Page 52 of Penny For Your Thoughts
His gears spun. Again, he got lost in his head, a pinch appearing between his brows.
At one point, he moved his hand under the hem of my undershirt and gently stroked the dusting of hair that grew below my navel, but his mind remained far, far away, and for the second time in a handful of days, I couldn’t see beyond his walls and read his mind.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Hm?” He blinked back to the present.
“You’re deep in thought.”
“Oh.” His voice rasped with lingering emotion. “I was… How’s the party planning going?”
The question was a Diem Diversion, but I would ride it into the sunset if that was what he needed.
“Well, I canceled the strippers since the attending audience all have fragile tickers, and we don’t want to be responsible for premature… eject-ulation?”
Diem snorted, worked hard at covering the unexpected amusement, and failed. “That was terrible.”
“I was scrambling for an appropriate pun. I thought it was a good cover.”
“Tell me about the magician?”
I rolled my eyes, something I’d fought hard not to do in front of Aaron. “Well, Mr. Daily gave me a card for a guy who they have in from time to time who does magic tricks or some such nonsense. He claims the seniors enjoy his act, so it might be something worth looking into. I don’t know. Your call. What do you think?”
Diem diverted his attention to my stomach. He moved his hand farther up my body, dragging the undershirt with it, exposing my abdomen. He pressed his palm against the warm skin above my navel, his thumb continuously stroking a mindless path.
He was gone again.
“D?”
“Yeah. Go for it.”
“Really? A magician?”
“Why not? It would kill time. Better than trying to run a game of Bingo.”
“Now, see. Bingo would be a blast. We should play Bingo. We’re playing Bingo.”
“You forget half these people can’t hear, and the other half won’t keep up because their minds are gone.”
“That’s what’s so fun about it. Sheer Bingo chaos. I’ll win for sure. But alas, I’ll consider Houdini as well.” Hedging, unsure that I wanted to address a potentially touchy subject, I asked, “How do you feel about the slideshow?”
His reaction to the albums made me wonder if I should reconsider.
Diem glided his hand over my hip, then skated his fingers back to my navel, drawing circles around the mini crater.
He shrugged, not meeting my gaze. “Nana would like it. It might stir memories. Get her talking. It’s not about me. My feelings don’t matter.”
“Your feelings always matter, D.”
“Not with this. This day is hers.”
“Okay.”
“You aren’t inviting my parents.” It wasn’t a question, but it held an edge, like he required confirmation.
“No. I wouldn’t do that.”
I told him about the list of retro music I intended to play and my plans to string fairy lights, streamers, and balloons from the ceiling. I described the craft supplies I’d ordered from Amazon and my desire to set up a table for those who wanted to add bling to their party hats.
