Being Yours
She pulled him away from Cliff and said, ‘I guess you’re going to have to sing again,’ in the manner of a woman making a great sacrifice for the sake of her child.
Once more, as Cliff bellowed, Michael did not. He stared, fascinated, getting as close as he could, standing on Cliff’s legs, hands on his shoulders, looking into his mouth.
Suddenly, Lynne laughed. ‘I’ve got it,’ she said.
‘What?’ asked Cliff, turning to look at her and at Michael.
‘No, no. Keep singing,’ she urged. ‘He likes the way your fillings flash in the sun. Keep it up and you’ll have him eating out of your hand in no time at all.”
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