Outside in the hall, I stopped to adjust the Velcro on one of Timmy’s shoes. It didn’t really need adjusting, but it put me out of Nadine’s sight and still visible to Sandie. I was hoping Sandie would notice me, and wondering if I should try to contact her to find out why she was signaling me so urgently. Should I call her up? Lie in wait until Nadine left and then return?

At first, Sandie didn’t see me—presumably because she was focusing on Nadine’s cleanup efforts. I could tell when Nadine had finished because Sandie relaxed slightly, took a deep breath, and glanced out the doorway as if contemplating escape. She saw me crouching outside and luckily she got the hint.

“Nadine, I’m going over to the cafeteria as soon as I finish this batch of receipts,” she said. “Can I bring you back something?”

Apart from the initial no, I didn’t quite catch Nadine’s answer, but the tone of polite contempt came through loud and clear. No campus cafeteria food for her. I stood up and turned to leave. Probably time to fuel up Timmy again. We’d head for the cafeteria, too.

As we passed the open doorway, I glanced in to see that Nadine had decorated the site of Timmy’s spill with one of those yellow CAUTION! WET FLOORS! signs that cleaning staffs use. Sandie looked up, saw me looking at the sign, and rolled her eyes.

Ten

I did my best to talk Timmy into grilled chicken and broccoli for lunch, but he held out for hamburger and French fries. I gave up. Let Karen guide him back onto the path of responsible nutrition when she showed up again.

“Make that two burger platters,” I told the student behind the counter. “With a lot of lettuce and tomato on the side.”

I even figured out a way to get Timmy to eat the lettuce, by stuffing one leaf sideways into my mouth and waggling it up and down while I chewed on the other end and gradually sucked the whole thing into my mouth. It was messy and a little gross, but Timmy was charmed, and while imitating me, he finished off all his lettuce and the balance of mine. That counted as one serving of fruits and vegetables, right? Perhaps I could figure out something equally entertaining to do with the tomato slices. Then again, Timmy seemed to consider French fries mainly as a vehicle for conveying vast quantities of ketchup from his plate to his mouth. He often loaded one French fry three or four times before it disintegrated to the point that he couldn’t reload it with ketchup and reluctantly ate it. Surely a quarter bottle of ketchup would count as another serving, wouldn’t it?

I was about to try a game of wheeling a tomato slice around my plate and into my mouth when Sandie appeared at the other side of the table carrying a tray.

“Boy, did you upset Nadine,” she said, as she sat down.