Page 27 of Wicked Player
Blackjack? Yes, of course. The other room. The one with the cage bed. It’s probably where he likes to play ‘games’. This train of thought isn't helping at all. I stare at the message, not knowing how to respond, but knowing I definitely will. I will because I can't wait to see him again either. As much as I hate admitting that to myself, it's true. I hate how it's true. But it is.
I watch Christian play. He’s an introvert like me, but has his occasional moments of extroversion. He loves to play with other kids, and I love watching him, but today I'm not really taking it in. I'm thinking about Colton. How should I respond?
I suck in a long breath as I start to type.
Dear Colton,
Yes, I would love to see you again.
Xo
Clara
That is all I write. I don't want to appear over eager, despite the fact that I am. I can't wait to see him again.
* * *
It vexes me a little when he doesn’t reply straightaway. He doesn't even replythat day. Why? Why would he not reply? It makes no sense. Is he playing games? Maybe that's what he’s doing. The man does love his games.
I attempt to forget all about him as I head to Judy's again. She was in the middle of telling me a story, and I want to hear the rest of it. I’m due back at the café soon, but in the meantime, Tina has my back. She's a part-time colleague and very reliable, a middle-aged woman with grown kids. She works just for the fun of it, to get out of the house — she doesn’t seem to get along with her husband of thirty years. She loves her work, and I'm thankful for her every day because without her there, it would all land on me. My mother is wonderful and beautiful, but reliability is not one of her strong suits. She’s allergic to responsibility. She’s a wildflower bohemian, and I love that about her, but when it comes to the café, it’s all on me.
Judy is bright eyed when she welcomes me in.
“Where’s Christian?” she asks.
“At school.”
“Oh, of course he is.” She shakes her head. “Silly me.”
“I come bearing gifts again. This time I have lemon cupcakes.”
She takes them eagerly off my hands. “Oh, my goodness… they look delicious.”
“But they're not free,” I clarify “You must tell me the rest of your story.”
