Page 33 of Two-Step
Great.
“More fun for those of us living in a floodplain,” I mutter, grateful that my tiny house is on stilts.
My uncle snorts his somber agreement.
In minutes, the kitchen is heavy with the smell of frying bacon and in another minuteNoncshuffles up beside me.
“Don’t ruin good bacon by cooking it to a crisp.”
I grin. “Bacon’s supposed to be crispy.”
He grunts.
“I’ll take yours out early.”
He grunts again, sidles to the fridge, and takes out a jug of orange juice. When he sets in on the counter and struggles with the twist-off lid, I wade in.
“I got it,Nonc.”
“I’m not an invalid,” he grumbles.
“No, but you’re injured. So let’s just take it easy today.”
He glares at me, but then he shuffles back to his place at the table. Five minutes later, I set down our two plates. BLTs, potato chips, green grapes, and OJ. Our sandwiches are cut into triangles so he could manage one-handed.Nonclooks at his lunch.
“Merci bien.”
“Pas de quoi.”
We each take a bite.Nonchums his pleasure, and I echo the same. I don’t care if I’ve just had a Thanksgiving feast. I wouldn’t turn down a BLT.
“How’s Gina?”
I shrug. “Not a bad day.”
“Movie?”
“West Side Story.”
“Good.”
Mom’s library of dance-themed movies is almost as impressive as her obsession with them. She watches at least one a day, but we know we’re on thin ice if she puts onDirty DancingorStep Up.
Both of those leave her asking for my father, and when she starts asking for Grant, it’s officially a bad day.
“I told her about your arm, but she might still be surprised to see it on Monday.”
He winces. “I may not be able to drive on Monday.”
I shrug. “You don’t have to go. Besides, you might be hurting.”
Noncnails me with a glare over his reading glasses. “I want to go. She expects me.”
“Okay,” I say, chuckling at his intensity. “I’ll take you.”
He frowns. “You’re over there enough already. A twenty-seven-year-old man shouldn’t spend so much time in an old folks’ home.” He plucks a grape and pops it into his mouth. “Maybe I’ll ask Lorraine to take me.”
I nearly choke on my last bite of BLT. “You sure you want to do that?”
