Part 38 (1/2)
”I missed you, Daddy.”
”You said that with such formality. 'I missed you, Daddy.' Was your grandma teaching you how to be a proper lady?”
”She made me sit up straight.”
”Horrors.”
”All the time.”
”Even in bed?”
”Not in bed. Know why?”
”Why?”
”That would be silly.”
”It would,” I agreed.
”How long's this cute-fest going to drag on?” Bubba appeared out of nowhere. He's the size of a young rhino standing on its hind legs, so his gift for sneaking up on people never ceases to amaze me.
”Where were you?”
”I stashed something on the way in, so I had to pick it up on the way out.”
”I'm surprised you didn't smuggle one through security.”
”Who says I didn't?” He jerked his thumb at Angie. ”This one has luggage issues.”
”One little bag,” Angie said, spreading her hands the length of a bread loaf. ”And another little bag. I did some shopping yesterday.”
”To baggage claim,” I said.
It was Logan, so they changed the baggage carousel location twice, and we trekked back and forth through the claim area. Then we stood with a bunch of other people, everyone jostling to get closest to the belt, and watched as nothing happened. The belt didn't move. The little siren light didn't spin. The clarion bell that announced incoming luggage didn't sound.
Gabby sat on my shoulders and tugged at my hair and occasionally my ears. Angie held my arm a little tighter than usual. Bubba wandered over to the newsstand and next thing we knew he was chatting up the cas.h.i.+er, leaning into the counter and actually smiling. The cas.h.i.+er was toffee-skinned and in her mid-thirties. She was small and thin but even from a distance she had the look of someone who could kick some major a.s.s if p.i.s.sed off. Under Bubba's attentions, though, she lost five years in her face and began to match him smile for smile.
”What do you think they're talking about?” Angie said.
”Weaponry.”
”Speaking of which, you really threw it in the Charles?”
”I did.”
”That's littering.”
I nodded. ”But I'm a big recycler, so I'm allowed the occasional eco-sin.”
She squeezed my arm and put her head to my chest for a moment. I held her tight with one arm. The other was deployed keeping my daughter safe on my shoulders.
”You shouldn't litter,” Gabby said, her upside-down face suddenly an inch from mine.
”No, I shouldn't.”
”So, why did you?”
”Sometimes,” I said, ”people make mistakes.”
That must have satisfied her, because her face rose back up from mine and she returned to playing with my hair.
”So what happened?” Angie said.
”After I talked to you? Not too much.”
”Where's Amanda?”
”Beats me.”
”Boy,” she said, ”you risk your life to find her and then you just let her go?”
”Pretty much.”
”Some detective.”
”Ex-detective,” I said. ”Ex.”
On the ride back from the AIRPORT AIRPORT, the girls razzed Bubba about flirting with the cas.h.i.+er. Her name, we learned, was Anita, and she was from Ecuador. She lived in East Boston with two children, no husband, and a dog. Her mother lived with her.
”That's scary,” I said.
”I dunno,” Bubba said, ”those old Ecuadorans can cook, man.”
”You're already thinking about dinner with the parents?” Angie said. ”Dang. You name your first child yet?”
Gabby squealed at that. ”Uncle Bubba's getting married.”
”Uncle Bubba's not getting married. Uncle Bubba just got some digits. That's it.”
Angie said, ”You'll have somebody to play with, Gabby.”
”I'm not having a kid,” Bubba said.
”And dress up.”