Chapter 65

Patrick hollered back. “Polos.”

I picked up Jefferson and carried him, as opposed to dragging this time, in order to protect the heel of his spanking new cowboy boots. “Marco!”

“Polos!”

We continued toward Patrick’s voice. “Marco!”

“Polos!”

We were close. “Marco.”

“Polos.”

Almost there. “Marc—Oh.”

Patrick was standing beside a huge wall rack of short sleeved Ralph Lauren shirts with little horses on the chest. He shrugged. “Polos.”

Calvin was behind him, totally obscured. Since my mannequin was taller than I, he was only partially hidden, despite my best efforts.

“Voilà!” I moved my hand, like Vanna White revealing a new puzzle. “Motorcycle cowboy!”

“Nice.” Patrick stepped aside to show his handiwork. “What do you think?”

“Wow.”

Calvin—our representation of him—looked amazing in gray pinstripes, an eggplant colored dress shirt and a pink tie, and a fifty-dollar gray wool felt fedora.