Page 17 of My Wife
“Looks like I wasn’t the only one.” She waves her hands at the kid.
He shakes his head.
Maybe his mother already had the stranger danger conversation with him. Perhaps this entire episode is him sensing this woman is a menace and trying to lead us to safety.
Way to go, Little Man.
I turn to leave and say, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Not hearing the patter of little feet behind me, I go still. The kid remains glued to the spot.
“We have to leave,” I say, hoping that a group of Knights fans isn’t out there waiting for me.
To be clear, I’m not one of the team hot shots with puck bunnies chasing after me. Not that I care. A long time ago, I decided that I don’t like people. Makes it easier to keep my distance. Relationships of any sort get complicated. Lead to trouble. Easier to avoid them altogether.
I have a sorely neglected social media account, there are several created by fans, and rumors of a hashtag, but I cannot be bothered. Not when I have the Cup to win, a kid to take care of, and now a team to captain.
Picking up on my stream of consciousness, I say, “And I’m going to be late for my meeting. Let’s go.”
The kid shakes his head.
“Do you have to use the bathroom?” I ask.
He stares at me blankly.
The woman waves her hands again. Why is she still here?
“If you’ll excuse us,” I say, breezing past her to scoop up my son and rush out the back door—no sense in risking being noticed.
No sooner do I reach him than he starts crying again.
“I’ll get you a cookie if you stop,” I say.
“You shouldn’t bribe children. It doesn’t set healthy boundaries.” Even as she reprimands me, her tone is unflinchingly perky.
I whip my head in her direction. “This is none of your business.”
Hands bouncing around in the air, she says, “Someone is wearing cranky pants this morning.”
The kid goes quiet and then starts shaking.
What is going on? Is she actually a witch bride and has put a hex on him? Not that I believe in that nonsense, but—I tip my head to the side.
It’s my turn to blink.
I think the kid is laughing.
Grinning, the Wicked Witch of the West disguised as Glenda after a long night in a saloon waves her hands again.
The corners of his lips twitch as if trying to lift into a smile and then he makes a hand gesture.
My jaw clenches because I have no idea what I’m witnessing. “What are you doing to my son?”
Brown eyes sparkling, her grin doesn’t falter. “Talking to him, obviously.” Her tone has a realduhquality to it.
“Using some kind of sorcery?”
Through gritted teeth, she says, “I really hope you’re joking.”
