Page 87 of Salvation
“So, Campbell,” MJ says, pulling a blanket over her lap, “Hayes says you’re investigating that graffiti on Main Street. Do you have any leads yet?”
Willow’s back straightens, and she puts her phone away, suddenly interested in the conversation.
“No,” Campbell says, shaking his head. “Not yet.”
He says the words, but a strange look crosses his face that makes me think he isn’t telling the whole truth.
“Are you talking about the art that’s right before you get to The Diner?” I ask. I’d seen it a couple of days ago, and I was impressed with the raw emotions of the painting.
Campbell snorts. “I wouldn’t call it art.”
“Oh?” I ask, surprised. “What would you call it?”
Willow looks at Campbell, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah, what would you call it?”
He narrows his eyes back at her. “Vandalism.”
I interrupt their stare down with an opinion of my own. “Then by all rights you are also saying that the mural I am painting is vandalism, too.”
Campbell’s narrowed gaze turns on me.
“Oh, she’s got you there,” MJ says, watching the show as she stuffs popcorn in her mouth.
Campbell slices his glare her way, and she raises her hands as if to say she was only trying to help. He then turns back to me and says, “That’s not what I’m saying at all. The owners of the building asked you to paint on it. You did not break the law to do so.”
I shrug. “I still think it’s beautiful.”
“Me too,” Willow says more vehemently than I’ve ever heard her say anything.
“Me three,” MJ pipes up with a mouthful of popcorn.
Rubbing at his temple, Campbell shakes his head. “I hope you have a girl, MJ, so your husband knows what it feels like to be ganged up on.”
With a big slurp of her drink, she shrugs. “I don’t know that he’ll survive a mini me.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Campbell mutters under his breath.
I scrunch my nose, reaching over Willow to pat his leg. “Don’t be disgruntled, Campbell. It’s okay to be wrong.”
Willow’s grin is beautiful when she copies me, patting her dad’s leg like I did. “Yeah, you should be used to it.”
A giggle bursts past my lips. Willow turns to me, gracing me with her smile.
“You know, Willow, we always had this tradition growing up,” I say, returning her grin with a sneaky one of my own. “Football’s not really my thing, but I always came to support Campbell. And in return, he always bought me anything I wanted from the concession stand.”
“Yeah,” Campbell grumbles, interrupting me, “And she’d always eat enough to drain my whole trust fund.”
I roll my eyes. “You are so dramatic. I did not. But I was thinking—it’s very important to carry on traditions.” Looking at my daughter, I ask, “Don’t you think, Willow?”
Her smile turns mischievous. “Oh, absolutely. Traditions should always be carried on.”
We both turn to Campbell, who looks horrified by our game. Willow sticks out her hand, waiting, and I hold my breath, trying to contain my laughter.
Realizing he’s outnumbered, Campbell sighs and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, handing it over with a rumbling complaint. “There are two of you now. My bank account will never recover.”
Willow stands, and I lean over, placing a quick kiss on his cheeks. “Three actually. MJ, do you want anything?”
Campbell growls, and I slip away quickly, laughing as he reaches for me. He could have caught me if he wanted to, but he enjoys playing the game.
