Pon-Pon
Page 18
“So you feel better?”
“I feel great!”
“I’m glad,” I said, smiling at him. I picked up Dorito’s cap guns off of my chair and sat down.
“All ready for school?” I asked. He was set to fly to Houston in ten days.
“I can’t wait!”
“You promised me you’d talk to Charlotte before you left . . .”
His face clouded for just a fraction of a second, but then he nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “I will. No problem.”
I think he was feeling so happy and relieved about Tanner right then that he would have agreed to just about anything.
~ ~ ~
THE MORNING OF our fourth annual lasagna bake-off, I managed to ring the doorbell even though I was juggling two large paper sacks of groceries. Mrs. White appeared, looked at me and then shook her head.
“Please, help me,” I begged. “Please!?”
“After you had the nerve to use my mother-in-law’s recipe?”
“Oh, come on! That was three years ago. Please?”
She sighed and took one of the bags of groceries from me. I followed her into the kitchen.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she said, peering into one of the bags. She rifled through both of them and then looked in her cupboard. “If you were going to ask for my help, why didn’t you do it before you went grocery shopping?”
“What’d I do wrong?”
“Well,” she said, “I don’t see any sausage.”
“I thought you used hamburger.”
“You do,” she said, “and sausage. I didn’t see any mushrooms either . . .”
“They’re right here.” I pulled a can out of one of the bags.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
Twenty minutes later we were at the meat department of the grocery store waiting for the butcher to grind two pounds of sausage and beef together when my phone went off. It was Laci.
“Hi,” I said, holding up a finger to my lips so that Mrs. White would stay quiet.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Hi, Laci!” Mrs. White called out toward my phone. I glared at her.
“Where are you?” Laci asked.
“Nowhere . . .”
“We’re at the grocery store . . .” Mrs. White told her.
“Traitor!” I whispered to her.
“Let’s go get some garlic and mushrooms while we’re waiting on the meat,” Mrs. White said.
I nodded and started following her.
“David!” Laci said.
“What?”
“That’s cheating!”
“How’s it cheating?” I asked. Mrs. White glanced back at me and smiled. “I’m going to make it all by myself.”
“You can’t get any help!” Laci said.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s cheating!”
“Who taught you how to cook?” I asked her.
“My mom . . .”
“Okay, well, my mom never taught me how to cook! I don’t see how it’s cheating just because somebody’s teaching me how to cook! How’s that any different?”
She didn’t say anything so I went on.
“As a matter of fact,” I said, “I think that you’re the one who’s been cheating since you’ve had an unfair advantage over me all these years. I think that you should have to forfeit all your wins up to this point.”
“I’m still going to beat you, Dave.”
“We’ll see.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I snapped my phone shut and smiled at Mrs. White. I was shocked to see tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head and trying to smile. I tilted my head at her questioningly and she managed to laugh. “You two are just so good for each other.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“I was just thinking about Charlotte. I hope she’ll be that happy one day.”
“Oh,” I said, reaching over and rubbing her arm. “She will. I promise she will. She’s starting college next week . . . she’s going to have a fresh start.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Mrs. White said, nodding her head. “Now let me show you how to pick out fresh mushrooms. You’ve got a contest to win.”
~ ~ ~
THAT NIGHT, WHEN Tanner arrived, he headed straight for the kitchen where he started loading up a plate.
“Hey, Tanner,” I said, walking over to him.
“How’s it going?” he asked around a mouthful of cracker and cheese.
“Save room for some of my lasagna,” I urged him. “It’s going to be really good this year.”
“I’d rather not,” he said, popping a grape into his mouth. “Hey . . . when did Charlotte and Jordan get back together?”
“Huh?”
“Charlotte and Jordan. I saw them on the way over here. When’d they get back together?”
“What makes you think they’re back together?”
“Oh,” he said, smiling. “Trust me . . . they’re back together.”
“Are you . . . are you sure?”
“Oh yeah,” he nodded, smiling even bigger. “I know together when I see together.”
Wow . . .
“Wow . . .”
“Have you seen Natalie yet?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“I said have you seen Natalie yet?”
“Ummm . . . no. I’m not even sure if she’s coming.”
“She’s coming,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“How do you know?” I asked him. I was still so busy trying to wrap my brain around what he’d just said about Charlotte and Jordan that it took me a moment to catch what he was saying now. “And . . . why do you care?”
“Because,” he smiled. “I know . . . and I care.”
“Since when?”
“Oh,” he said, evasively, “for a little while . . .”
“Natalie? Natalie?”
“Yeah . . . why?”
“Because . . . because Natalie’s not your type . . .”
“What makes you say that?” he asked, putting a square of cheese on another cracker and popping it into his mouth.
“Well, for one thing, I happen to know that Natalie wants to get married and have kids.”
“So?”
“SO?” I cried, making the Pon, Pon sign at him. “You don’t want to ‘do the family thing’, REMEMBER?”
“Who said that?” he asked innocently.
“YOU DID! YOU SAID THAT!”
“Naw,” he shook his head. “I don’t think I ever said that.”
“Yes,” I argued, “you did.”
“Well,” he shrugged. “If I said that then maybe I made a mistake.”
He leaned down to grab another handful of grapes and then he turned back to face me.
“What’s the matter with you, David? Get that look off your face!” He popped two more grapes in his mouth and then he smiled as he chewed. “Hasn’t anybody ever told you that sometimes people make mistakes?”
Can just one family make a difference? Can just one person change lives for all eternity? Be sure to read the rest of the books in the Chop, Chop series to discover the full impact of Greg and his family in the years that follow.
Book One: Chop, Chop
Book Two: Day-Day
Book Three: Pon-Pon
Book Four: The Other Brother
Book Five: The Other Mothers
Book Six: Gone
Book Seven: Not Quickly Broken
Book Eight: Alone
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For more information, be sure to visit the author’s website:
www.LNCronk.com