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sidewalk.
“Race you,” she called to them.
They took up the challenge, racing along the sidewalk beside him. He beat them by a hair to the end of their block. Actually, the ricksha weighed more like a mama elephant than a baby one.
“Blow the horn for them,” she called.
He blew the donkey bray for the children who howled with delight. He glanced back at Tory. She looked delighted, too, her face relaxed, glowing.
He pulled off her block and onto Memorial Drive, looking for a chance to cross to the bike path. A horn blared at him. He blared his back. The driver shook his fist, and Tory waved.
He wasn’t sure he could get the ricksha across the grass to the bike path even if he did manage to get across all four lanes of traffic and the boulevard. He decided to block one lane of westbound traffic instead. He got quite thick-skinned about the horns blaring. He was glad the road was relatively flat. A hill would finish him.
Some teenage boys slowed down their sports car and were flirting with Tory, which backed up traffic behind them.
Didn’t she know she was much too old for them? Didn’t they know?
But the look on her face right now was without age. She looked like a little leprechaun, her curls wild, her nose freckled, her wonderful eyes dancing with life and laughter. It was exactly the look that had always made Tory a big hit with the guys, not that she’d ever seemed to notice, content with Mark’s company, and Adam’s.
Elephant nothing. The ricksha felt as if he was pulling a 747 behind him.
“Move on,” he yelled at the guys. If they called him Gramps, he wasn’t going to be responsible for what happened next.
They laughed and yelled a few more good natured remarks at Tory, which made him see red, and then drove on, a stream of cars moving by with them.
Tory smiled and waved at a yellow bus full of schoolchildren that thundered by.
“Wave, Adam,” she called.
“Can’t,” he panted.
How had he gotten himself into this? It was unbelievable. A man of his stature pulling a ricksha. Not just a ricksha, but the world’s heaviest ricksha.
He’d gone about three blocks. Had Mark’s letter stipulated how long a bike ride?
He glanced back at her again. Damn, if it wasn’t worth it. She looked the way she used to look. After their baseball team won a game. After a banana split. After she aced an exam. After she threw rocks at that dog that attacked her, and hit him square between the eyes, making him run away yipping.
The siren wailed once, nearly in his ear, and he glanced swiftly to his left to see the squad car pulling along beside him, the red and blue lights flashing.
He glanced at his passenger in the rearview mirror that was stuck to his right handlebar. Now she was bent over double laughing.
Adam stopped. Gratefully. He hoped this was going to take a while. So he could catch his breath.
The policeman got out, young and full of himself. Adam would have made mincemeat of him in court, but suddenly all that mattered was that Tory was happy. It occurred to him that this was Mark’s thing, and he would try and do it Mark’s way. With calm and courtesy.
And so he said nothing in his own defense as the policeman told him he was obstructing traffic. After all, he was on holidays.
He held out his hand for the ticket, grinning like a schoolboy. The policeman glared at him, and went back to the ricksha, assessing its roadworthiness.
“Ma’am, did you hire this man? Did he solicit your business?”
“He is a solicitor,” she deadpanned. “I think you should arrest him immediately.”
The policeman seemed to figure out they were in it together. It was Adam’s turn to laugh, which earned him a look from the young officer. But rather than being loaded with an authoritarian threat, the look held the beginnings of reluctant amusement.
He remembered Mark’s way was often like this—hostile situations defused. Turned around somehow.
Adam’s way, way back when, would have been to get
“Race you,” she called to them.
They took up the challenge, racing along the sidewalk beside him. He beat them by a hair to the end of their block. Actually, the ricksha weighed more like a mama elephant than a baby one.
“Blow the horn for them,” she called.
He blew the donkey bray for the children who howled with delight. He glanced back at Tory. She looked delighted, too, her face relaxed, glowing.
He pulled off her block and onto Memorial Drive, looking for a chance to cross to the bike path. A horn blared at him. He blared his back. The driver shook his fist, and Tory waved.
He wasn’t sure he could get the ricksha across the grass to the bike path even if he did manage to get across all four lanes of traffic and the boulevard. He decided to block one lane of westbound traffic instead. He got quite thick-skinned about the horns blaring. He was glad the road was relatively flat. A hill would finish him.
Some teenage boys slowed down their sports car and were flirting with Tory, which backed up traffic behind them.
Didn’t she know she was much too old for them? Didn’t they know?
But the look on her face right now was without age. She looked like a little leprechaun, her curls wild, her nose freckled, her wonderful eyes dancing with life and laughter. It was exactly the look that had always made Tory a big hit with the guys, not that she’d ever seemed to notice, content with Mark’s company, and Adam’s.
Elephant nothing. The ricksha felt as if he was pulling a 747 behind him.
“Move on,” he yelled at the guys. If they called him Gramps, he wasn’t going to be responsible for what happened next.
They laughed and yelled a few more good natured remarks at Tory, which made him see red, and then drove on, a stream of cars moving by with them.
Tory smiled and waved at a yellow bus full of schoolchildren that thundered by.
“Wave, Adam,” she called.
“Can’t,” he panted.
How had he gotten himself into this? It was unbelievable. A man of his stature pulling a ricksha. Not just a ricksha, but the world’s heaviest ricksha.
He’d gone about three blocks. Had Mark’s letter stipulated how long a bike ride?
He glanced back at her again. Damn, if it wasn’t worth it. She looked the way she used to look. After their baseball team won a game. After a banana split. After she aced an exam. After she threw rocks at that dog that attacked her, and hit him square between the eyes, making him run away yipping.
The siren wailed once, nearly in his ear, and he glanced swiftly to his left to see the squad car pulling along beside him, the red and blue lights flashing.
He glanced at his passenger in the rearview mirror that was stuck to his right handlebar. Now she was bent over double laughing.
Adam stopped. Gratefully. He hoped this was going to take a while. So he could catch his breath.
The policeman got out, young and full of himself. Adam would have made mincemeat of him in court, but suddenly all that mattered was that Tory was happy. It occurred to him that this was Mark’s thing, and he would try and do it Mark’s way. With calm and courtesy.
And so he said nothing in his own defense as the policeman told him he was obstructing traffic. After all, he was on holidays.
He held out his hand for the ticket, grinning like a schoolboy. The policeman glared at him, and went back to the ricksha, assessing its roadworthiness.
“Ma’am, did you hire this man? Did he solicit your business?”
“He is a solicitor,” she deadpanned. “I think you should arrest him immediately.”
The policeman seemed to figure out they were in it together. It was Adam’s turn to laugh, which earned him a look from the young officer. But rather than being loaded with an authoritarian threat, the look held the beginnings of reluctant amusement.
He remembered Mark’s way was often like this—hostile situations defused. Turned around somehow.
Adam’s way, way back when, would have been to get
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