been sitting. Two crumpled ten-dollar bills rested on the blue vinyl.
“Oh!” She grabbed the money, then looked out the window to try to find the couple, but the sea of students on the sidewalk blocked her view. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She ran out of the coffee shop and, after searching for a few minutes, found the couple sitting on a bench at the bus stop.
She sat down next to the woman. “You dropped this in your booth,” she said, pressing the money into her hand.
“Oh, my word!” The woman drew in her breath. “Bless you, child.” She took the bills, then caught CeeCee’s hand. “You don’t move, Miss CeeCee,” she said, reaching for her purse. “Let me give you something for your honesty.”
“Oh, no,” CeeCee said. “Don’t worry about it.”
The woman hesitated, then reached out and tugged lightly on her long hair. “God surely knew what he was doing when he gave you hair fit for an angel,” she said.
CeeCee was breathless by the time she returned to the coffee shop and began loading a tray with the couple’s dishes.
“What was that all about?” Tim asked.
“Two tens must have fallen out of her purse when she was getting money to pay me,” CeeCee said.
Tim tapped his pen against his chin. “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You need money and twenty dollars just landed in your lap and you gave it back.”
“How could I possibly keep it? Who knows how much they need it? Maybe a lot more than I do.” She eyed him with suspicion. “Would you have kept it?”
Tim grinned at her. “You’d be a great social worker,” he said. “You care about the underdog.” This wasn’t the first time he had suggested she’d make a good social worker, even though he knew she wanted to be a teacher. The world would be a better place if everyone became a social worker, he’d said.
He looked at the clock above the kitchen door. “Gotta get to class.” He slid across the seat. “How about we meet at the Varsity Theater at six-thirty?”
“Okay.” She tried to sound casual. “Later.”
He piled his books and papers into a sloppy stack, picked them up and headed for the door. She looked down at his table. For the first time, he’d forgotten to leave her a tip. It wasn’t until she lifted his empty plate that she discovered he’d left her one after all: two ten-dollar bills.
Chapter Three
You’re probably thinking about college now, CeeCee. You’ll need a scholarship, so I hope you’ve been a good student. I’m sorry I couldn’t provide better for you. College is so important. Fight to get there, okay? I always planned to go even if it meant I wouldn’t graduate ‘til I was fifty and now I’ll never have the chance. If you’re anything like me at your age, though, you’ll be more interested in boys than school. That’s okay. You don’t need to go right away. Just remember that college men are FAR more interesting than any boys you knew in high school.
If it turns out that you don’t go to college, remember you can still get an education from the people you meet. Every single person who comes into your life, from a doctor to a trash collector, can teach you something if you let them.
“IT’S RAINING.” TIM RAISED HIS PALM IN THE AIR AS THEY left the movie theater.
CeeCee felt a cool, fine mist on her face. “I like it,” she said, as she piled her hair on top of her head and covered it with her floppy black felt hat. She liked the rain; her hair did not.
“Now you look like Annie Hall.” Tim grinned at her as they started walking through the throng of students toward the diner two blocks away. They’d just seen Annie Hall, a perfect first-date movie. “You’re not goofy like she is, though.”
“She’s goofy in a cute way.”
“Yeah,” he said, “and you’re serious in a cute way.”
“Ugh.” The thought was deflating. “I don’t want to be serious. I want to be fun and …” What was the word she wanted? She raised her arms to the sky and twirled in a circle. “Madcap.”
“Madcap?” He laughed, grabbing her arm to prevent her from bumping into a group of students. “I actually like that you’re serious,” he said, letting go of her all too quickly. “You don’t take life for granted.”
He was right, but how did he know that about her? “You don’t really know me yet.”
“I’m observant,” he said. “Insightful.”
“And modest.”
“That, too.” He stopped briefly to light a cigarette. “So, how come you sound like a Yankee?” he asked as they continued walking.
“Do I? I thought I sounded pretty Southern by now. I was raised in New Jersey until I was eleven.”
“What brought you down here?”
She wasn’t ready to answer that question. He already thought she was serious enough.
“Family stuff,” she said with a shrug.
He didn’t press her, but the sudden silence that followed her answer felt awkward. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed older than he did in the mornings, a true grownup. She wondered if he felt the age gap between them tonight, especially with her spinning on the sidewalk like a ten-year-old. Maybe he wondered what the heck he’d been thinking when he asked her out. He even looked different than he did in the coffee shop. Better, if that was possible. She’d never noticed how tall he was. Sitting next to him in the theater, she’d been painfully aware of his long, lean, denim-covered thigh brushing against hers every time he shifted in his seat. Hold my hand, she’d thought over and over again. Put your arm around me. He did neither, much to her frustration.
“It’s unusual for a guy to be a social work major, isn’t it?” she asked to break the silence.
“You’d be surprised,” he said, letting out a puff of smoke. “There are quite a few in my program. I’m actually more interested in the policy aspect of social work than in working directly with people. I want to be able to influence policy.”
“Like what kind of policies?” She saw their reflection in a storefront window as they walked past. She looked like a little munchkin in a big floppy hat.
“Policies that empower people at risk,” he said. “Like that couple you waited on today. They’re old. One of them is obviously disabled. And they’re black. Three strikes against them right there. So, who advocates for people like that? Who makes sure they’re taken care of?”
Oh, God. He was so smart and so well educated and he was stuck with a ten-year-old munchkin for the evening.
“That’s what you want to do?” she asked. “Advocate for people?”
A group of preppies passed by, and Tim acknowledged one
