Hoodwinked

You can never predict how much food the kids will eat. It's literally feast or famine. We were entertaining one of Jackson's friends that day, so we ordered a cheese and a pepperoni. The kids filled up on the dinner rolls, so we ended up boxing the remainder in large box.

Outside, my wife placed it on the hood while I strapped Emmett into his car seat. Beth corralled the other two, then strapped ourselves in and nodded a silent thumbs--up, taken from the growing library telepathic exchanges couples come to understand with each other.

Pulling out was tight, as there were two couples behind us having an animated conversation, and other cars trolling for parking spots, one having pulled in and waiting prohibitively close. I pulled back as far as I dared and cranked the wheel the opposite way. I crept forward and cringed, listening for the scrape of my bumper against the car that was parked next to me--but I squeaked by.

Out of the parking lot I turned left, passing back by the parking lot. A young man that looked vaguely familiar--or did he?--stepped out and waved at me as I drove by, and I stupidly waved back and smiled, thinking that I would sort it out later who he was. His wave wasn't urgent, just a casual hello, and his face was a placid mask of security. But who was he?

I asked my wife, "Did you recognize him?"

"No. I'm sure we don't know him."

"Then why the hell was he waving like that?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Do you think I almost hit one of the people in his group?" I thought with a start of anger of turning around and asking him if there was a problem. Don't be a punk I thought. But still, what was the deal?

"I wouldn't worry about it honey," my wife said.

"I suppose not." But it bothered me. It didn't make any sense. "But why would he make the effort to walk the edge of the street and wave?"

"True," my wife replied thoughtfully. Then, "Hey, where's the pizza?"

"You had it. Where did you put it?"

"On the hood of the truck... You don't think we drove off and left it, do you?"