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“The police aren’t doing anything,” Ally says. “They probably think we’re drug addicts - everyone else in the neighborhood does.” Don doesn’t tell Ally that the police do not think he or Ally are into anything criminal just that the snack bag looked suspicious and Grizzly drinks a lot and gambles and has left it up to others to look after her kid and those others aren’t happy about it. But they got lucky there weren’t any drugs in that bag and Thom told them about it. He is very happy about that.
Don’s gaze momentarily collides with Ally’s and for a split second he thinks, “Damn, she knows.”
If Ally could read his mind she’d discover (after all the drama about Emily and Grizzly) it’s all about beef and cheese now and not much else.
Ally asks him if he remembers Emily talking to some boy from the neighborhood, the kid had come over sometimes. “The boy she tore up the yard for?” He asks.
“I don’t know if it was that boy,” Ally says. But he doesn’t tell Ally he had been focused on the dessert goddess that made that upside down cake and how he’d noticed the artwork on her arm and told her, “That tattoo of yours looks like it has teeth. Perfect teeth.” And she had cut him an extra-large piece of cake.
The only boy he remembers at the party wore the same sore expression as Emily did most days, like they had eaten bad sandwiches. He had done that before. Rotten meat. It could make you hospital sick. The kids looked miserable like that too, food poisoned, but it couldn’t have had anything to do with his chili. (Someone had pulled the plug on the hot plate, and it had been lukewarm. It was still good; he’d had seconds.)
And he couldn’t imagine the kid was upset about Emily’s hair. She looked better with one color instead of those strange pink highlights. Her new shade made him think of dollops of real whipped cream. He’d almost scored a second helping of the goddess’ cake when Ally whispered in his ear, “We couldn’t keep the bugs off of that.”
If Don says anything to Ally about a boy he thinks he remembers that kept going after the sweets, there is only more talking. He asks Ally, “Why doesn’t Grizzly help you find Emily?”
“Grizzly split.”
Don’s gaze momentarily collides with Ally’s and for a split second he thinks, “Damn, she knows.”
If Ally could read his mind she’d discover (after all the drama about Emily and Grizzly) it’s all about beef and cheese now and not much else.
Ally asks him if he remembers Emily talking to some boy from the neighborhood, the kid had come over sometimes. “The boy she tore up the yard for?” He asks.
“I don’t know if it was that boy,” Ally says. But he doesn’t tell Ally he had been focused on the dessert goddess that made that upside down cake and how he’d noticed the artwork on her arm and told her, “That tattoo of yours looks like it has teeth. Perfect teeth.” And she had cut him an extra-large piece of cake.
The only boy he remembers at the party wore the same sore expression as Emily did most days, like they had eaten bad sandwiches. He had done that before. Rotten meat. It could make you hospital sick. The kids looked miserable like that too, food poisoned, but it couldn’t have had anything to do with his chili. (Someone had pulled the plug on the hot plate, and it had been lukewarm. It was still good; he’d had seconds.)
And he couldn’t imagine the kid was upset about Emily’s hair. She looked better with one color instead of those strange pink highlights. Her new shade made him think of dollops of real whipped cream. He’d almost scored a second helping of the goddess’ cake when Ally whispered in his ear, “We couldn’t keep the bugs off of that.”
If Don says anything to Ally about a boy he thinks he remembers that kept going after the sweets, there is only more talking. He asks Ally, “Why doesn’t Grizzly help you find Emily?”
“Grizzly split.”
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