Page 8 of Promise Me Sunshine

“Come in! Come in.” She’s bent over, one finger slid into the back of the high heel she’s hopping her way into. She’s wearing an Ally McBeal–style skirt suit and absolutely devouring the look. A year ago, in my former life, I’d probably have demanded she write down what kind of shampoo she uses. Her eyes catch on Miles. “Oh. Miles. Reese mentioned you’d probably be here.”

Miles scratches the back of his head and slightly lifts his chin.

That’s it. That’s the whole greeting.

Harper’s brow comes down, but she turns back to me, clearly inured to him. “Ainsley is already up, but she hasn’t had breakfast yet. See you around nine tonight, Lenny?”

“Sure! Great. Have a good day at work.” I flash her a double thumbs-up and she grins and flashes one back to me.

And then she’s off toward the elevator and I just manage to shoulder my way into the front door an inch before Miles.

“So,” he says behind me, but then Ainsley slides into the hallway in socks,Risky Businessstyle. “Hey, Lenny, come see what I made.”

I follow her into the living room and even though there’s a cartoon playing on the TV, Ainsley’s got her back to it. All the stuffies from her bed have been carted out and they’re organized in a formation. I drop to my knees next to her tobetter observe. There’s a tie-dye bear on a little pedestal of books, facing all the other stuffies, who have been carefully arranged to sit shoulder to shoulder in a big square.

“They’re at a concert,” Ainsley informs me solemnly.

Of course! I love it. “Ah,” I reply, just as solemn. “But where are their tickets?”

“Oh! I didn’t think of that…”

I quickly jump up and head out to the drawing room to grab supplies and come back with some paper, colored pencils, and scissors. “I’ll be back to check your tickets in a few minutes, okay?” I’m addressing the stuffed-animal attendees with my hands on my hips. “Anyone who hasn’t got a ticket is going to get the boot.”

“What’s ‘the boot’?” Ainsley asks.

I choose a sacrifice. It’s a stuffed hippo with little wire glasses sewn on. I toss him in the air and then kick him to the other side of the room. “That’s the boot.”

Ainsley bursts into laughter.

I go to collect the hippo. “Sorry, sir. Ma’am. Esteemed peer. You were just an example of what happens to freeloaders.”

Ainsley scrambles to start making tickets.

“I’m gonna make some breakfast, okay?”

She nods, already engrossed in the task. “Egg over easy and lox on toast, please.”

Her mother already informed me that Ainsley has this for breakfast every single morning, rain or shine. But even so, I’m thoroughly charmed. I can’t name a single other seven-year-old who voluntarily opts for smoked fish and runny eggs.

I’m just entering back into the email her mom sent me, explaining exactly how to prepare said breakfast, when I hear Ainsley pipe up from the living room.

“Oh! Hi, Miles. You’re here again?”

“I just…came over,” he says in that low voice that’s so hard to hear.

“Why?” she persists, and I choke back a laugh. Children have a way of identifying the heart of the matter and giving it a sunburn.

Yes, Miles. Why the hell are you here?

He clears his throat. “I just thought I’d…come hang out.”

It’s not an actual answer, but Ainsley seems to accept it because there are no more questions.

I’m not an over-easy-lox-on-toast girl myself, but I’m just so dang curious that I make two portions. I sprinkle the final flourish of capers and red onion and turn to set our breakfasts on the kitchen table. I startle when I see Miles lurking there, frowning down at the coffee maker. He squints, frowns more, and then accidentally presses two buttons at once. It makes a sad little beep.

I slide the food onto the table and set myself in front of the coffee maker with a sigh.

He steps back and looks past me, eyes narrowing in on the plates.

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