Bad Games - By Jeff Menapace Page 0,5
attitude now my little ain-pay in the utt-bay.”
* * *
As expected, the restaurant was teeming with patrons. Although it was only September, in western Pennsylvania it may as well have been January. Flannel and blue jeans with the occasional wool coat filled every booth, stool, and table. Large, well-fed people walked in and out of the restaurant, each time igniting a small bell over the glass door, something Caleb found damn near impossible to ignore whenever it chimed.
A short, unmistakably Italian woman approached the family. “Hello, four it is?” she asked in broken English.
“Yes, four,” Patrick said.
“A booth, if possible,” Amy added.
The woman smiled, nodded, and then led the family towards an open booth, their route passing by a large candy display near the cash register. Carrie instantly zeroed in on it, and did not hesitate to mention her find once they were seated.
“They have candy here,” she announced.
Caleb’s eyes brightened, only to dim after Amy said, “No candy.”
Carrie was not giving up so easily. “Why not?”
“Because it rots your teeth.”
Carrie turned to her father. “Daddy, can I—”
“Whoa, whoa, are you trying to get Daddy in trouble with Mommy? Mommy said no candy. Sorry, kiddo.”
Carrie let loose her patented huff and turned away from both parents. Patrick glanced to his left and gave Amy a wink. She returned a tired roll of the eyes and ran both hands through her thick auburn hair, pulling tight at the peak of her grip. Patrick rubbed her leg under the table.
“So,” Patrick began, leaning towards his kids, “we’re getting anchovies on our pizza right?”
The kids gazed back in horror.
* * *
Patrick was in the restroom with Caleb while Amy stood by the register, paying. Carrie was tight to her side, eyes stuck on the candy display inches from her face.
“Please, Mommy?” she asked.
Amy handed the cashier two twenties then glanced down at her daughter with a stern face. “I said no. End of discussion.”
The cashier, a man whose appearance and thick accent suggested he was no less Italian than the hostess, asked, “Do you have change?”
Amy looked at the total again. If she gave the man thirty-five cents she could get back an even five. Stuffing her wallet into her mouth, she mumbled, “I think so,” and began digging into her back pocket with a concerted effort.
After retrieving a runaway dime, Amy eventually handed the cashier thirty-five cents. The cashier smiled at her struggle, then handed her back a wrinkled five. Amy tucked the bill into her wallet just as Patrick and Caleb returned.
“Where’s Carrie?” Patrick asked, looking at his wife’s knees.
Amy spun. Carrie was gone. “Carrie!” she called out.
“Your daughter?” the cashier asked.
“Yes,” Amy nearly yelled. “Where did she go?”
“She is out there.” The man pointed towards the entrance where the back of Carrie was visible through the glass door. She appeared to be talking to someone just out of view.
Amy bolted for the door. Patrick quickly scooped up Caleb and followed his wife. With one foot barely out of the restaurant, Amy seized her daughter’s arm, pulling her off balance and nearly to the floor. Carrie’s eyes bounced wide with shock, her mouth falling open…revealing a blue tongue.
Amy looked down into her daughter’s hand, and spotted a large blue lollipop held tight in her fist. Amy’s anger for her daughter’s negligence was stalled with confusion. “Where did you get that?” she asked.
Carrie said nothing, her head down.
“Carrie Lambert, where did you get that candy? Did you steal that from the restaurant?”
Carrie’s head shot up; she looked her mother in the eye. “No, Mommy, I didn’t steal, I swear. A man gave it to me. We traded.”
Now it was Amy’s mouth that fell open. Her next question was obvious, but she balked for a moment. Her daughter’s words made no sense. “What do you mean traded? What man?”
Patrick, still holding Caleb tight to his chest, noticed something. “Where’s your doll?” he asked.
Carrie looked up at her father. “That’s what I traded.”
Patrick frowned, confused.
Amy’s expression was an easier read. She was livid.
“You traded Josie to a man for a piece of candy?” she said. “To who? What man?”
“Whoa,” Patrick said. “That’s a coincidence.” His attention was now off his daughter and further out into the parking lot. Amy’s eyes left Carrie’s and followed her husband’s.
The entire family stood silent, staring at the same white Pontiac they’d seen over an hour ago. Arty was behind the wheel, a big grin on full display as he waved to the four of them.
Carrie pointed her little