Comfort And Joy

“Good, I hope.”

He didn’t answer. The past didn’t matter. The present didn’t mean much to him, either. He was working on the future.

“Out for a walk?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you have cabin fever already. Winter hasn’t even begun.”

“Being closed inside against the cold is going to take some getting used to.”

“Well, when you’re outside, you’re going to have to remember to keep moving. Walk me home—I’m only a couple blocks out of your way.”

How could he say no? He fell into step beside her, the soles of his shoes making crunching noises on the frozen sidewalk. He found it hard not to glance at her. Not to notice that the tip of her nose was already turning red and that the wisps of condensation as she breathed made her lips look soft and muted, as if she were an actress in a film and the director had called for the gauze over the camera lens. As if the mood aimed for was romantic.

Get a grip, Gabriel, he told himself. You’ve been too long without.

“I only know New Orleans from books and travel shows,” she continued, her voice dreamy. “But with the warm climate and all the verandas and balconies and sidewalk cafés, I imagine the inside and the outside just melt one into each other.”

“They did. Before the storm. Now…there are pockets. But the ease is gone from the Big Easy.”

“You don’t want to talk about it.”

“No.”

“Okay. Change of subject.” Was she always this amenable? This upbeat? Didn’t it exhaust her? “Are you bringing the boys to the Turkey Trot on Friday?”

“Turkey Trot?”

“It’s a 5K road race up Main Street to the park. Race is a bit of misnomer, although I think they still give out a prize for the first person to cross the finish line. The real fun comes with the informal parade that tags along after the racers. It’s kind of evolved over the years. People dress up. There’s a prize for best seasonal costume. Parents push strollers. Kids ride decorated bicycles. Carl Obermeyer always walks on stilts, and his wife juggles.”

Olivia picked up a stick and ran it, as a kid might do, along a wrought-iron fence that fronted a neatly kept yard. “One year,” she continued cheerily, “a group of men from the Shamrock Grill attempted a synchronized lawn-mower routine. Turkey Trot’s always a little nutty, but it’s a good way to meet your neighbors and walk off the previous day’s food. At the park, the outdoor skating rink officially opens. The whole thing’s a lot of fun. Your boys would love it.”

He stared at her. Slightly out of breath, she actually seemed as excited as a child at the prospect of this civic goofiness. “I don’t know.”

“Got better things to do?” There was mischief in her eyes. And a challenge.

“Hey, we just got into town yesterday. We’ve barely settled in.”

“And today here you are out and about, enjoying our frosty air.” She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “I can see you’re already looking for an excuse to get out of the house.”

She had him there.

“Do you want to talk?”

“What’s this we’re doing?”

“I mean, about your homecoming.”

“No.” With Lydia Marshall’s old home in sight, he picked up the pace.

“So what about the Turkey Trot?” Olivia asked. Gabriel remembered that as a girl she’d been tenacious.

“Five K, you say?” He tamped down his frustration. Aimed for a reasonable tone of voice. “The twins are little, and we don’t have a wagon or bikes.” He didn’t want to sound surly, given her enthusiasm for the event, but he didn’t feel ready to plunge into the fishbowl that was small-town life, either.

“I believe there’s still a Radio Flyer wagon in my garage,” she replied, as if she wasn’t in the least deterred by his excuse. “I’ll bring it with me the day after tomorrow, and you can pull the boys in it.”

He’d learned to mistrust seemingly generous offers. “Thanks, but—”

“It’s the same wagon we used when we tried for the speed record down Packard Hill.”

“Good God.” The memory jolted him. “I still have the scars on my knees and elbows.” He remembered how frightened he’d been, not because of his own injuries, but at the possibility that she’d be as badly hurt.

“Luckily, I don’t have any reminders of my concussion.”

“And you want me to put my boys in that demon wagon?”

“The parade route’s flat. I promise,” she said, her eyes sparkling, as if she knew he was running out of excuses. “And I’ll introduce the boys to any of their classmates we meet on the way. So Monday won’t seem like a sea of strange faces.” She smiled. A radiant smile. “In front of City Hall, Friday, at one?”

He didn’t know what persuaded him. That smile, or the persistent memory of her earlier fearlessness. Of her tenacity. Her aunt’s generosity. His lost innocence and childish optimism.

“Sure,” he said, before he could figure out what he actually might be getting himself into.

CHAPTER THREE

THE OLD RED RADIO FLYER at her side, Olivia stood in front of City Hall amid a crush of Turkey Trot racers performing their warm-up stretches, and neighbors jovially complaining to one another about how they’d overeaten the day before. She wondered if Gabriel would show. Had her excitement at seeing 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.

When they approached the face-painting station, Jessie Nix and Sheria Hobson—middle-schoolers now—came forward, paint palettes in hand. “Hey, Ms. Marshall!” they chorused, as Sheria looked at Gabriel. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“Sheria!” Olivia felt her cheeks tingle.

“Oops! My bad!” The girl dimpled with mischief and then shot Jessie a knowing look, which Jessie returned.

The girls knelt by the boys in the wagon. “Twins! Cool!” said Jessie. “Are you gonna let us paint your faces?”

“Can you paint Spider-Man?” Justin asked.

“I think he’d take too long, and you’d miss the fun,” Sheria replied. “But we can do Spidey’s web. Okay?”

Both boys nodded vehemently, and the girls got to work.

“It’s cold and it tickles!” Justin exclaimed.

“Want me to stop?” Jessie asked.

“Nope. Ms. Marshall said it’ll make me tough.”

Olivia glanced at Gabriel and found he was staring at her. His intense gaze caught her off balance, and so she was unprepared for the signal beginning the race.

