Mad About You

down the middle. Four hours, one hamburger, one cookie, one ice cream, and three sodas later they dropped into chairs in the waiting area at the center of the mall, laden with bags, boxes, and delivery slips.
    When his bottom met cushioned comfort, Bailey exhaled in relief, wriggling his cramped toes inside his low-heeled boots. He rolled his shoulders and groaned. He'd fared better with the sledgehammer today than with the cumbersome shopping bags.
    Ginny laughed, and he realized she, too, was exhausted and hurting. "So much for aerobics," she said, her eyes closed, her head leaned back.
    Chad sighed with impatience. "Can I go over there?” He pointed to the neon sign of a multimedia store blasting music.
    Bailey opened his mouth to say yes, but Ginny cut in. "Not by yourself. Let us rest for five minutes and we'll walk over with you."
    "But it's just right there!" Chad complained, waving his arm. Wheeling to face Bailey, Chad crossed his arms. "She wouldn't let me go to the park alone today and ride my skateboard—she followed me there and sat and watched the whole time. It was embarrassing—I was the only kid there who had a baby-sitter."
    Bailey tried to hide his smile, then looked at her. "I can see the front of the store from here, Ginny."
    She looked back and forth at them, then sighed. "Be back in twenty minutes to wake us up." Chad's new sneakers squeaked as he took off.
    Silence stretched between them, punctuated by the sounds of shoppers leaving for home.
    "I'm beat," Ginny said unnecessarily.
    "Me too."
    She laughed and leaned her head back. "And broke."
    "Me too." He rubbed his eyes in big circles. "How do people do this on a regular basis?"
    She yawned loudly. "It's become entertainment for families who have money—or credit cards."
    "We never did this."
    "That's because we never had money or credit."
    He sat up, eyes open. "I shopped for you... sometimes. I remember bringing home one fun little turquoise number that you enjoyed—"
    She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Until I found out you'd spent a week's grocery money on it."
    He grinned. "It was worth every bologna sandwich."
    She reddened adorably, and he felt his body tense with longing.
    "You wouldn't happen to still have that little number, would you, Ginny?"
    She opened her mouth to respond, then glanced away and straightened when something across the mall caught her eye.
    He looked too, and immediately jumped to his feet. Chad was at the door of the store he’d begged to visit, being yanked by two men.
    "Help!" he yelled, struggling. "Let me go!"
    "They're taking him!" Ginny shouted.
    Bailey dropped the parcels he held and bounded over, with Ginny only a few steps behind. As he neared, he heard an alarm beeping shrilly, drawing the attention of passersby. The two men wearing nametags weren't taking Chad, they were restraining him.
    "What's going on here?" he demanded of one of the men who held Chad by the wrist.
    "Do you know this kid?"
    "He's my son," he retorted, widening his stance. "What's the problem?"
    "The problem, sir," the other man said in a monotone, "is your son is a thief."
    "What?" Bailey bellowed. "There must be some mistake," he said as he looked at Chad's panicked face.
    "No mistake, sir." The first man reached into the front of Chad's jeans and withdrew two compact discs. "The police are on their way."

Chapter Eight

    VIRGINIA FELT FAINT, but anger kept her on her feet. Chad had been caught shoplifting—what a fitting end to the roller-coaster day she'd spent with him.
    She'd awakened to the sound of a blasting TV. Then he demanded pepperoni pizza for breakfast, which he ate in sullen silence while playing his Nintendo. Then he refused to budge from channel-surfing all morning. After lunch he'd asked to go to the park by himself, but she'd insisted on going, so he hadn't stayed very long. When they returned and she asked what he wanted to do about his bedroom, he made a gagging sound and said he could fix it all with a match and a can of gasoline.
    The one bright spot had been when her parents called to talk to him. He'd changed colors like a chameleon, politely answering their questions and enthusiastically agreeing to go camping with them in their RV one day the following week. When he hung up, he flopped onto the couch.
    If he'd asked once where Bailey was and when was he going to get there, he'd asked thirty-five times. Cozy little fantasies she'd harbored about getting to know her son that day were