Page 15 of York

I glanced down at the map I was holding. “Warthogs.” Denali’s face scrunched up. “They do have three warts,” I told her. “And big tusks.”

By the time we made our way past the otters—Denali’s favorite so far—she was begging for a piggyback ride because her little feet hurt.

It was a massive park. I honestly didn’t know how she’d gone so far without being picked up.

Instead of piggybacking, though, Runa swung the kid up onto her shoulders so she could still see everything without any obstruction.

But by the time we made it over to the gazelles and antelope and other deer-like animals, Runa was apologizing and lowering the kid back down.

“Mommy’s shoulders are hurting, munchkin. You’re going to need to walk for a little bit.”

It was the first time the whole day Denali looked anything less than thrilled. Her little lower lip popped out, and her brows came down.

“But my feet hurt too.”

“You know,” I said as a look of panic crossed Runa’s face. Understandably. We were only halfway through the park. There was no way she could carry the grumpy kid the rest of the way. “I have really strong shoulders.”

“They look big,” Denali said, craning her head back to look at me.

“Yep. I lift heavy weights just in case I need them to be really strong.”

“Like for carrying things?”

“Or little people.”

Denali glanced at her mother, a silent seeking of approval.

“And you’d be even higher than on my shoulders,” Runa said.

Permission given, Denali turned back to me and threw her arms up in the air.

There it was again—that odd stitch in my chest.

I reached down, turning her, then lifting her up by the waist.

She was so much lighter than I expected. I was half-worried I’d picked her up too hard, that she might go flying. But she was up and settled on my back, her tiny legs hanging over my shoulders, her hands patting the top of my head.

Runa shared a smile with me, then we were off again.

With Denali so close, though, we didn’t really get a chance to have any more grown-up conversations as we moved past the painted dogs, lions, and, finally, the elephants.

“Mama, can we picnic?” she asked as we moved past the orangutans—the final enclosure—and started back toward the entrance. “I can share with York.”

There it was again, more worry on Runa’s face.

Those money issues I’d wondered about earlier must have been worse than I realized.

“Actually, if it’s okay with your mother, maybe I can treat you to lunch at the cafe.”

“Can we, Mommy?” Denali gasped.

Runa’s smile was soft, and a little sad around the edges. “Of course we can.”

“What kind of sauce do they have?” Denali asked, then started a long list of various sauces she liked as we queued up behind a line of other people.

“Thank you,” Runa whispered.

“Think I’m the one who has a lot to thank you for.”