Bad Games

3



If one was to drop from the sky and land in front of Tony’s Pizza, one might think it was the only restaurant in existence. At least that was Amy’s opinion. Looking east gave you nothing but mountains and trees, and looking west gave you an infinite stretch of highway that eventually dwindled to a point on the horizon. In addition to that, the restaurant’s spacious parking lot held more cars than a movie theater premiering the newest Harry Potter film.

“Jeez, popular place,” Amy said.

“That’s a good sign,” Patrick said. “Means they have good food.”

Carrie looked out the window, her chestnut eyes shifting from car to car as they cruised for a spot. “Are we going to park?” she asked.

“Daddy’s trying, honey.”

Carrie pulled her head away from the window and wiped her brown bangs out of her eyes. “Mommy, I need a haircut.”

Amy, who was a hawk in her quest to find an empty spot, answered in a slow, dreamy tone—her daughter’s comment finding its way in, but only deep enough for a mechanical reply. “Okay, honey...”

“Can I get one today?”

“Hmmm…?”

“Mommy?”

Amy’s gaze broke with a snap and her tongue was quick again. “Carrie, can you hold on a minute please? Your father and I are trying to find a parking spot so we can eat.”

Carrie huffed and scooped up her doll. She moved its legs back and forth like pistons to pacify her frustration.

Caleb watched his sister with amusement. “I need a haircut too,” he said to her.

Carrie set the doll down and glared at her younger brother, his attempt at camaraderie only appearing to agitate her further. “No you don’t,” she said. “You don’t even have any hair.” She finished her sentence with a hard swipe down her brother’s head of buzzed brown hair. Caleb shoved her hand away and scowled.

“There’s one!” Amy pointed.

“Nice. Good work, baby.” Patrick swung the Highlander to its left and worked it gingerly into the empty space. “I hate parking this damn thing.”

Amy exited first, followed by Patrick, who seemed focused on the task of not banging his car door into the Chevy next to him. Both kids waited for their mother and father to collect them.

Patrick opened the back door and unfastened the belts on Caleb’s child seat. “Let’s go, brother-man.” Caleb leaned forward into his father’s arms. Patrick intentionally grunted as he lifted. “You’re gettin’ huge, dude.” He plopped his son down and kissed him on the top of the head. “You been working out?”

Caleb squinted into the sun as he looked up at his father and smiled. Patrick took his hand, squeezed it twice, and winked at him.

Carrie, who was insistent on making her own way out of the car without the help of her mother, nearly had a conniption once she realized Amy was intending to shut the car door before Josie had a chance to exit.

“Okay, okay, relax.” Amy reached into the car, grabbed her daughter’s doll, and handed it to her.

“Everything okay?” Patrick asked.

“Almost forgot Josie,” Amy replied in a tone ripe with sarcasm. Carrie, who could not define sarcasm for all the toys at the North Pole, could sure as hell identify it when slung. She therefore rewarded Amy with a two-handed grip on her doll and refusal to hold her mother’s hand. Amy snorted and snatched her daughter’s hand up in an instant. “There are too many cars around here for your 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 finger towards the exiting Pontiac and said, “To him.”