in the wagon, the boys threw their shoulders back and their chests out in minimacho postures, clearly pumped by their new superhero markings.
“Are you going to be all right?” Gabriel asked, turning to Olivia. She’d been so plucky as a girl, but there was something unexpectedly fragile about her as a woman.
“Of course,” she replied, as if she read his thoughts and still wanted to appear tough as nails. “You’d better get going. I hear the lawn mowers revving up. And I think Ty’s brought his llamas. The boys won’t want to miss them.”
“Are you going home?”
“No.”
“Then you’re coming with us. So that we can keep an eye on you. I feel partly responsible for that crack on your head.”
“Believe me, I have no intention of passing out on the parade route.”
“But what if I do?” he replied, trying for lightness. An unaccustomed tone for him. “Then who’s going to pull the boys in the wagon?” He didn’t know why he suddenly wanted her company, but he did. “Don’t you feel partly responsible for the lump on my head?”
“Daddy!” Justin pointed to a man on stilts, dressed as Uncle Sam and walking through the crowd, tossing candies to the kids. “That man is almost as tall as a house.”
Olivia reached up, and one-handed caught several candies, which she gave to the twins. “Okay, boys, your first field trip in Hennings. Let’s go.”
Gabriel suddenly wondered if Olivia’s unflagging fortitude was an act. If so, why did she need to have one?
Olivia felt his scrutiny. Would it have been more prudent to go home? But now they were moving forward, and there were so many people that it didn’t look as if she and Gabriel were together, as in “couple” together. They were just part of the crowd, walking off too much turkey. Although after that little misstep back at the face-painting station, she couldn’t help wondering—for just an inappropriate second—what it might be like to be paired up with him.
They hadn’t gone more than a block when both Olivia and Gabriel ditched their ice cups in a trash container. It was easy to forget about a bump on the head when you were so busy watching happy five-year-olds reacting to the sights and sounds of a town gone silly. Sheria had even doubled back to hand them a couple of kazoos, which the twins quickly mastered.
“This was a good idea,” Gabriel said. “It was getting a little tense at Walter’s.”
“And you don’t want the boys to suffer.”
“Actually, Justin and Jared get along fine with my father. I can’t figure that out, but I’m thankful for small miracles. It’s Walter and me. We’re the ones sniffing round each other like mistrustful dogs. I don’t want the boys picking up on that.”
She was surprised at his admission. Unfortunately, even if he didn’t know why, she knew the root of his and Walter’s disconnect. But it wasn’t her place to explain it. Besides, she didn’t want to say anything now and have Gabriel close down again. “You might talk to Marmaduke,” she replied instead. “In addition to the diner, he owns some rental properties in town. I’m sure he’d make you a fair deal.”
Despite the fact she thought of what she’d said as a neutral statement, he seemed to withdraw.
“Daddy,” Justin interjected. “Jared’s thirsty. Me, too.”
“The concession stand’s up ahead,” Olivia offered. “I’ll treat.”
Gabriel glowered at her. “Don’t.”
“I just…”
“I can buy my boys a couple of drinks.” His voice was low. Almost a growl. A warning. Then, more calmly, he said to the boys, “Do you want something cold or hot?”
Olivia was struck by how Gabriel’s frustration simmered so close to the surface. How he had to exercise control to interact civilly with anyone other than his sons. If he hadn’t been the parent of two of her students, she might have called him on it.
“We want a hot drink,” Justin said. “Our noses are cold.”
They stood in front of the refreshment stand, where Greer Briscoe waited to take their order. Olivia could have wished for anyone else. Seventy-two-year-old Greer was kindhearted, but she often exercised her right to behave as a self-professed “magnificent crone.” The advantage of old age, she always said, was that you could dispense with conversational filters. You were old, and you were supposed to tell it as you saw it.
“Your nose looks cold, too, Ms. Marshall,” Gabriel said, before turning to Greer. “Four hot chocolates.”
“Whipped cream or marshmallows?”
“Whipped cream,” he replied, without consulting Olivia. “But before you top the two for the kids, can you add a little milk to cool the hot chocolate?”
“You got it.”
When Greer slid the drinks for the boys across the counter to Gabriel, she looked at Olivia.
“Olivia, hello. I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, as if the fourth drink wouldn’t be for Olivia. As if, of course, Ms. Marshall would be unattached.
“I’m with them,” she replied without thinking.
“Oh?” Greer glanced at Gabriel and the boys with interest. “Wait a minute. I thought you looked familiar. You’re Walter Brant’s son. The Hurricane Katrina refugee.”
Olivia saw Gabriel flinch at the loaded word.
“I prefer to be called a survivor,” he said, his jaw tight.
“Well, you’re certainly in the right company,” Greer declared, passing the other two hot chocolates their way. “Olivia has the softest heart in all of Hennings. Why, as a little girl, she brought home every stray cat and injured bird…”
Gabriel didn’t wait to hear the rest. He picked up the handle of the wagon and stormed away up Main Street, leaving Greer still rambling on and Olivia smarting.
The day could not end this way.
She picked up the two abandoned drinks and hurried after him.
When she caught up, he didn’t slow his pace.
“Hold on!” she implored. “The boys will spill their hot chocolate.”
He stopped abruptly to face her. “I was wondering what your game was.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve met other women like you, who get their kicks doling out pity. Taking on the downtrodden. Feeling so satisfied when you save one of the hopeless from the brink.”
Both boys were staring at the adults, worried expressions making their young faces seem much older.
“That is not what’s going on,” she insisted with a significant nod toward
