Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3)
“I ask, interrupting the quiet.
Batty shifts gears before answering. “Yeah, plenty.” He chuckles.
“Like what?” I shoot back, getting comfortable on my side of the car.
“Let’s see . . . okay. I can’t sing, or play an instrument, either.”
“What?” I scoff. “With those hands? I don’t believe it.”
He smiles wide. “I tried for years before giving up. Decided to use my hands for other things.”
“Hmm,” I reply, fighting a smile.
“Might you know what I’m talking about, dear Sadie?”
“Please. Like you need ...me to stroke your ego.” I roll my eyes.
Batty lets out a loud huff of laughter. “Men always like to be stroked, baby. You should remember that.”
I chuckle. “I’ll have to write that down.” My lingering smile fades. “How much time do you think she has?”
Batty knows that my thoughts have gone back to little Ella. He shrugs helplessly. “A week. Hopefully longer.”
“Yeah . . .” I trail off. How many times have we done this since Thanksgiving?MoreLess
Batty shifts gears before answering. “Yeah, plenty.” He chuckles.
“Like what?” I shoot back, getting comfortable on my side of the car.
“Let’s see . . . okay. I can’t sing, or play an instrument, either.”
“What?” I scoff. “With those hands? I don’t believe it.”
He smiles wide. “I tried for years before giving up. Decided to use my hands for other things.”
“Hmm,” I reply, fighting a smile.
“Might you know what I’m talking about, dear Sadie?”
“Please. Like you need ...me to stroke your ego.” I roll my eyes.
Batty lets out a loud huff of laughter. “Men always like to be stroked, baby. You should remember that.”
I chuckle. “I’ll have to write that down.” My lingering smile fades. “How much time do you think she has?”
Batty knows that my thoughts have gone back to little Ella. He shrugs helplessly. “A week. Hopefully longer.”
“Yeah . . .” I trail off. How many times have we done this since Thanksgiving?MoreLess
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