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“So, anything major happen at the ribbon cutting?” Odette asked.
“I think Rick probably filled you in.”
“Oh.” Brows furrowed in confusion, she asked, “I don’t imagine you have time to talk?—”
Annoyed, I cut her off, “We were going to play in the park. I shouldn’t bother you. I know you’re busy.”
She picked up on my tone. It was too severe.
“Wyatt, I’m not too busy. And… I am sorry if I offended you. I felt stupid about emailing you. I didn’t know what to say and thought no matter what I said, it would sound silly since you know so much more.”
“Odie! Look!” Theo flipped Grieg’s ears up on top of his head and laughed.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was carrying. She hadn’t ducked me on purpose. She’d not known what to say any more than I knew what to lead with now. I’d hurt her feelings.
Fighting a sad expression, Odette smiled at Theo. “He’s got the best ears, doesn’t he?”
“Yes! I luff him!”
“Uh… I do have time to talk if you do. I planned to get coffee and watch him play in the park… if that works?”
“Sure. Sounds good!” Odette beamed, tossing her helmet in the bike bucket.
“Do we need to do something with the dog?” I asked.
She nodded. “Grieg knows to wait for us.”
We entered the coffee shop and got in line. Thankfully, it was early, and the line was short.
“I like your clothes,” Theo stared at Odette.
She giggled. “Oh, thank you. I do like the colour pink, I suppose. Pink and red are my favourite colours. What about you, darling?”
“I like violet,” Theo said.
“That’s a wonderful colour.”
I tussled his hair. “It is a good colour.”
“It was Mama’s favourite colour,” Theo proclaimed.
His mother’s life was a colour-coded dream of every shade ofpurple you could imagine. She knitted him a violet blanket before he was born. We weren’t sure if he was a boy or a girl, and she doubted whether we should let him have it. For my life, I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t get a blanket just because it was purple. He slept with it to this day.
“She is dead. But she loved me lots,” Theo added.
I tried not to make a big deal out of talk about Isla—especially Theo’s proclamations. He was four. This was how he related to the world in big swaths of black and white. People never knew how to handle the dead mom or dead wife chat. People got all weird for fear of making me sad. Talking about Isla made me happy, not sad. I predicted Odette would gloss over it, but she didn’t.
“It sounds like she had great taste. It is a lovely colour on you, too,” Odette said.
“Latte for me, please. Large with a bonus shot,” I ordered in nervous French. “And a cafe au lait for the kid. Oh, two croissants, too.”
I turned to Odie. “What are you having?”
“Oh, you don’t?—”
“No, no, I insist,” I said.
“Cappuccino. Large, please,” Odie said. “And one of the cinnamon buns. Thanks.”