Mind Games

“Only his work. I binged two episodes of Off Time last night after Bray crashed. Is Waylon Lannigan related?”

“My older son.”

“That’s a kick in the head. I know his work, too. Session musician out of Nashville. And his wife did the violin work on ‘Busting Out.’ That’s one of mine.”

Lucy sipped her wine. “It’s a small world or a big one. It all depends on where you’re sitting.”

In about ten minutes, he was sitting at a bright red picnic table with a spread that put his plans to make sloppy joes and tater tots to shame.

And he watched in amazement as Bray, who he rarely persuaded to eat anything beyond peas and carrots in the vegetable family, consumed fried okra like gummy bears.

“I like biscuits.”

“Would you like another?” Thea asked the boy.

“Okay.”

“How about we split one? Half for you,” Ty said, “and half for me.”

“Put lotsa butter. It’s yum.”

“It really is. What kind is it? We’ll switch.”

“Lannigan-Fox brand. I milked the cow,” Lucy explained. “Thea made the butter.”

Ty’s eyebrows drew together. “With, like, a churn?”

Laughing, Thea made the churning motion. “Not the kind you mean. Same concept.”

“When do you make time to design games?”

“Oh, it’s all in a day’s.”

“Long days,” Ty assumed. “You mowed Granny’s lawn,” he said to Rem.

“Sure. Still available if you need it.”

“Thanks. I’ve got it. But it meant a lot to know there were people close by looking out for her.”

“You looked out for her, too.” Lucy patted his arm. “You made sure she didn’t go without. Helped her be independent, and that meant the world to her. She lived a good long life because she could live it in her home, where her memories lived with her.”

“I hated to see her place empty whenever I went by. How long are you planning to stay?”

Ty shifted back to Rem. “The summer, at least. I didn’t know how Bray would do with the move, but so far…”

“Done!” Bray announced, and started to wiggle off the bench.

“Hold it, Flash. What do you say first?”

Bray lifted his shoulders to his ears.

“Thank you for dinner,” Ty prompted.

“Thank you. I like butter.”

“Next batch, I’ll bring you some,” Thea promised. “You know, it’s about time to feed my chickens. Do you want to help?”

The boy’s bottle-green eyes went wide. “Okay!”