Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,72

see a pattern here.

I wiggled out from beneath Poindexter’s limp body. The dog was either one hell of a deep sleeper or one hell of a good actor. If I had to bet, I would have gone with the latter.

When I spotted Ashley through the peephole, I warmed instantly. Unless the kid was on the run and looking for a place to hide, I was happy to see her.

Hell, I’d be happy to see her even if she was on the run.

She brightened when I opened the door, blessedly saying nothing about her Uncle Ryan’s new baby.

“Dad was going to let you drive the Zamboni all by yourself.” She bounced past me, headed straight for Poindexter and the sofa.

Let me? “Let me?”

She nodded, her penciled-in brows lifting in an effort at sincerity. “Builds character, you know.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “So I hear.”

She plunked down next to Poindexter, hoisting his furry chin off of the cushion and onto her knee. He lazily studied her before thumping his tail and snuggling in close.

“I wish we had a dog,” she murmured then lifted her intense gaze to mine. “Did you know dogs do whatever you say and love you no matter what?”

“Really?” I felt a smile spread across my face, a touch of lightness pushing against the darkness I’d felt since Diane’s visit that morning. I tipped my chin in Poindexter’s direction. “You might want to tell him that. I don’t think he gets it.”

I made air quotes with my fingers and instantly frowned. So did Ashley.

Since when had I become an air quote person?

I shuddered, forcing myself to refocus on Ashley’s sudden appearance at my front door.

“How did you get here?” I perched on the coffee table, patting her knee.

“Bus.”

I was beginning to think the kid was up to something more than a social call. “You took the bus to come see me?”

She shrugged as if her actions were inconsequential, but I’d known this child since the moment of her birth. As much as I’d like to believe she’d gone out of her way simply to check on my well being, I knew better.

“Where do your parents think you are?”

“Mall.” She flipped through the stack of DVDs I’d tossed onto the coffee table, her head snapping up as she grinned at me. “Have any peas, Aunt Bernie?”

Peas. God help me. “What did you do?” I did my best to keep the suspicion out of my voice, but based on Ashley’s sudden frown, I’d failed miserably.

“I didn’t do anything.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

I pressed my lips together, saying nothing, deciding to pass on any attempt at a single eyebrow arch.

“I skipped school,” she muttered, bending to hug Poindexter.

Skipped school. Oh, how I remembered those days.

“You did what?” I pushed to my feet. “Why?”

A shadow washed across her face. “You sound just like mom.”

Did I? Maybe I was making progress in my efforts to become an adult.

“That’s not an answer.”

She sucked in a deep breath and straightened, meeting my expectant gaze head on. “The Neanderthal called me a clown.”

Maybe the next time she pointed a Zamboni at the cave man, I’d hit the gas instead of the brake.

“What happened?”

“My eyebrows smeared.”

I bit down on my lower lip to control any involuntary reaction my facial features might have.

“What do you mean smeared?”

“Smeared.” She gave another shrug. “I sweat, Aunt Bernie. I’m only human. And when I wiped my forehead--” she made the motion as if to prove her point, trailing two pale streaks across her forehead “--they smeared.”

Shit. She did look like a clown.

“I can’t go back there.”

“Yes, you can.” I nodded. “We’ll go back to the mall. Those little...salespersons...at the Rediscover You kiosk must have something waterproof.”

Ashley’s eyes glimmered with hope. “You’d do that for me?”

“Honey, I’d do anything for you.” I leaned down to press a kiss to her smeared forehead before I used my thumbs to erase all evidence of the makeup pencil’s remains.

“How about those peas?” Ashley’s voice climbed three octaves on the last word.

I laughed. The kid was nothing if not persistent. “I never touch the stuff, but I know someone who might.”

I reached for the phone and punched in Sophie Cooke’s number. After all, she kept telling me to call if I needed anything.

Much as encouraging Ashley’s pea craving went against every law of junk food I held dear, I knew how much these teenage years could hurt--even with eyebrows.

If the kid wanted legumes, I’d go to the ends of the earth--or at least next