Comfort And Joy. Amy Frazier

      “You’re incorrigible.”

      None of Kelly’s musings answered the question of Gabriel Brant’s marital status. He did have two sons. At some point there must have been, or else there still was, a significant other in the picture. Quite frankly, Aunt Lydia’s lovely fairy-tale fantasies—and fantasies they were—made it hard to settle for anything less than magic. Olivia did know one thing with certainty, however. There was no fairy dust on affairs with married men.

      “Well, what are you going to do?” Kelly pressed.

      “What I’m going to do,” she replied, “is catch a late lunch, then come back and straighten up this classroom. Want to join me for a bowl of chili at the diner?”

      “I’d love to, but Don’s parents are driving in tonight. If I don’t get home and run a vacuum cleaner and a dust cloth around the house before then, his mother will drop not-so-subtle hints all weekend about my housekeeping skills. As if her only child and heir apparent shouldn’t share the responsibility.”

      “As if you had nothing better to do with your time. Just how many are you having for dinner tomorrow?”

      “Eleven. So one more wouldn’t cause any more stress. You know you can change your mind and join us.”

      “Thanks.” Olivia was tempted. “But the Meals on Wheels volunteers count on us holiday subs.” And the elderly they served counted on a smiling face and a little company on a day when they knew others would be inundated with friends and family. Olivia understood the feeling. “And the diner’s doing the turkey dinners this year. At the end of my shift, I get take-home. Marmaduke will see that I don’t go hungry.”

      “If you say so. But you can always stop by for dessert.”

      “I might do that. Just to run a white glove over your dusted surfaces.”

      “Don’t encourage my mother-in-law.”

      When Kelly left, Olivia put on her coat, scarf and gloves. She couldn’t find her hat, and she wondered whether one of her students had worn it home. Finally giving up the search, she headed for the diner, not a block from the school. The biting air made her wrap her scarf more tightly around her neck. Although the temperatures had been right for the season, there was still no sign of snow. A big disappointment, in Olivia’s mind. What were the holidays without snow? The skeletal tree limbs arching overhead appeared downright spooky, as if Halloween still lurked. The branches needed at least a light dusting to flip the calendar to the appropriate page. This is the famous New York snow belt, she silently reminded the leaden sky. So produce!

      She pushed through the diner’s doorway into the crowded and steamy interior. “Olivia!” several people called out as she made her way to an empty stool at the counter. Ignatz, the ancient cook, winked at her from his side of the pass-through.

      “The usual?” Maggie, one of two midday waitresses, asked from behind the counter, her Christmas bell earrings tinkling cheerily.

      “Yes, please.” Although, suddenly, Olivia wanted something unusual. It was such a strange and overwhelming sensation. A craving. An itch. A nameless longing. For something she’d never experienced before. She couldn’t even tell if what she wanted was food or something bigger. Some adventure right out of a genie’s lamp.

      But what she got was chili and a large glass of milk.

      “Thanks, Maggie.” The odd feeling lingered as familiar voices around Olivia hummed in conversation.

      “Who knows what your usual will taste like come Monday,” Maggie said. “Ignatz’s last shift is Saturday.”

      “That reminds me, I have a little retirement present for him. I’ll bring it by Saturday afternoon. So who’s the new cook?”

      “Marmaduke’s talking to him now.” Maggie nodded to a booth in the corner. “I know the boss is relieved to finally sit down with him face-to-face. He got so many responses to that Internet ad, but he hired this guy on his reputation and his connection to Hennings.”

      “His connection to Hennings?” It couldn’t be.

      “By way of New Orleans. He’s definitely easy on the eyes, but it’s anyone’s guess what the specials are going to taste like. Spicy, I’m betting.”

      Olivia turned to see the owner of the diner in conversation with a man who had to be Gabriel Brant. His back was turned to her, but she could see the crowns of two small heads beside him. Justin and Jared. Someone had put crayons on the table. She could see a small hand coloring a place mat.

      So this was the job Gabriel had taken until something better came up elsewhere. From the short interview they’d had in her classroom, she suspected he wasn’t thrilled about the opportunity. Why not? Marmaduke, who’d started out as a short-order cook himself and still worked the breakfast shift, was known to be an excellent employer. One who hadn’t forgotten his roots. One who prided himself on providing his employees with jobs that could actually pay the bills.

      At that moment, Sasha, the second waitress, brought a tray to Gabriel’s table and began to clear dishes. Stretching out his arm, Marmaduke rose to leave. The two men shook hands. The twin on the outside of the bench seat turned around and spotted Olivia. His tentative wave melted her heart.

      She ate her chili and drank her milk and wondered—for the umpteenth time—if she would ever have children of her own. After getting her degree, she’d turned down a more lucrative teaching position in a bigger system to come home and help her aunt as that extraordinary woman’s health began to fail. It was the least Olivia could do, after all her aunt had done for her.

      Plus, she loved Hennings. Loved the big, old Victorian house in which she’d grown up, loved the small city’s quirky rhythms, loved knowing her contributions made a difference. Her students became her children for ten months, and although she enjoyed watching them grow beyond kindergarten, she always felt a sadness at the end of the school year, when she could no longer pretend they were hers.

      Someone tugged at her shirttail. “Teacher?”

      She looked down to see Justin and Jared standing next to her stool, colored place mats in hand. Their father, serious and eagle-eyed, watched from the booth.

      “Hello,” she said. “I can see you’ve both been busy.”

      “We want to give you our pictures,” Justin said. Olivia had determined that Justin was the twin who did all the talking. “Mine’s a dog. If I could have a dog, I’d want him to look just like this.”

      Olivia took the picture and examined it. Two primitive figures cavorted across the drawing space. One, an obviously happy child, the other, an enormous dog. “This is very good, Justin. Do you know the story of Clifford, the big red dog?”

      “The bookmobile lady read it to us.”

      “Well, we have that book in our classroom. On Monday, when you come to school, I’ll find it for you. In fact, we’ll read it together.”

      As Justin’s eyes grew wide with anticipation, Olivia felt a fairy godmother pleasure at being able to grant this simple favor.

      “So, Jared,” she said, turning to the quiet twin, “let’s look at your picture.”

      Silently, he handed it to her. In the corner, three sad circle faces peered out of a tiny car. A swirl of brown and black and blue covered the rest of the paper, threatening to engulf the travelers. Stick figures floated in the deluge.

      “Tell me about your drawing, Jared,” she said ever so softly.

      “It’s what he experienced during Katrina,” a deep voice replied, equally softly. Gabriel stood over his sons. “It’s all he draws, in one variation or another. I figure if I let him get it out on paper, the nightmares will eventually stop.”

      And he’ll eventually talk again, Olivia thought. She’d watched CNN, horrified as the hurricane had devastated a city. But that was two years