Mind Games

“Monster truck.”

In town, Ty parked, then dealt with extracting Bray from the car seat. Though traffic barely existed, he kept Bray on his hip while they crossed to the restaurant.

Inside, the siren’s call of Italian cooking filled the air. And a summer Saturday night crowd filled plenty of tables and booths.

Since he knew the routine, Ty led the way to a four-top, grabbed a booster seat for Bray. Then, reading Thea’s amusement, shrugged.

“We’ve been here a few times.”

“I think they started up when I was about eight. I’ve been here more than a few. Hi, Pru.”

“Hey there, Thea.” The server with her bob of blond hair and pink nose stud put a coloring sheet and box of crayons in front of Bray. “We got your trucks tonight.”

“I color trucks!”

“Bray?”

“Thank you,” he remembered to say.

“You bet. Get y’all started with a drink?”

“Wine?” he asked Thea, and ordered two glasses of red at her nod and ice water for Bray. “Pepperoni pizza?”

“Braydon and I are soul mates there. You do as you will.”

“Pepperoni pizza,” Ty told Pru. “Large.”

“I’ll get that right in for you.”

When Pru stepped back, she caught Thea’s eye, pressed a hand on her heart, and rolled her own.

“How did a game designer learn how to use an electric drill like that?”

Thea shifted her attention back to him. “I could say life on the farm, which probably refined it. But my parents were handy. He was an architect and she an interior designer—well, exterior, too. They had a business together, and were hands-on. We were always around tools.

“I take it you weren’t?”

“I don’t think anyone in my family’s ever held a drill. Doctors, lawyers, businesspeople, like that.”

“But musical?”

“Not especially. Your basic piano lessons, and my sister played the viola for about five minutes. Thanks,” he said when Pru brought the drinks.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? We’re a musical family, and my uncle Waylon’s made a career there. But otherwise, it’s just a pastime for the rest of us. Caleb’s pulled that out in a few roles, but he’s never spotlighted it. And you, mostly nonmusical family? Apparently you hoarded all the talent.”

“I made a blue truck.”

Thea looked down at the drawing paper. “An excellent blue truck. Not all the artistic talent,” she corrected.

“Thea!”

Maddy, hair a little wild, eyes very tired, arrowed from the door to the four-top. “Hey, Ty, hey, kiddo. Nice truck. Can I sit a second?”

She dropped into the chair next to Thea’s. “And have a sip of this. It’s been one.”

She snagged Thea’s wineglass, took one deep sip.

“Let me get you one,” Ty said.