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“Unkie Donny, you sit here,” Chelsea said. She patted the center cus.h.i.+on of the couch. It was Daddy’s spot, but Unkie Donny was a guest. She got to sit in Daddy’s lap all the time. She didn’t see Unkie Donny anymore, hardly ever. Not since he moved to Pittsburgh. She didn’t get to see Betty, either. That was worse.

Betty was so pretty. She had pierced ears. Daddy wouldn’t let Chelsea pierce her ears. Maybe in a few years, Daddy would say. A year was such a long time. A few years? Chelsea couldn’t imagine that a few years would ever come. She’d never get her ears pierced, never be as pretty as Betty.

Unkie Donny sat down on the middle cus.h.i.+on. “Right here, honey?”

“Yes,” Chelsea said. “Right here. And to sit here you have to pay the toll.”

“The toll? What’s this going to cost me?”

“Smoochies!” Chelsea said.

Unkie Donny lifted her clear up off the ground. “Ready?”

She nodded. They both puckered up and made a mmmmm noise as they slowly brought their lips together, then made an exaggerated kissing sound as the mmmmm turned into a loud ahhhh. Unkie Donnie sat her on the cus.h.i.+on to his left. Chelsea immediately crawled into his lap.

Betty smiled and sat down on the cus.h.i.+on to their right.

“O-M-G, that was so cute I could just keel over,” Betty said. She leaned toward Chelsea. “And where’s my smoochies?”

Mmmmm-ahhhh.

Daddy sat on the cus.h.i.+on to the left. He clicked the remote control. The TV changed from a cartoon to show men in white pajamas shooting the basketball.

Chelsea clapped, then leaned back on Unkie Donny’s chest.

He gave her shoulders a little shake. “Honey, do you know what time it is?”

She checked her Mickey Mouse watch. The big hand was on the eleven, the little hand was on the one, so that . . . was . . .

“Not that kind of time,” Unkie Donny said. “The game, Chelsea. It’s time for . . .”

Chelsea took a deep breath, sat up, then screamed in unison with Unkie Donny, “Deeeee-troit basket-ballll!”

She rested against his chest. “Unkie Donny, who is your favorite Piston of all time?”

“Hmmm,” he said. “Well, I’ve been watching them for a lotta years, honey. I’d have to say Bill Laimbeer or Chauncey Billups. Who’s yours?”

“I like Peyton Manning!”

“Wrong sport, baby-girl,” Unkie Donny said.

“Oh,” Chelsea said. “Then I like Chaunney Billups.”

“Chauncey, baby-girl,” Unkie Donny said.

“Chaun-see,” she said, trying the word on for size. “I was going to name my puppy Fluffy, but now I’ll name him Chauncey. Then you can come and play with Chauncey, Unkie Donny.”

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