“We’re going out for dinner this evening, just the three of us.” John said.
“Really?” I asked and though I tried not to let on what I was thinking, I’m sure John knew I was thinking it. He and Mom probably didn’t want to eat supper at the same table with Grandmother after that big argument. For that matter, neither did I.
“Where’re we going?” I asked.
“Pichaloe’s,” he said while combing my hair with his fingers.
“What’s Picka… whatever?” I asked.
“Pichaloe’s,” he said again, “It’s a very nice restaurant. I know the owner and he’s been begging your mother and me to come by,” he went back into the armoire looking for something else. “and tonight seems like the perfect night for a family dinner.” He said from within the armoire.