Free Keep Dancing by Leslie Wells

with you if I order Chinese?”
    “I’ll have some too. It’s probably not the oven; Vicky said I should have defrosted the hens first.”
    Jack shrugged. “That never would have occurred to me, either.”
     
    The next morning, Meredith stopped by. Quickly I slid the Post, my secret vice, inside a copy of the New York Times .
    “How’d it go with the Cornish hens?” she asked.
    I hesitated for a moment. “They caught on like a house on fire.”

 
     
     
Chapter Six
    Kid
     
     
    “Crikey, look at all the bugs!” Oliver shouted. We’d just gotten back from picking him up at the airport with Jack’s driver, Rick. Although it was only late afternoon, I already felt tired. Ollie had peppered us with questions about what we were going to do (“Anything your heart desires,” Jack said with a fond smile); whether he could see the Statue of Liberty (“I’m sure that can be arranged”); and if he and Jack could shoot a fish off the Empire State Building (“Err, probably not”). Once we got through the tunnel, Ollie began exclaiming about the sights on Manhattan’s slushy streets.
    “What’s that guy doing?” He pointed to a man carrying a dripping stick with a dirty sponge taped to it.
    “That’s a squeegee. He wants to wipe the windshield with it,” Jack said as Rick edged the car forward at the stoplight. The man followed, gesticulating angrily.
    “Why doesn’t Rick let him?” Ollie wanted to know.
    Rick turned around in the front seat. “Because he’ll only make it dirtier.”
    “What’s he doing now?” The guy had grabbed the radio antenna and was bending it down toward the hood.
    “He’s upset that he didn’t get a tip,” Jack said as the car roared through the red light. “Next time, give ’im a fiver,” he added to Rick.
     
    Now that we were in the apartment, Ollie was gesturing wildly at the praying mantises, making the tiny green creatures scrabble to the opposite side of the mesh cage.
    “That was my Christmas present from Julia.” Jack went to stand beside him. “Isn’t it great?”
    “Can I play with them?” Ollie looked up at Jack, his brown eyes sparkling, one eyebrow lifted. If I didn’t know better, I, too, would have thought he was Jack’s love child.
    Jack put his hand on Ollie’s shoulder. “They’re too young to play with, but maybe we can let one out of the cage for a while next week, when they’re bigger. They’re fun to watch.”
    “I love bugs!” Ollie shouted.
    The mantises scuttled frantically into a corner, piling up on each other.
    “Indoor voice, please, Ollie,” I said, recalling what Sharon had repeatedly told him.
    “I don’t have an indoor voice!”
     
    After a bowl of spaghetti with butter, two ice cream cones, and a giant lollipop, Oliver chased Jack around the apartment playing tag as I tried to get some editing done in the bedroom. Jack came in, panting. “I think I’ve finally worn him out,” he said. “Time to get him to bed.” He went into the walk-in closet and came out with sheets and a pillow. Although Jack’s loft was huge, it had only one bedroom, so we planned to put Ollie on the fold-out couch.
    “I’ll come say goodnight.” I put my pages aside.
    “Want to read him some Henry and Beezus ?” Jack had been working with a dyslexia tutor for several months, ever since his reading problem was identified. Now he was making his way through the Beverly Cleary novels, which I had loved as a kid. I hadn’t met the tutor yet; she came in the early afternoons when I was at work. She must be really good though, because Jack had made incredible progress.
    “You don’t want to read it yourself?” I asked.
    “Why don’t you? Me eyes are a bit fagged.” He switched to his native Cockney.
    I got the book and went out to the couch, which Jack had already unfolded. We spread the sheets and Ollie clambered in between us. After a few pages, he climbed onto my lap to better see the pictures. I could feel his heart beating