Comfort And Joy

“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 his sons.

“No? The offer to fund the boys’ school supplies, the loan of the wagon, the willingness to buy drinks…”

“Have you been gone from Hennings so long you’ve forgotten what being neighborly means? Gabriel, this is me. Olivia.”

Something flickered in his eyes—a light that disappeared as soon as it appeared. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” he said. “We’re not refugees. We don’t need your pity. And we don’t want your charity. We’ll borrow the wagon for today, but I’ll return it tonight. If my kids need something, I’ll provide it.”

He pulled the boys away and left her standing with two cups of hot chocolate and a guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

CHAPTER FOUR

SUNDAY NIGHT Gabriel lay in bed in Walter’s spare room and stared at the face-shaped stain on the ceiling, which was illuminated by the streetlight outside the window. Before his return to Hennings, he’d never slept in this room. It held no memories for him. It should mean no more to him than some anonymous motel room. Yet his mind wouldn’t quiet, and sleep eluded him.

Tomorrow was the twins’ first day of school. His first day of full-time work in what seemed like ages. A degree of stability after twenty-seven months without any. He should feel an easing of that chronic pain between his shoulder blades. But he didn’t.

As he kept replaying the past week in his mind, he twisted and turned on the uneven mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. But thoughts of living indefinitely with his father, of taking a job that was beneath him, and of Olivia and her patronizing Marshall Plan—especially thoughts of Olivia—made him punch the pillow in frustration.

He’d been so angry over her thinly veiled charity he hadn’t yet returned the Radio Flyer. He didn’t want to see her again. He was even thinking of requesting a transfer for the boys. To the other kindergarten class.

Even more disturbing than his anger had been the attraction he’d felt.

A scream cut through the still house. That would be Jared.

Gabriel sprang from bed, tripped over his shoes, banged his shoulder against the door frame, swore, and then staggered down the hall toward what had once been his and Daniel’s room. Only to find the light already on and Walter kneeling by the edge of Jared’s bed.

“He had a nightmare, Grampa,” Justin mumbled sleepily from the adjacent bed.

“I know, son,” Walter replied, his back to Gabriel.

As his father drew Jared close, Gabriel remained in the shadows of the doorway, prepared to intervene if necessary. Walter had seldom dispensed anything other than cold comfort to his own sons.

“Are you awake now?” Walter asked, his voice gruff but at the same time gentle. “Is that nightmare gone?”

Jared snuffled.

“Do you know where you are?”

“At your house,” Justin replied for his brother.

“Your house, too. So you know what that means. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you here. Either one of you. I won’t let it. So those old nightmares are just gonna hafta find somewhere else to hang out. You understand?”

“Yessir,” Justin said, yawning, as Jared nodded, his eyelids already at half-mast.

“Now close your eyes. I’m gonna stay right here until I hear you snoring.”

Justin giggled sleepily. “Grampa, we don’t snore.”

“You better not. ’Cause I need my beauty rest in the next room. And if you go back to sleep real quick, I’ll let you have Cocoa Puffs for breakfast.”

“Daddy doesn’t like Cocoa Puffs.”

“He won’t be the one eating them.”

Walter remained kneeling between the beds. Only when both twins were fast asleep again did he stand and turn. The look on his face said he didn’t know Gabriel had been behind him. Didn’t appreciate the audience. Wordlessly, his stiff demeanor back in place, he brushed by his own son, switched off the light and then made his way downstairs. Gabriel followed.

In the kitchen, Walter lit a burner, got out a saucepan, honey, lemon juice and whiskey. “You want a nightcap?”

“No, thanks.” Gabriel needed a clear head tomorrow.

“Suit yourself.” Walter added a splash of water to the saucepan, then proceeded to make himself a hot toddy. “How often does Jared get nightmares?” he asked. Belligerently. As if Gabriel might somehow be to blame.

“Once a week. Sometimes more.” This was the first one since the return to Hennings.

Stirring the ingredients in the saucepan over the flame, Walter didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to get up with him. When it happens again, I’ll take care of it.”

Walter slit his eyes. “You said when it happens again. Don’t you mean if?”

“After twenty-seven months, I’m just being realistic.”

“The boys are home now. You might see a difference. Don’t be so negative.”

“I’m going to turn in,” Gabriel said, giving up on the idea of a real conversation, and not wanting to discuss the differences returning to Walter’s house might make. “I just wanted to say…thanks. For being there this time. For Jared.”

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