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wasn’t true, and even more positive he couldn’t afford the hotel. “I’ve got to work, kiddo. It’s not summer for me.”
    She wrinkled her nose. “It’s never summer for you.”
    “Too true.” He put a hand over his heart. “Oh, to be ten again.”
    “Grown-ups always say that.”
    “We do?”
    She nodded. “I think you forget how much it sucks to be a kid.”
    “Sometimes it sucks to be an adult, too.” Thinking of Trish looking down, that hesitation, like she was about to say something he really didn’t want to hear.
    “You don’t have homework.”
    “We don’t have summer vacation, either.”
    “But you can drive. And live in the city. You can do anything you want.”
    “Not anything.”
    “Most anything. I can’t wait to grow up.”
    He felt the wince but didn’t show it. “Don’t be in too much of a hurry.”
    She stabbed a tomato with her fork, eyed it dubiously, then took a small bite. “So, I was thinking,” she said, chewing. “I got all A’s and B’s last year.”
    “Uh-oh.”
    “And you always say I’m very mature for my age.”
    “Who said that? I said that? I don’t remember saying that.”
    “Yes, you did. You say it all the time.” She set her fork down and pulled his milk shake toward her. “So I was thinking that I should be able to have a cell phone.”
    He raised his eyebrows.
    “Actually, an iPhone.”
    “Specific.”
    “They’re the best. You can play music on them and instant message and I could call you whenever I want.”
    “You can call me whenever you want now.”
    “Yeah, but if I had one, I could call you when I’m not home.” She drained an inch of the chocolate malt, then looked at him expectantly. “All my friends have them.”
    “I don’t know, kiddo.”
    “Come on, please ? I’ll be really careful with it.”
    His stomach felt off, and he put down his burger. The previous night’s conversation with Jenn came into his mind again, how he’d had a whole different plan than being thirty-two and living paycheck to paycheck. “What does your mother say?”
    “She said to ask you.”
    Bravo, he thought. Thanks, Trish. Much appreciated.
    “I think you’re a little young.”
    “But, Dad—”
    “Sorry, Cass. Ten is too young.” He chewed a cold french fry.
    She started to pout, then paused, then took another sip on the milk shake. “Is it because you’re broke?”
    “What?”
    “Mom said that you barely make enough to afford your fleabag apartment.”
    “She said that to you?”
    “Well, no.” Cassie shrugged. “I overheard her on the phone.” She looked at him openly, too young to realize the effect of her words, that the last, worst thing she could ever give him was pity.
    He stared, wanting to tell her the truth, tell her all the things he’d given up for her already, and all the things he would again. But kids didn’t need to know about child support and rent and gas at four bucks a gallon. Otherwise they stopped being kids. “Your mother was joking.”
    “Yeah?” She didn’t sound convinced.
    “I’m made of money. You know, fleabag apartments aren’t cheap. You have to pay extra for the fleas.”
    “Dad.”
    “Plus flea food.”
    “Dad.”
    “And flea grooming. Fleas are very particular about their grooming.”
    She giggled, and the solemn expression fell from her face. It was something.
     
     
    RING.
    Ring.
    Ring.
    “John Loverin.”
    “Johnny Love, Johnny Love. You know who this is?”
    “Sure, kid, I know. How the hell are you?”
    “Depends on whether you have my money.”
    “You don’t trust me?”
    “I look like a Democrat?”
    “Ain’t it the way. Since you bring it up, the price you’re asking. I’m thinking an even two instead.”
    “Hmm. Let me consider that. I don’t want to say anything rash.” A pause. “Nope, I had it off the bat: Blow it out your ass.”
    “Hey—”
    “Hey my ten-inch cock. You know you can turn it around for double what I’m charging. So let’s not