Father Formula. Muriel Jensen

It’d be nice if she could be in one without having to set a timer and run back to her spot. What do you think, Peg? Why don’t we invite these kids to dinner and talk about it?”

      Peg nodded eagerly. “That would be fun.”

      “We’d like that,” Trevyn said, “but there are actually four of us. Her sister is married to my friend and we’re watching his two young brothers while they’re in the East.”

      “That’s no problem,” Peg assured him. “Our family is big on boys so we’re used to having them around. I’ll fix something they’ll like. Was your other sister happy with the egg whip?” Peg wanted to know when Alexis reappeared with a cappuccino for him and the coffeepot to refill Peg’s and Charlie’s simple cups of coffee.

      He remembered that she hadn’t asked him what he’d wanted to drink. He must still look as though he needed a double shot of caffeine.

      She explained about the accident in the Columbia River and Gusty’s subsequent disappearance.

      “How awful,” Peg sympathized. “I can’t imagine anything worse than not knowing what happened to someone in your family. That would make me crazy. We spend most of our time keeping tabs on our children and grandchildren.”

      “The police are working on it.” Alexis swirled the contents of her glass, then downed the last mouthful. “She was spotted at an airport baggage carousel with a man, and it’s taken the police weeks to go through passenger manifests and check out everyone.”

      Peg patted her hand. “That must be so worrisome for you.”

      “You have to have faith that it’ll come out alright,” Charlie advised. “Peg gets her nose and her hands into everything, but I mostly just stand back and try to believe the situation into coming out for the best.”

      Peg took offense. “You’re suggesting that I meddle?”

      Charlie looked surprised. “Are you denying it?”

      She thought that over a moment, then smiled from Alexis to Trevyn. “No, I guess not. But there’s meddling, and there’s creative interference. There’s a bit of an art to what I do.”

      Charlie grinned at their companions. “That’s how she excuses being tricky.”

      “I suppose your mother minds her own business?” Peg asked Trevyn.

      “Pretty much,” he agreed with a rueful smile. “She passed away when I was in high school. My father retired a year ago, and he’s been touring the country on a Harley ever since. I get postcards from everywhere, but I haven’t seen him in a while.”

      Charlie sighed over his coffee. “I’ve always wanted a Harley.”

      Peg backhanded him in the arm. “Please. Can you imagine how your arthritis would react to being out in the weather as you travel?”

      He gave her a frown. “You don’t do it in your Skivvies, you know. You wear leather to protect you and keep you warm.”

      “Charlie.” Peg held her arms out, as though to display her ample form in its navy-blue sweats. “How would this body look on the back of your Harley? Think about it.”

      Charlie leaned toward her, laughter in his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t bring you, Peggy, my love. I’d find myself a group of road outlaws, then cozy up to some shapely biker babe in leather shorts who can rumble as well as the guys.”

      Peg stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then burst into laughter. He joined her and they locked fingers on the table as they enjoyed his outrageous scenario.

      Alexis turned to Trevyn, who was also laughing. His glance at her invited her to share the moment and she couldn’t resist.

      The McKeons finally left the coffee bar, setting a date for dinner on Sunday evening.

      Charlie gave his wife a gentle shove through the door, then waved at Alexis and Trevyn. “See you Sunday.”

      Alexis watched them greedily, chin on her hand. “Aren’t they every kid’s dream of the perfect parents? I mean, I wouldn’t want the type that stays thin and looks like an ad for a retirement village, or something. I love that they look so real and comfortable. Like you could take them any problem and even if they couldn’t solve it for you, they’d listen and commiserate and hug you until you felt better.”

      Trevyn pushed away from the table. “Yeah. They’re great. I hope their kids appreciate them.” He pointed through the window to Ferdie, who now sat at attention, somehow sensing he would soon be freed from his newspaper-stand shackle. “He looks like he could use a cookie.”

      Athena held up the second half of her biscotti. “Saved this for him.” She stood to leave, forgetting the small disposable camera on the table.

      Trevyn snatched it up and handed it to her. “Yours?”

      “Oh, thanks. Yes. I’ve been taking photos to paint from. I suppose these are offensive to a professional photographer.”

      He pushed in his chair. “Not at all. They do a good job for what they are. If you don’t want to make adjustments to light or shutter speed or anything, they’re good enough. Where are you off to now?”

      Alexis felt a hopeful little stir inside her. The time spent with the McKeons had been warm and cozy, and her enjoyment of them with Trevyn made her feel less alone. He might be part of her family soon. She had to learn to get along with him.

      “Nowhere in particular,” she replied casually. “I’ve just been taking pictures.”

      “My studio’s in an interesting old building.” He pushed the door open for her. “Want to see it? I rented it before I left for Canada, but now I have to decide how to make it appealing to customers. I’ve got to be open in a couple of weeks if I’m going to get any of the Christmas trade. Thank you for dropping the McKeons in my lap, by the way.”

      “Sure.” She stepped outside into the cool, overcast day. “You know, Gusty’s the one who should see your studio,” she said. “She has a gift for decorating. Her home and her classroom are always very inviting.”

      He gave her a thin smile as she unfastened the dog, who snatched the bite of cookie out of her hand while she worked. “Decorating’s not one of your strengths?”

      She shook her head as they started down the street, the dog taking the point, tail wagging happily. “I live in a small apartment with a gorgeous view, but spend most of my time at a studio that I share with several other artists. Consequently, except for the occasional milk bottle of fresh flowers, I don’t do too much to decorate.”

      “Isn’t it hard to be that far from home? Or is it home now?”

      “I’m comfortable there,” she replied, “and feel as though I belong, but home will always be where my sisters are. I get most lonely when I catch cold or get the flu. It makes me revert to childish whining and carrying on. Our mother was never much of a nurse, but Aunt Sadie was.”

      “I remember getting some tropical bug on a CIA job in Malaysia. I was sure I was going to die, though all the natives assured me it was nothing. I’ve never missed home as much as I did then.”

      “Does Dancer’s Beach feel like home now?” she asked.

      “I love the place. But I can’t live on Dave’s property forever, especially now that he’s married. I’ve spotted this house in the cove, a sort of bungalow-style with lots of angles and windows. It’s on a little knoll surrounded by trees. If it ever comes up for sale, it’s mine. Then this will really be home.”

      “Any siblings?”

      “Just me.” He stopped in front of an Italianate building on the corner fronted by a series of arches. Within each arch was a storefront. The second one was Trevyn’s.

      He pulled a key out of his pocket, unlocked the door and reached an arm in to flip on the lights.