She screened me from other passengers as I leaned toward his foot. Carefully, I brushed a coat of hot pink onto his big toenail.
He didn’t move.
I worked across the other visible nails, choosing a different pink shade for each one. Diane shook with silent laughter.
“You’re surprisingly good at this.”
“Eight years of having a daughter who thinks every weekend is a spa day.”
With the painting finished, I chose two toy rings: one crowned with an oversized pink diamond, the other bearing a glittery purple heart. I slipped them onto his toes, trying to keep my hands steady as Diane watched in delighted disbelief.
“I cannot believe he’s sleeping through this,” Diane whispered.
“Apparently, his feet are more considerate when he’s unconscious.”
At that precise moment, he stirred. Both of us went still. He scratched his nose, mumbled, turned toward the window, and resumed snoring.
