Page 8 of His Greatest Treasure

Lucy’s diner is a staple.It was a staple in my parents’ lives, and from how much Nova loves it here, it’ll be one in hers.

Every time we came back to visit Vancouver when I was a kid, we would wind up here. It’s never changed, and I don’t think it ever will. The teal-blue-and-white retro diner with the light-upOpen 24 Hourssign on the windows and door and the jukeboxthat’s played more music on a Friday night than any radio ever has are a comfort that I don’t ever want to give up.

I feel like a kid again as we slide into a booth against the front window, and Nova beams at the elderly woman who sets our menus on the table before leaving us alone.

“I know what I want. I don’t need a menu,” Nova declares, her chin resting on her clasped hands.

“Grilled cheese, add bacon, and sweet potato fries on the side?”

“And?”

I laugh softly. “And a strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream on top with three cherries.”

She nods proudly. “Yep.”

“What am I having?”

“Turkey sandwich and fries with gravy. And a Diet Coke,” she says without hesitation.

I glance around the diner, taking in the familiar hustle and bustle that I’ve missed over the past few weeks. “Maybe we go here too often.”

“No! We didn’t come lots when we lived with Dad. I like it here.”

“We still came once every couple of weeks,” I point out.

Sure, the forty-minute drive sucked and kept us from coming as often as I’d like, but I still made a point to take the trip in. Even if we did only stay for a short time.

My smarty-pants of a daughter leans back, arms crossed. “Yeah, but now we can come once a week. Remember? You promised.”

“Yeah, I did. And we will.”

Her grin is dimpled, her slightly crooked front tooth flashing. “Good.”

The elderly waitress comes to our table and takes our order before patting the top of Nova’s head and sliding to the next table. My seven-year-old frowns while patting down her hair.

“Why do old people do things without asking? I didn’t want my hair ruffled.”

I laugh, reaching across the table to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“Rules are rules. Even if you’re old, you still have to be nice,” she grumbles.

“You’re right.”

“Mormor said that they should have to retake their driving tests too once they get old.”

“Your mormor should have retaken her test years ago, and not just because she’s getting old.”

Nova’s grandmother, or Mormor, as she calls her sometimes, is the worst driver I’ve ever met. She’s not reckless, but she has road rage unlike anyone I’ve ever seen before. It’s why she hardly drives, and Dad made it his mission to turn the both of us into passenger princesses.

I’m ashamed to admit that she passed the bad driving genes onto me.

“She’s a funny driver.”

“No, she’s not. She’s lucky nobody’s ever rammed into the back of her car from how often she slams on the brakes in front of people.”

“It’s because they’re on her ass, Mom.”

“Nova!” I scold despite the laugh building in my throat.

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