daughter was jostled into the street by the crowd that swelled behind them on the sidewalk, however, Emma began to question the wisdom of caving in to a three-year-old's demands.
"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry," apologized the young woman who had nudged Gracie off the curb, and along with Emma helped the toddler back up onto the sidewalk. "Somebody bumped me and I lost my balance. You're Gracie, aren't ya?" she demanded, stooping down and brushing nonexistent dust from the pleated front of Gracie's dress. She glanced up at Emma. "I'm Mary Kelly, Mrs. Sands," she said. "Ruby's daughter."
"Why, how nice to meet you, chere!" Emma laughed with relief and felt a bit foolish. For pity's sake, Em, get a grip, she warned herself. It's a small town parade, not Vice Central. She was allowing the events of the past six weeks to color her judgment, and that was obviously making her paranoid.
"I'm Gwacie," Grade piped up. "I'm fwee!"
"Yeah, I've heard rumors to that effect," Mary replied. Grinning, she straightened the hem of Gracie's dress over the stiff little petticoat beneath. "What a pretty dress you have on."
"Pwetty," Gracie agreed, looking down at her apparel in satisfaction. "You yike my wed shoes?"
"She loves to dress up," Emma confided. "I was such a tomboy when I was a kid, it always startles me I could have given birth to someone so feminine."
Mary stared at the tall blonde in wonder. To her eyes, Emma Sands was all that was feminine. She looked like a model to her, from the sophisticated chin-length wavy bob, to the simplicity of her stark white T-shirt with its three-quarter-length sleeves pushed up to her elbows and the wide, lacy cut-work panel encircling its V-neck, to the pleated olive-drab shorts and white Keds she wore. Between her looks and that accented voice she seemed wonderfully exotic and cosmopolitan, worlds removed from dinky little Port Flannery.
"When do y'all get summer around here?" Emma wanted to know. "Back in N'Awlins it'd be swelterin' by now, but here it's so cool."
"Yeah." Mary snorted. "That's the Pacific Northwest for ya."
"Actually, I kind of like it," Emma confessed. "Being able to sleep at night with the window open is great, and it's so nice to breathe real air. Summers in the South are so sticky that from June until about the end of September it's rare to suck anything into your lungs that hasn't been conditioned to within an inch of its life."
"At least you have a summer," Mary said, but then she shrugged. "Now that the Fourth's here, though, we should be gettin' ours any day now, too."
With only a couple of discordant notes, the band struck up a rousing Sousa march and began militarily stepping up the street. Gracie squealed with excitement and craned her neck to see. Afraid she'd rush out into the street for a better view, Emma swooped down and scooped her up, settling her astride her shoulders. She held her daughter's ankles in her hands while Gracie clutched fistfuls of her hair and bobbed up and down in excitement. Feeling the narrow doweling of the little flag they'd purchased from the veteran in front of the VFW hall dig into her scalp, Emma reached up to tweak it a little higher in Grade's grip. She felt Mary's eyes on her and grinned down at her. Giving her a friendly little bump with her hip, she said, "This is Gracie's first parade. I guess it shows, huh?"
A drum and bugle corps followed the marching band, and Gracie clapped so hard for the synchronized high-stepping girls, with their white-tasseled boots and swingy short skirts, that she dropped her flag. Mary retrieved it for her.
The drum and bugle corps was followed by the Independence Day Princess and her court, each young woman seated atop the back seat of a brand-new convertible with the name of the island Buick dealership on the door. They turned slowly from side to side, smiling Beauty Queen smiles and waving that parade-royalty hand rock, and Gracie was completely enthralled, particularly with the princess, a dimpled
"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry," apologized the young woman who had nudged Gracie off the curb, and along with Emma helped the toddler back up onto the sidewalk. "Somebody bumped me and I lost my balance. You're Gracie, aren't ya?" she demanded, stooping down and brushing nonexistent dust from the pleated front of Gracie's dress. She glanced up at Emma. "I'm Mary Kelly, Mrs. Sands," she said. "Ruby's daughter."
"Why, how nice to meet you, chere!" Emma laughed with relief and felt a bit foolish. For pity's sake, Em, get a grip, she warned herself. It's a small town parade, not Vice Central. She was allowing the events of the past six weeks to color her judgment, and that was obviously making her paranoid.
"I'm Gwacie," Grade piped up. "I'm fwee!"
"Yeah, I've heard rumors to that effect," Mary replied. Grinning, she straightened the hem of Gracie's dress over the stiff little petticoat beneath. "What a pretty dress you have on."
"Pwetty," Gracie agreed, looking down at her apparel in satisfaction. "You yike my wed shoes?"
"She loves to dress up," Emma confided. "I was such a tomboy when I was a kid, it always startles me I could have given birth to someone so feminine."
Mary stared at the tall blonde in wonder. To her eyes, Emma Sands was all that was feminine. She looked like a model to her, from the sophisticated chin-length wavy bob, to the simplicity of her stark white T-shirt with its three-quarter-length sleeves pushed up to her elbows and the wide, lacy cut-work panel encircling its V-neck, to the pleated olive-drab shorts and white Keds she wore. Between her looks and that accented voice she seemed wonderfully exotic and cosmopolitan, worlds removed from dinky little Port Flannery.
"When do y'all get summer around here?" Emma wanted to know. "Back in N'Awlins it'd be swelterin' by now, but here it's so cool."
"Yeah." Mary snorted. "That's the Pacific Northwest for ya."
"Actually, I kind of like it," Emma confessed. "Being able to sleep at night with the window open is great, and it's so nice to breathe real air. Summers in the South are so sticky that from June until about the end of September it's rare to suck anything into your lungs that hasn't been conditioned to within an inch of its life."
"At least you have a summer," Mary said, but then she shrugged. "Now that the Fourth's here, though, we should be gettin' ours any day now, too."
With only a couple of discordant notes, the band struck up a rousing Sousa march and began militarily stepping up the street. Gracie squealed with excitement and craned her neck to see. Afraid she'd rush out into the street for a better view, Emma swooped down and scooped her up, settling her astride her shoulders. She held her daughter's ankles in her hands while Gracie clutched fistfuls of her hair and bobbed up and down in excitement. Feeling the narrow doweling of the little flag they'd purchased from the veteran in front of the VFW hall dig into her scalp, Emma reached up to tweak it a little higher in Grade's grip. She felt Mary's eyes on her and grinned down at her. Giving her a friendly little bump with her hip, she said, "This is Gracie's first parade. I guess it shows, huh?"
A drum and bugle corps followed the marching band, and Gracie clapped so hard for the synchronized high-stepping girls, with their white-tasseled boots and swingy short skirts, that she dropped her flag. Mary retrieved it for her.
The drum and bugle corps was followed by the Independence Day Princess and her court, each young woman seated atop the back seat of a brand-new convertible with the name of the island Buick dealership on the door. They turned slowly from side to side, smiling Beauty Queen smiles and waving that parade-royalty hand rock, and Gracie was completely enthralled, particularly with the princess, a dimpled
Similar Books
