She unrolls her blanket and stretches across the two people sitting between us. “My daddy says it’s nice to share.”
My heart melts into a little puddle.
I accept the hot-pink offering. When I unroll it, I see a bunch of Hello-Kitty cartoons over the fabric. It might not exactly be my taste, but itiswarm.
“Thank you,” I say. “What’s your name?”
The two people between me and the little girl scoot back to facilitate our conversation.
“Gordie.”
“Gordie? Is that short for something?” I ask.
Everyone in our vicinity gasps.
The woman in the row behind us shoots me the stink eye.
Rebel smacks my arm. “It’s for Gordie Howe. As in ‘Mr. Hockey’?”
I stare blankly at her.
“He pretty much invented the Gordie Howe hat trick?”
I got nothingis what my stilted expression says.
Rebel throws her hands up with a disappointed sigh.
“Well, thanks anyway, Gordie.” I tell her, settling the blanket on my lap.
“Oh, you had a blanket?” A haggard voice sounds above me.
I look up.
Bobby is bent over our row, panting with enough force to crack a rib bone. He grips the back of a chair.
“Chance…” he gasps, “wanted me…” he sucks in a breath, “to bring you his jacket.”
I blink pensively. “Are you okay, Bobby?”
“Yeah. Just…” He straightens and stretches his back. “Not as sprightly as I used to be. Anyway, can you take this? I need to go help Max.”
“Sure. And I’m sorry about all this, Bobby.”
He waves away my words and stumbles up the stairs like a drunken deer at midnight.
The stares, this time, are ten times more judgmental than when I walked in wearing a bright red dress.
I sink lower in my seat.
The spectators at the beginning of the row pass Chance’s jacket down to me.
I hear someone mumbling,“Who is she? A princess?”
“This is why I’m never getting a girlfriend. You just turn into their slave.”
“Like you could ever GET a girlfriend.”
The comments get fainter and fainter until the jacket finally lands in my lap.