“Yeah, well, when I was here with Carl we didn’t have to stand in line,” Becky said.
Kim took a deep breath and let it out. “Let’s talk about something else. Have you thought any more about skating in the Nationals? I know the entry deadline is coming up.”
“I’m not going to enter,” Becky said without hesitation.
“Really?” Kim questioned. “Why not, dear? You are such a natural. And you won the state junior championship last year so easily.”
“I like skating,” Becky said. “I don’t want to ruin it.”
“But you could be the best.”
“I don’t want to be the best in competition,” Becky said.
“Gosh, Becky,” Kim said. “I can’t help but be a little disappointed. I’d be so proud of you.”
“Mom said you would say something like that,” Becky said.
“Oh, great!” Kim exclaimed. “Your know-it-all therapist mother.”
“She also said that I should do what I think is best for me.
Kim and Becky found themselves at the front of the line. A bored teenage cashier gazed at them with glassy eyes and asked them what they wanted.
Becky looked up at the menu mounted over the bank of cash registers. She screwed up her mouth and stuck a finger in her cheek. “Hmmm … I don’t know what I want.”
“Have a burger,” Kim said. “1 thought that was your favorite.”
“Okay,” Becky said. “I’ll have a burger, fries, and a vanilla shake.”
“Regular or jumbo?” the cashier asked in a tired voice.
“Regular.” Becky said.
“And you, sir?” the cashier asked.
“Oh, hell, let me see,” Kim said. He too looked up at the menu. “Soup du jour and salad, I guess. And an iced tea.”
“Comes to seven ninety,” the cashier said.
Kim paid, and the cashier handed him a receipt. “Your number is twenty-seven.”
Kim and Becky turned around and left the order area. It took some hunting, but they found a couple of empty seats at one of the picnic-style tables near the window. Becky squeezed in, but not Kim. He handed her the receipt and told her he had to use the men’s room. Becky nodded absently; she had her eye on one of the cute boys from her school who happened to be sitting at the next table.
It was like a broken-field run for Kim to make his way across the restaurant to the anteroom leading to the restrooms. There were two phones, but both were tied up by teenage girls. Behind each was a line. Kim reached into his jacket pocket and extracted his cell phone. He punched in the numbers, leaned back against the wall, and held it to his ear.
“Ginger, it’s me,” Kim said.
“Where the devil are you?” Ginger complained. “Have you forgotten our reservations at Chez Lean were for seven-thirty?”
“We’re not going,” Kim said. “I’ve had to change the plans. Becky and I are grabbing a bite at the Onion Ring on Prairie Highway.”
Ginger didn’t respond.
“Hello?” Kim said. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here,” Ginger said.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Of course I heard,” Ginger said. “I haven’t eaten, and I’ve been waiting. You haven’t called, and besides, you promised me we’d eat at Chez Jean tonight.”
“Listen,” Kim growled. “Don’t you give me a hard time too. I can’t please everybody. I was late picking up Becky, and she was starved.”
“That’s nice,” Ginger said. “You and your daughter have a nice dinner together.”
“You’re irritating me, Ginger!”
“Well, how do you expect me to feel?” Ginger asked. “For a year your wife was your convenient excuse. Now I suppose it’s going to be your daughter.”
“That’s enough, Ginger,” Kim snapped. “I’m not going to get into an argument. Becky and I are eating here, and then we’ll come by and pick you up.
“Maybe I’ll be here and maybe I won’t,” Ginger said. “I’m getting tired of being taken for granted.”
“Fine,” Kim said. “You decide.”
Kim cut off the connection and jammed the phone back into his jacket pocket. He gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath. The evening was hardly progressing as he would have liked. Kim’s eyes involuntarily strayed to the face of a teenage girl waiting for one of the wall phones. Her lipstick was such a dark red it bordered on brown. It made her look like someone who’d succumbed to the elements on the north face of Mount Everest.