Page 51 of Dropping the Ball

She turns to survey the closet before she walks over to a section and pulls a shirt off the rack. “This is my only plaid shirt.”

“Uh . . .” I have to fight not to laugh. It is shiny, maybe satin, although I don’t know much about fabrics. It’s also a green-on-green plaid but kind of . . . avant garde? I squint, trying to figure out how I’d even describe this interpretation of plaid. “If you have a plain T-shirt you could throw on and meet me downstairs, I have something that could work.”

“I can do that.”

“Meet you by the candy bars.”

A couple minutes later, I’m back in her foyer with a flannel shirt retrieved from my truck, staring down at a cat who has decided to sit on my foot.

Kaitlyn comes around the corner. “Oh. Daisy Buchanan. Now you show up?” She says it with mild consternation.

I look up. “Oh, Katie Armstrong.” I say it with a strong thirst. I can’t help it. I don’t care. What is it about a woman in a white cotton T-shirt and jeans? Is itthiswoman? I’ve seen her in a dress sewn to fit like it was made for her, but this,thisis what has actual drool pooling in my mouth?

“Daisy, please don’t sit on the company.”

“She’s fine.” I lean down to scratch the back of her neck. “Nice to meet you, Daisy.” Her tail twitches and she stays put. I straighten and hold out my flannel to Kaitlyn, hoping my face is sayingPlease enjoy this offer of a shirt to borrowand notPlease put this on before I back you up against that wall and show you how hot you look right now.

She takes it and slips it on, buttoning it from the bottom. “This doesn’t feel like much of a costume.”

“For you it is. It’s like watching you pull out an alter ego from your closet. But for most people, no. Do you have makeup that would make dots?”

She looks up and wrinkles her nose. “Dots? What are you talking about?”

I wave at my face. “Freckles. Those kinds of dots.”

“You want me to draw freckles on my face?”

“Yes. Freckles. Do that. Be right back.”

I run back to my truck, noticing a group of trick-or-treaters about five houses away. I grab the rest of my supplies and pick a spot halfway down her driveway, setting everything up. When I go back to the house to get the candy, Kaitlyn is holding a pencil in her hand.

“Like this?” She tilts her head so I can inspect her freckles.

“Very mindful. Very demure. So no, not exactly.” I hold out my hand for the brown pencil. “May I?”

She hands it to me, and I look at it closely then make a mark on my palm so I can get a sense of its resistance.

“Okay, ready. Chin up, please.”

“Are you going to make me look ridiculous?”

In my Batman voice, I say, “Ma’am, I’m a trained artist.”

She lifts her chin. What a canvas.

I rest my drawing hand carefully against her cheek, my thumb brushing against her lip as I go over each of her demure freckles and give them the cartoon treatment, making them big enough to show even when the light dims. I could do this quickly. I should do this quickly with trick-or-treaters incoming. But I work slowly, appreciating the softness of her skin against my fingers as I fill in her spots.

She’s very still, which is very Kaitlyn. She’s not a fidgeter, not a perpetual tornado like Madison, who whirls through a space. Kaitlyn, no matter what speed she’s moving, or even now whenshe’s motionless, is a soft breeze. No one ever gets tired of a soft breeze.

I reach the last freckle as I hear the sound of voices near the sidewalk, moving our way. I lift my hand and step back.

She blinks and swallows. I affected her. Being that close, it wobbled her balance. Good. I give her a slow smile as I hand back her pencil. I understand the feeling.

“Am I done?” she asks. Her voice comes out husky.

“Almost, but we can do the last part out there.” I pull down my mask and open the front door as the doorbell rings. Two ladybugs, a princess, and a pirate stand on the porch, all small girls.

“Trick or treat!” they yell, but I think only two of them can say their Rs. I’m not good at guessing ages, but I’d bet they’re probably not in school yet, the parents doing the early shift on candy collection like my buddies are, knowing their kids will want to go home after only a few houses.

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