Comfort And Joy. Amy Frazier

him again—especially later, alone—come across as unprofessional? Having had forty-eight hours to question her motives in asking him to join her, she almost hoped he’d decide against it. But then the twins would miss out, and she didn’t want that.

      So what did she want? She’d been so unaccountably antsy the past few days that she’d be hard-pressed to give a reply.

      “Olivia!” Lynn Waters, director of the community rec center, squeezed through the crowd, confidently wearing a headdress of turkey feathers and a necklace of miniature gourds. “When can we get together to begin work on the pageant?”

      “Anytime.” The annual children’s winterfest pageant was one of Olivia’s favorite volunteer activities. No matter how precisely she and Lynn planned or how many times they rehearsed the kids, their charges always did something so spontaneous, so kidlike, so delightful at the performance, that no year was ever the same as the year before. And every one was memorable.

      “I’m thinking of using real animals this year,” Lynn said. “Ty Mackey’s offered any or all of his.”

      “Even the potbellied pig?” Olivia laughed. “Does nothing frighten you?”

      “Not having enough singers frightens me. I’ve gone over the list of kids who’ve signed up already, and we’re still short on boys.”

      Olivia spied Gabriel making his way through the crowd, with Justin and Jared clinging to his side. It surprised her just how pleased she was to see him. Them. “I know two more boys who might be persuaded to join us,” she said, thinking the camaraderie of the pageant might be what the twins needed to help them fit in and feel at home. “But I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

      “Shall we have a planning session Sunday afternoon?”

      “That’s fine with me.”

      “Hi,” Gabriel said, stopping in front of them. The one syllable slid over her senses like the intro to a mournful blues ballad. His eyes said he didn’t want to be here. “I thought we might be too late.” Wishful thinking?

      His sons pulled at his hands. Justin glanced sideways at Olivia through lashes as thick as his father’s, but Jared simply stared at the ground.

      “Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?” Olivia asked.

      “We survived,” he replied.

      For a moment Lynn studied Gabriel with interest, then raised an eyebrow and shot Olivia a silent, Well?

      “Where are my manners!” Olivia exclaimed. “Lynn Waters, this is Gabriel Brant. And Justin and Jared Brant. Gabriel recently moved back to Hennings. His boys are going to be in my class.”

      “You’re lucky,” Lynn said to the twins. “Ms. Marshall was my daughter’s first teacher. And she’s still her favorite.”

      “Is your daughter five?” Justin asked.

      “My daughter’s now fifteen and in high school.” Lynn looked directly at Gabriel. “And she babysits, if you and your wife…”

      “We’re not babies,” Justin said, standing tall. “And Grampa watches us when Daddy can’t.”

      Olivia could see the wheels in her friend’s head spinning. Taking in this all-male scenario. But before Lynn could get the 411 on Gabriel’s marital status, Olivia frowned and cleared her throat in warning.

      “Well, I’d better find my husband,” Lynn said. “He and his buddies at the Shamrock are trying to revive the lawn-mower brigade. They’ve sworn off alcohol until after their performance, so we’ll see if that improves their synchronicity. Nice to meet all of you.” She dimpled innocently at Olivia. “The wagon’s a nice touch. It makes you look so…approachable.” As if the Radio Flyer was some clever trolling device. “Bye!”

      “Is that your wagon?” Justin asked, sparing Olivia the need to look at Gabriel.

      “It is. Your dad and I used it when we were a bit older than you and Jared. I brought it today so that you can ride in the parade.”

      “Parade? Like Mardi Gras?”

      “Not quite,” she replied, suppressing a chuckle at the thought of the forthright women of Hennings baring their breasts for beads in near-freezing Turkey Trot temperatures. “But hop in. If we’re going to take part, the first thing we need to do is get ourselves over to the face-painting station.”

      “Cold, wet paint on my face sounds really inviting,” Gabriel said, pulling the zipper of his windbreaker as far up as it would go.

      “It’s just a dab,” Olivia said, laughing. “It’s kind of like a badge of honor, showing how tough we Hennings folks are. I’m thinking I’d like a pumpkin vine on my forehead.” She turned to the twins. “How about you?”

      “Can I get Spider-Man?” Justin asked, clambering into the wagon first and then helping Jared, whose eyes, despite his silence, registered real interest.

      “I don’t know if they’ll have superheroes,” Olivia replied, “but we’ll check.” She handed the wagon handle to Gabriel, who’d been listening carefully through this exchange. “How about you? Are you up for a superhero? If I recall, your favorite when you were ten was the Hulk. You told me my personal fave, She-Ra, was a wimp.”

      He took control of the wagon, but didn’t exactly appear comfortable. He looked as if he didn’t want her as a tour guide, pointing out highlights of the past. What was she thinking? She was presuming upon a very slight acquaintance. Apparently, it hadn’t meant much to him then, and now it didn’t engender the same warmth and ease it did in her.

      “Take the wagon,” she said, trying to regain her composure. “Don’t worry about getting it back to me today. I won’t need it until spring, when I’ll use it to carry my seedlings from the nursery.” Oh, great. Now she was babbling. What had gotten into her? Besides three pairs of blue eyes that said they needed relief from their recent experiences, even if one pair—his eyes—said he didn’t need it from her.

      “Have fun!” she said, trying to sound positive, wondering why she was so disappointed he didn’t want her company. “If I see any of the boys’ classmates, I’ll be sure to bring them over for introductions.”

      She turned to leave, but Justin stopped her. “Teacher! Are we going to get our faces painted?”

      “Your dad will take you.”

      “But I wanna see your face painted like a pumpkin.”

      “Maybe Ms. Marshall has plans to meet other friends,” Gabriel said.

      “No,” she replied, without thinking. “I mean…I’m flexible.”

      “Come with us,” Justin urged. “Pretty please with gumbo on top.”

      Gabriel still looked uncomfortable, but he seemed to soften. “How can you refuse a ‘please’ with gumbo on top?”

      “Sounds messy,” she said. Almost as messy as stepping beyond the absolutely professional with the father of two of her students. “But yummy.”

      “Then lead the way.”

      She did, as the mayor, standing high on City Hall’s steps, bullhorn in hand, exhorted those participating in the race to assume their positions at the starting line.

      “When the race starts,” she warned the boys, “there’ll be a big bang. It always makes me jump. But it’s just the starting gun, letting the racers know they can begin to run.”

      “Noise doesn’t bother them,” Gabriel said, his voice low but bitter. “They’ve gotten used to close quarters and too little peace and quiet over the past twenty-seven months.”

      Twenty-seven months. Not rounded down to two years. As if each month was etched painfully into his memory. Distinct. Unforgettable. Now, that just wasn’t fair. Her heart went out in sympathy.