She wasn’t exactly all sweetness and light, and clearly she had a sharp tongue when she had a mind to use it. But he admired her passion. Passion was attractive, even if it was for a cause he didn’t agree with.
Eric and MacKenzie entered the diner and stood next to a please-wait-to-be-seated sign. The place was busy, but there were still a few tables and booths available.
A hostess with a mile-high beehive greeted them, fitting right in with the retro theme. “Two for dinner?” she asked brightly.
“Actually, I’m meeting someone here. Her name is Bree. About so high, black hair, blue eyes you can’t miss—”
The hostess was nodding. “That’s Dr. Bree.”
“And a friend of hers, too. They’re not here yet, are they?” He scanned the whole seating area and didn’t see Bree, and she wasn’t the sort of woman easily overlooked.
“No, haven’t seen her, but I’ll keep an eye out. Come right this way.”
Eric started to follow the hostess, whose name tag identified her as Molly, but MacKenzie suddenly dug in her heels and wouldn’t move.
“No, Daddy, let’s go home.”
“What? We just got here.”
“I don’t want to meet the lady! I want to go home!”
CHAPTER THREE
ERIC PRAYED MACKENZIE wasn’t about to throw one of her fits. “Why don’t you want to stay here?”
“I just don’t.”
“Well, we came a long way, and I’m hungry, and we’re not leaving until I get some dinner. Don’t you want your grilled cheese? And ice cream?” He knew bribing a child with food wasn’t the recommended way to get her to cooperate, but he didn’t want to risk a tantrum, not now.
“I’m not hungry. I want to go home.”
“I’m sorry, MacKenzie, we can’t go home right now. Daddy promised to be here, and I have to keep my word.”
“You want a coloring book, precious?” Molly asked. “I have Goofy and Cinderella.”
MacKenzie pressed her lips together in a mutinous frown.
“Go with Cinderella,” Eric said to the hostess. Then he scooped up MacKenzie and carried her to their designated booth. He would lie down and die any day of the week for this child. But the psychologist had emphasized that he had to be firm, too, and not let her walk all over him. Just because she was troubled didn’t mean she couldn’t also learn to be manipulative.
Once they were seated, he tried to get MacKenzie interested in the menu. She was a good enough reader that she could make out a lot of the words by herself.
“It says this diner has been here for more than sixty years,” Eric read, pointing to the words. That answered his question about whether it was authentic.
MacKenzie didn’t seem interested. She kept looking over her shoulder, as if she expected the bogeyman to be after her.
“MacKenzie, what’s wrong? What are you afraid of?”
“I don’t want a shot!” she said, bursting into tears.
“A shot? What makes you think... Oh.” Dr. Bree. “She’s not going to give you a shot. She’s just a nice lady.” A nice lady who was late. If he’d driven all this way for nothing, he was going to be more than irritated.
“No shots?”
“No.