Traci had just picked up a plate of Thai food and was scanning the food court, looking for a spot. Tess put down her taco and waved. Traci hesitated, then waved back. Tess figured that would be it. She was surprised when the young girl headed her way.

“Hi, Traci,” she said, when the girl was still five feet away.

“How’s it going, Tess?”

“Good. I need new shoes and I’m a sucker for a food court,” she said. She glanced at Traci’s plate. “That was a runner-up.”

“I’m going to get a piece of pizza if I’m still hungry after this,” Traci said.

Tess smiled. “My daughter, Marnee, is just four years older than you and her appetite pretty much rules her daily life. Are you here with friends?” she asked.

“Nope. Just me. Mom had a meeting tonight so she said I should grab something when I was out.” Traci continued to stand by the table, tray in hand.

“Would you...like to join me?” Tess asked.

“Sure,” she said, without hesitation. Traci pulled out her chair and sat. She unwrapped her plastic silverware and started eating.

“Senior year, right?” Tess asked. The one and only time she’d met Traci had been at A.L.’s apartment this summer. The two of them had cooked out burgers and he’d invited Traci to join them for dinner. He’d done a good job of prepping his daughter in advance as there had been no awkward questions that night about her amputated arm. No odd looks. Just some simple conversation about Traci’s waitressing job at Pancake Magic and the rock concert that she’d been to in Madison.

“You look really tan,” Traci said.

Tess smiled. “I got some good sun in California.”

Traci put down her fork. “When were you in California?”

Tess got a bad feeling. But she was in it with both feet now. “Just a few days ago.”

“You were with my dad?”

“Yes.” Tess pushed her tray aside, leaving half of her guacamole dip.

“I didn’t know that,” Traci said.

Which was weird, in that Tess knew A.L. and Traci had had dinner the night before the two of them had left for their trip. Why the hell hadn’t A.L. simply told her the truth?

Dark thoughts, which she perhaps might not have immediately jumped to before the loss of her lower left arm, popped into her head. Was A.L. ashamed of her? Did he not want others to know that he was attracted to her?

Was he simply an asshole?

No. She immediately dismissed that one. A.L. was sometimes short, borderline rude, many times preoccupied with work, but he was not put off by her arm or lack thereof. And he was not the kind of guy who frankly cared what anybody else thought.

Except perhaps his daughter.