"I ordered my breakfast is all I did," said Spaulding.
"So you do remember," she said triumphantly.
"I just wasn't interested in continuing that conversation."
"Then don't shut a person down, Mr. Spaulding. Tell them thatyou don't appreciate what they said, but don't just cut me off."
"It honestly didn't occur to me that you'd even notice," he said. "Ifigured you were just making small talk, and the talk just got too small."
"I wasn't making small talk," said Rainie. "I was really impressedwith your kids. It's a sure thing I was never that way with my father."
"They're good kids." He took another bite and looked down athis paper.
She laid her hand on the paper, fingers spread out to cover thewhole sheet and make it unreadable.
He sat up, leaned back in his chair, and regarded her. "The placeisn't crowded, the lunch rush is over, so it can't be that you need mytable."
"No sir," said Rainie. "I need your attention. I need just a coupleof minutes of your attention, Mr. Spaulding, because in your caryesterday I caught a whiff of something I've heard about but I alwaysthought it was a legend, a lie, like Santa Claus and the tooth fairy andthe Easter bunny."
He got a little half-smile on his face, but there was still fire in hiseyes. "Since when is Santa Claus a lie?"
"Since I was six years old and got up to pee and saw Dad puttingtogether the bike on the living room floor."
"It strikes me that what you saw was proof that Santa Claus wasreal. Flesh and blood. Putting together a bike. Making cookies foryou in the kitchen."
"That wasn't Santa Claus, that was Dad and Mom, except that myMom didn't make cookies for me, she made them for her, all neat andround and lined up exactly perfect on the cooky tray, Lord help me if I