Thirty-Three
Bea happily swung her feet back and forth and munched on chicken strips, one in each hand. She traded one for a French fry, singing, "French fry first. Chicken bite next. French fry first—"
"Bea! Shush. You're driving me crazy." Mommy sipped her drink. "Just eat your lunch."
Bea hummed the same melody, switching the fries and chicken bites back and forth. She glanced at the front window of the Tasty View Dive Inn and spied the old man walking outside. She kicked her feet faster and watched the entrance door.
No old man.
Back at the window, she stretched her neck and saw his back as he walked past the building. Funny short gray hair blowing in the breeze.
She jumped onto the bench beside her booster seat and bumped her plate, dumping chicken bites and fries all over the t