Not far from them, the starter’s gun cracked.

With an indecorous squeak, she jumped, stubbed her toe on the curb and fell against Gabriel’s chest. He was rock solid and smelled just good enough that in an instant she stopped thinking of him as the father of two of her students, or even as a childhood friend, and instead thought of him as a man. Plain and simple.

Although he definitely wasn’t plain, and the situation sure wasn’t simple. On top of which, the crowd pressing closely around them made it impossible to extricate herself.

In Katrina’s aftermath, Gabriel had thought he was immune to the unexpected, but surprise didn’t describe how it felt to find Olivia Marshall up against him. With so many layers of cold-weather clothing separating them, you’d think he wouldn’t be able to feel her heat. But he did. Or maybe it was his own.

For more than two years, he’d been so busy eking out an existence for the boys and himself that he’d had no time for women. No time to acknowledge that he sorely missed their company. No time, now, to separate, as you might under normal circumstances, the simply social or the mildly amusing from the purely physical. He’d been without for so long, his reaction automatically skipped to physical want.

Olivia felt damn good.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding breathy and smelling of peppermint. She struggled to pull away, but the crowd pushed them closer.

He could kiss her, she was that close. And if this had been a New Orleans Mardi Gras, no one would even blink. But this was the Turkey Trot in Hennings. A different atmosphere altogether.

“Daddy! Look at us!”

As Gabriel turned to look at his sons, his mouth grazed Olivia’s forehead and created a spark of static electricity. She gasped and managed to free herself from his embrace—because embracing her was what he found himself doing. What he found himself wanting to do, until he noticed the openmouthed gazes of two adolescent girls, paint palettes and hand mirrors frozen in midair.

“Did you trip?” Justin asked Olivia, innocent curiosity lighting his face.

“Y-yes…I’m afraid I did.”

The girls dissolved in not-so-innocent giggles.

“Because your shoe’s untied!” Justin exclaimed as Jared pointed to Olivia’s hiking boot, its lace dangling.

“That must be the reason,” Olivia replied, red-cheeked.

Gabriel really couldn’t have said why he bent to tie her shoe. Reflex, perhaps. Because in the past four years he’d tied so many, at the twins’ insistence. Anyway, as he bent on one knee and she did the same, their heads met in a painful bump.

“Ow!” Justin shouted in empathy.

“I second that,” Olivia said, rubbing her head.

“Do you two need ice?” one of the face-painting girls asked.

Gabriel rubbed the already rising lump on his forehead. “That would be a good idea.”

“We’ll get some,” the second girl offered, and both headed for the concession stand.

“If this was a typical November,” Olivia remarked, tying her boot, then rising, “we could stick our heads in a snowbank.”

“They have banks for snow?” Justin asked.

Gabriel thought of the difficulty of explaining this concept to kids who’d been raised in a warm Southern climate. “I think this is something that gets explained in kindergarten.”

Olivia gave him a “gee, thanks” look before turning to the boys. “When we get snow—which we should by Christmas—you’ll see that the snow on the sides of the road gets pushed into big humps called banks.”

“If there’s money in them,” Justin replied solemnly, “maybe Daddy can get some for us. We need money.”

Gabriel felt a sudden rush of shame, not at his son’s honesty but at the fact that Justin—five years old—knew they were strapped.

“Everybody needs money,” Olivia said, as if the statement was no big deal. “But you can’t get it out of snowbanks. They’re not regular buildings.” Gabriel liked how she looked at Jared, as well as Justin, when she spoke. Including him, although he let his brother do all the talking. “Maybe they’re called banks because that’s where the snow gets saved until spring comes.”

“I don’t know,” Justin said, shaking his head. “I’m just gonna hafta see one of these things.”

Olivia laughed, and the sound on the crisp, cold air was genuine and refreshing. “After the first snow, your dad is going to have to take you sledding on Packard Hill.”

“That’s what I told them,” he said, suddenly imagining how she’d looked on the Radio Flyer. Her gap-toothed smile lighting the way. Pigtails flying.

“What if it doesn’t snow?” Justin asked. “What are we gonna do then?”

“Well, not sledding,” she replied, “but there are lots of other fun things to do here. In fact, I was just about to ask your dad if he’d let you be in one of them.”

“One of what?”

“It’s our community winterfest pageant,” she said, massaging her head. Her forehead had to hurt as much as Gabriel’s did, but it was apparent she was trying to minimize the pain in front of the boys so as not to worry them. “You get to dress up and sing and celebrate the first day of winter and our famous cold weather. This year, we’re going to have animals, too.”

“Elephants?”

“No elephants, but farm animals like—”

“We’re not theatrical,” Gabriel said. Brants never had been. Walter, maybe. But only for a home audience. “Thanks, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t consider Ty Mackey theatrical,” she replied, with an edge of determination Gabriel found challenging, “but he’s the one providing the animals. Just think about it.”

“Omigosh, we had to chip this out of the concession-stand cooler!” One of the face-painting girls returned with two paper cups of ice. “It’s so cold today nobody’s ordering anything but cocoa and coffee, and the ice had turned to one big lump.” She handed a paper cup each to Gabriel and Olivia. “Whoa, I’m just in time. You guys have matching goose eggs.”

“Thanks for the first aid, Sheria,” Olivia said, pressing her cup to the lump on her forehead.

“No problem.” Sheria waved to Justin and Jared as she melted back into the crowd, which now swept along in the wake of the racers. “Have fun, little Spidey dudes. Hope you like the webs we painted.”

“How do we look, Dad?” Justin asked, turning his cheek for inspection.

“Awesome.”

Sitting 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.