“Why?”
“The ice cream man gave it to me.”
At first, I didn’t think much of it.
Maybe he had an extra one.
Maybe it had started softening and couldn’t be sold.
Maybe he was just being nice to a neighborhood kid.
I told Ellie to thank him next time.
Then I told her to wash the strawberry mess off her arm.
A few evenings later, it happened again.
Another strawberry shortcake bar.
Free.
Then again.
By the fourth time, I stopped her before she could run back outside.
“Why does this man keep giving you free ice cream?”
Ellie gave me the enormous shrug children use when they don’t think something is important.
Then she said:
“He says strawberry was your favorite too.”
I stopped washing the dish in my hand.
“My favorite?”
“Yeah.”
She was already watching the street, worried the truck might leave.
“He said you always picked this one when you were little.”
