since she didn’t have much of an appetite—dressed in jeans and a sleeveless cotton top, bound her hair back in the usual no-fuss ponytail, and skipped the mascara and lip gloss.
While Hildie napped in a patch of sunlight in the kitchen, Libby let herself out the back door, crossed the yard and the alley, unlocked the rear entrance to the Perk Up and nearly jumped out of her skin when Calvin leaped out at her from behind a box of pop-on cup lids and yelled, “Boo!”
The fight-or-flight response stopped Libby in her tracks, one hand pressed to her pounding heart.
Julie peeked out of the kitchen, wearing an apron and holding a mixing bowl in the curve of one arm and a batter-coated spoon in the other. “For Pete’s sake, Calvin,” she scolded merrily, “how many times have I told you that you shouldn’t scare the elderly?”
“You are just too funny,” Libby said, directing the terse remark to her sister and a warm smile to her nephew.
Calvin had left his swim trunks and frog-floater at home that day, and he looked very handsome in his miniature chinos and short-sleeved plaid shirt. He was even wearing his good glasses, the ones with no adhesive tape spanning the bridge.
“Something big going on at playschool today?” Libby asked, setting her purse on a high shelf and reaching for an apron.
Calvin nodded eagerly. “We’re getting a castle!” he crowed. “With turrets and everything!”
So, Libby thought, Tate’s girls had decided to donate their birthday present to the community center. That was quick.
“You’re getting a castle today?” she asked Calvin, wondering if Tate had intended to give away the massive toy all along; perhaps called to make the arrangements almost as soon as it arrived on the Silver Spur.
Calvin swelled out his chest. “No,” he said. “Justin’s mom is best friends with my teacher, Mrs. Oakland, and she told Justin’s mom that it would take time and sweat and a lot of heavy equipment to move the thing.”
Having seen the castle, Libby agreed. “Then why are you so dressed up?” she asked.
Calvin gave a long-suffering sigh. In his oft-expressed opinion, adults could be remarkably obtuse at times. “Because we’re going to have a meeting at recess and elect a king,” he said, very slowly, so his elderly aunt could follow. “I’m on the committee.”
Libby and Julie exchanged looks. Julie smiled and shrugged as if to say, “That’s what you get for asking a dumb question,” but her eyes—pale violet that day because her T-shirt was purple—were solemn. She raised her eyebrows.
“Yes,” Libby told Julie, an expert at sister-telepathy, “I heard.”
“Heard what?” Calvin wanted to know, following as Libby headed for the front of the shop to fire up the various gadgets and switch the “Closed” sign to “Open.”
“That you’re campaigning to be king,” Libby hedged. “Do you have your speech ready? Buttons and bumper stickers to pass out to the voters?”
“If nobody else is going to point out that kings are not elected officials,” Julie said, still stirring the batter, “I will.”
Calvin looked worried. “Buttons and bumper stickers?” he repeated.
Libby’s heart melted. She bent to kiss the top of her nephew’s blond head. “I was just teasing, big guy,” she said. “And your mom is right. To my knowledge, there is not now and never has been one single king of Texas.”
Calvin beamed. “Then I could be the first one!” he cried, delighted. Since he wasn’t even in kindergarten yet and was already serving on committees, Libby figured he might just pull it off.
She smiled again, went to unlock the cash register and see if she had enough change on hand for the day.
“Calvin,” Julie said, pointing, “sit down at that table in the corner, please, and watch for customers. If you see one approaching, let us know.”
Calvin obeyed readily, and he sat up so straight and looked so vigilant that a whole new wave of tenderness
While Hildie napped in a patch of sunlight in the kitchen, Libby let herself out the back door, crossed the yard and the alley, unlocked the rear entrance to the Perk Up and nearly jumped out of her skin when Calvin leaped out at her from behind a box of pop-on cup lids and yelled, “Boo!”
The fight-or-flight response stopped Libby in her tracks, one hand pressed to her pounding heart.
Julie peeked out of the kitchen, wearing an apron and holding a mixing bowl in the curve of one arm and a batter-coated spoon in the other. “For Pete’s sake, Calvin,” she scolded merrily, “how many times have I told you that you shouldn’t scare the elderly?”
“You are just too funny,” Libby said, directing the terse remark to her sister and a warm smile to her nephew.
Calvin had left his swim trunks and frog-floater at home that day, and he looked very handsome in his miniature chinos and short-sleeved plaid shirt. He was even wearing his good glasses, the ones with no adhesive tape spanning the bridge.
“Something big going on at playschool today?” Libby asked, setting her purse on a high shelf and reaching for an apron.
Calvin nodded eagerly. “We’re getting a castle!” he crowed. “With turrets and everything!”
So, Libby thought, Tate’s girls had decided to donate their birthday present to the community center. That was quick.
“You’re getting a castle today?” she asked Calvin, wondering if Tate had intended to give away the massive toy all along; perhaps called to make the arrangements almost as soon as it arrived on the Silver Spur.
Calvin swelled out his chest. “No,” he said. “Justin’s mom is best friends with my teacher, Mrs. Oakland, and she told Justin’s mom that it would take time and sweat and a lot of heavy equipment to move the thing.”
Having seen the castle, Libby agreed. “Then why are you so dressed up?” she asked.
Calvin gave a long-suffering sigh. In his oft-expressed opinion, adults could be remarkably obtuse at times. “Because we’re going to have a meeting at recess and elect a king,” he said, very slowly, so his elderly aunt could follow. “I’m on the committee.”
Libby and Julie exchanged looks. Julie smiled and shrugged as if to say, “That’s what you get for asking a dumb question,” but her eyes—pale violet that day because her T-shirt was purple—were solemn. She raised her eyebrows.
“Yes,” Libby told Julie, an expert at sister-telepathy, “I heard.”
“Heard what?” Calvin wanted to know, following as Libby headed for the front of the shop to fire up the various gadgets and switch the “Closed” sign to “Open.”
“That you’re campaigning to be king,” Libby hedged. “Do you have your speech ready? Buttons and bumper stickers to pass out to the voters?”
“If nobody else is going to point out that kings are not elected officials,” Julie said, still stirring the batter, “I will.”
Calvin looked worried. “Buttons and bumper stickers?” he repeated.
Libby’s heart melted. She bent to kiss the top of her nephew’s blond head. “I was just teasing, big guy,” she said. “And your mom is right. To my knowledge, there is not now and never has been one single king of Texas.”
Calvin beamed. “Then I could be the first one!” he cried, delighted. Since he wasn’t even in kindergarten yet and was already serving on committees, Libby figured he might just pull it off.
She smiled again, went to unlock the cash register and see if she had enough change on hand for the day.
“Calvin,” Julie said, pointing, “sit down at that table in the corner, please, and watch for customers. If you see one approaching, let us know.”
Calvin obeyed readily, and he sat up so straight and looked so vigilant that a whole new wave of tenderness
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