Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(25)

He rested the back of his head against the jungle-gym bar and gazed over at her. “Your boy . . . He’s been eating a good dinner every night, hasn’t he?”

Her feeling of kinship vanished. “Are we back to this again?”

“Just answer the question. Has he been eating a decent dinner?”

She nodded begrudgingly.

“Breakfast, too?” he asked.

“I guess.”

“They have snacks at the day-care center and a big lunch. I’ll bet either you or Kristy gives him another snack when he gets home.”

But what about next month? she thought. Next year?

A chill passed through her. She was being pushed toward something dangerous.

“Rachel,” he said quietly, “this business of starving yourself has to stop.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Then explain it to me.”

If he’d spoken harshly, everything would have been all right, but she had few defenses against that quiet, measured tone. She mustered the ones she could gather and went on the attack.

“I’m responsible for him, Bonner. Me! There’s no one else. I’m the one who’s responsible for his food, his clothes, the shots he gets at the doctor’s office, everything!”

“Then maybe you should take better care of yourself.”

Her eyes stung. “Don’t you tell me what to do.”

“The inmates at the asylum need to stick together.”

His words, coupled with the clear understanding she saw in his eyes, took her breath away. She wanted to go after him again, but couldn’t frame her thoughts. He was exposing something she should have examined long ago, but hadn’t been able to face.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Good. Eat instead.”

Her fingers convulsed around the paper sack in her lap, and she made herself face the truth she didn’t want to acknowledge.

No matter how much she deprived herself, she couldn’t guarantee that Edward would be safe.

She experienced a surge of helplessness so powerful it nearly crushed her. She wanted to stockpile everything for him, not just food, but security and self-confidence, a healthy body, a decent education, a house to live in. And no amount of self-deprivation would do any of that. She could starve herself until she was a skeleton, but that still wouldn’t guarantee that Edward’s belly would stay full.

To her dismay, her eyes clouded, and then a tear slipped over her bottom lid and rolled down her cheek. She couldn’t bear having Bonner see her cry, and she regarded him fiercely. “Don’t you dare say a word!”


He held up his hands in mock surrender and took a swig of Dr Pepper.

A long shudder passed through her. Bonner was right. Holding herself together these last few months had made her crazy as a loon. And only someone equally crazy could have seen the truth.

She looked her own insanity squarely in the eye. Edward had no one in the world but her, and she wasn’t taking care of herself. By starving her body, she was making their already precarious existence that much more fragile.

She dashed at her eyes and grabbed the hamburger from the sack. “You’re a son of a bitch!”

He slouched against the jungle-gym post and tilted the brim of his navy Chicago Stars cap over his eyes as if he were settling in for a nice long nap.

She stuffed the burger into her mouth, swallowing it along with her tears. “I don’t know how you have the nerve to call me crazy.” She stuffed in another bite, and the taste was so delicious she shivered. “What kind of moron opens a drive-in? In case you haven’t noticed, Bonner, drive-ins have been dead for about thirty years. You’ll be bankrupt by the end of the summer.”

His lips barely moved beneath the brim of his cap. “Ask me if I care.”

“I rest my case. You’re a dozen times crazier than me.”

“Keep eating.”

She swiped at her damp eyes with the back of her hand, then took another bite. It was the most delicious hamburger she’d ever tasted. Globs of cheese stuck to the roof of her mouth, and the pickle made her saliva buds spurt. She spoke around a huge bite. “Why are you doing it?”

“Couldn’t think of anything else to occupy my time.”

She sucked a dab of ketchup from her finger. “Before you lost your mind, how did you make a living?”

“I was a hit man for the Mafia. Are you done crying yet?”

“I wasn’t crying! And I wish you were a hit man because, if I had the money, I’d hire you right this minute to knock yourself off.”

He tilted up the brim of his cap and regarded her levelly. “You just keep all that good, honest hatred coming at me, and we’ll get along fine.”

She ignored him and began eating the fries three at a time.

“So how’d you fall in with G. Dwayne?”

The question came out of nowhere—probably a diversion—but since he hadn’t given her any real information about himself, she wasn’t giving any in return. “I met him at a strip club where I was an exotic dancer.”

“I’ve seen your body, Rachel, and unless you had a lot more flesh on your bones then, you couldn’t buy chewing gum with what you’d earn as a stripper.”

She tried to be offended, but she didn’t have enough vanity left. “They don’t like to be called strippers. I know because one of them lived across the hall from me a few years ago. She used to go to a tanning salon every day before she performed.”