“Well?” she asks.
I swallow and shrug. “It tastes like a chewy mushroom.”
The look of disgust on Becka’s face quickly wins out over her initial curiosity. “Ugh, gross.” She takes another bite of her chicken. “Now this is good.” We eat in comfortable silence for a while until she says, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“What does the J stand for? In your name? Is it Jackie?”
“No, my middle name is actually James.” I don’t know why, but I thought she already knew that, and maybe that’s why I’m not embarrassed to admit it to her. But like everyone else who has ever asked me that question, her forehead wrinkles in confusion.
“Why James?”
I sigh. Usually I tell people it’s a family name, but I figure that won’t work with Becka, so I settle for the truth. “It’s for James Marsden. He’s an actor my mom was in love with at the time. Weird, I know.”
But instead of making fun of me, she looks intrigued. “What was he in?”
“The only thing I’ve seen him in is X-Men, but he was in Enchanted and The Notebook and a bunch of other stuff, too.” Mom told me all the movies once, but those are the only ones I remember.
The waiter reappears, interrupting our conversation. “And ’ow is everything?”
“Très bien,” Becka says.
“Very good.” I’m not sure if he’s accidentally translating or just likes to speak English to customers.
“Actually,” I say as he turns to leave, “could we get two glasses of your chardonnay s’il vous plaît?” I throw in a smile, realizing my one year of high school French wasn’t a total waste.
He nods, all businesslike. “Of course.”
Becka’s eyes nearly pop out of her head as he walks away. “He’s not going to ID us?” she whispers.
“Guess not.” I figured it was a fifty-fifty shot and that it couldn’t hurt to ask. “Just play it cool when he comes back, okay.”
Only playing it cool isn’t Becka’s forte apparently. She sits ramrod straight as he places the glasses before us, her eyes growing as wide as our fancy dinner plates.
The waiter’s expression changes as he looks at her. “May I see both of your IDs please?”
Shit. But maybe all isn’t lost. “We just came from the beach,” I explain. “We left them back at our hotel.”
His lips purse and he shakes his head. That’s probably an overused excuse, now that I think about it. The waiter scoops up the two glasses. “I’m sorry. I can’t serve you the wine, then.”
Becka actually looks relieved as he carries them away. I shoot her an annoyed look. “That was not what I’d call playing it cool.”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know what to do.”
I let out a sigh. “It’s fine.”
Becka lifts her glass of iced tea, giving me an apologetic smile. “Cheers anyway?”
“Sure.” I reluctantly return the smile and clink my glass with hers. “To Grandpa.”
“And to bug tattoos,” she says, eyes shifting to her ladybug again.
“And…” I add dramatically, “to the best damn vacation I’ve ever been on. Even if we didn’t get our wine.”
She laughs and we touch glasses again.
“This trip has been pretty awesome,” Becka says.
Even sans alcohol, we’re giggly as we head back to the hotel. Music drifts from open doorways of restaurants and bars, and I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy in a way that I haven’t experienced in a long, long while. The island is giving me major good vibes.
“Hey,” I say, “how about we clean up and go listen to a band or something? We could sit at one of the outdoor places.”
“Yeah, that sounds like fun.”
“I could even try to get us some alcohol again.”
“Please don’t. That was embarrassing.”
I give her a playful nudge with my shoulder. “Okay, fine. I won’t.”
When we enter the hotel, the lady at the front desk calls us over, telling us we have mail. Becka and I look at each other, smiling again. Good timing, Grandpa.
CHAPTER 22ELI
Greetings Dear Granddaughters,
I hope this letter finds you both well and having an incredible time in Key West. When I was a teenager, I worked for a man who had lived in the Keys for several years. By the way he described it, the place sounded like paradise. I’ve never been to the ocean, but I wanted my granddaughters to get the chance to not only see it, but experience some of the beauty beneath its surface. The reef off the coast of Florida is the only living reef in the United States. I hope your snuba diving experience was something you’ll always remember.
As you know, there is still one more task for you both to complete, the rodeo event. You may be thinking your old grandpa was really off his rocker to want you to do such a thing, but when I was a kid, I had a pony (the only pet I’ve ever had, coincidentally) and I loved riding Penny every time I visited my granddad’s ranch. It was another one of my crazy dreams back then to be a rodeo cowboy someday. Laughable, right?
I know you two don’t have much (if any) experience with horses or livestock, but at the annual Decatur Dog Days of Summer Rodeo, held at the end of every July, they have several amateur events anyone can compete in—goat milking, mutton bustin’ (I believe there’s a weight limit, you’ll have to check), and even a stick horse race—so rest easy. You won’t have to ride a bull or a bucking horse! I attended the rodeo many moons ago and it was a lot of fun.
But as these trips draw to a close, I wanted to let you know there’s another reason I’ve been writing these letters. A more important reason I specifically wanted you two to go all these places together. I guess you could say, I’ve been building up to this…
My greatest hope is that the two of you have become friends
