at kids who rushed at them, forcing them to fly away. Thankfully, they were alone on the beach today.
As Jane made herself comfortable, she assembled a mental list of everything she needed to do before the party tonight. Cordelia still hadn’t received an RSVP from Peter. Maybe he thought, because he was family, that he didn’t need to call.
Hattie rushed up to her. “More bread.”
“Are you having fun?”
“I love duckies.”
“I know you do, sweetheart, but we can’t stay much longer.”
“Five more minutes?”
Hattie had no idea how long five minutes was. “Yes, five more minutes.”
She crept back to the shoreline, holding out a piece of baguette to a goose.
“Be careful,” called Jane. Geese, in her opinion, were nasty critters. “Just toss the bread on the ground.” Hattie didn’t have much natural fear of animals. Oddly enough, the animals, birds, whatever, seemed to sense her benevolence and responded in kind. The goose stretched out her neck and nibbled the piece of bread away from Hattie’s fingers.
“That kid’s got a way with animals,” came a man’s voice. When Jane turned to see who had spoken, she immediately recognized the face but couldn’t place it. Then it hit her.
“You’re the preacher.”
She hadn’t recognized him at first because he wasn’t wearing his cowl. He had on normal clothes—a light blue polo shirt untucked over a pair of white painter pants. While he had seemed stocky, even a bit fat, in his monk’s attire, she could see now that it was all muscle.
He opened a sack of Wonder Bread and took out a slice. “She’s a beautiful kid.”
“Thanks,” said Jane, adjusting her sunglasses.
“Different hair color, but she looks just like you.”
Hattie didn’t look a thing like her, not that Jane was about to discuss Hattie with a stranger.
The man stepped up to the edge of the water. He tore his bread into quarters and tossed them, making a clicking sound with his tongue. He kept a good distance from Hattie but glanced at her a couple of times and smiled.
“There’s that asshole minister,” called a boy’s voice.
Two teenagers, one in a red tank top and baggy jeans, the other in a baggy black T-shirt and even baggier jeans, had stopped on the walking path.
“My dad thinks you’re a freak,” called the boy in the tank top.
“The devil,” said the one wearing the T-shirt.
Jane watched in horror as the kid in the T-shirt picked up a rock and heaved it at the preacher. “Stop it,” she yelled, rushing for Hattie and whisking her into her arms.
“What the hell?” called the preacher. He turned and lunged at the boys.
As they took off running, the kid in the tank top scooped up another rock and threw it, this time connecting. The preacher went down, holding his head and groaning.
Hattie pointed at the preacher and began to cry.
“It’s okay, baby,” said Jane, kissing her, holding her tight. “I won’t let anybody hurt you.”
Jane waited, shielding Hattie, until the kids were out of sight. Then, hurrying over to the man, she crouched down, still holding Hattie in her arms. “Are you okay?” she asked.
He lifted the hand from his face, revealing a gash less than an inch away from his right eye.
“That kid could have blinded you,” said Jane.
Spitting sand out of his mouth, the preacher said, “If I ever see those two little turds again, they’re toast.” He took out a handkerchief and pressed it to the wound.
The words didn’t sound very preacherlike. “You need to get to a hospital, have that looked at.”
“Nah, I’m okay.”
“If you need a ride—”
“I’ve got a car.”
“I wish I had a car,” said Hattie coyly, playing with a button on Jane’s shirt.
“You do?” The preacher rolled over, pulling himself to a sitting position. “Where would you drive it?”
“China. To see the panda bears.”
Jane and the man exchanged amused glances.
“I have a first aid kit,” announced Hattie, poking Jane
As Jane made herself comfortable, she assembled a mental list of everything she needed to do before the party tonight. Cordelia still hadn’t received an RSVP from Peter. Maybe he thought, because he was family, that he didn’t need to call.
Hattie rushed up to her. “More bread.”
“Are you having fun?”
“I love duckies.”
“I know you do, sweetheart, but we can’t stay much longer.”
“Five more minutes?”
Hattie had no idea how long five minutes was. “Yes, five more minutes.”
She crept back to the shoreline, holding out a piece of baguette to a goose.
“Be careful,” called Jane. Geese, in her opinion, were nasty critters. “Just toss the bread on the ground.” Hattie didn’t have much natural fear of animals. Oddly enough, the animals, birds, whatever, seemed to sense her benevolence and responded in kind. The goose stretched out her neck and nibbled the piece of bread away from Hattie’s fingers.
“That kid’s got a way with animals,” came a man’s voice. When Jane turned to see who had spoken, she immediately recognized the face but couldn’t place it. Then it hit her.
“You’re the preacher.”
She hadn’t recognized him at first because he wasn’t wearing his cowl. He had on normal clothes—a light blue polo shirt untucked over a pair of white painter pants. While he had seemed stocky, even a bit fat, in his monk’s attire, she could see now that it was all muscle.
He opened a sack of Wonder Bread and took out a slice. “She’s a beautiful kid.”
“Thanks,” said Jane, adjusting her sunglasses.
“Different hair color, but she looks just like you.”
Hattie didn’t look a thing like her, not that Jane was about to discuss Hattie with a stranger.
The man stepped up to the edge of the water. He tore his bread into quarters and tossed them, making a clicking sound with his tongue. He kept a good distance from Hattie but glanced at her a couple of times and smiled.
“There’s that asshole minister,” called a boy’s voice.
Two teenagers, one in a red tank top and baggy jeans, the other in a baggy black T-shirt and even baggier jeans, had stopped on the walking path.
“My dad thinks you’re a freak,” called the boy in the tank top.
“The devil,” said the one wearing the T-shirt.
Jane watched in horror as the kid in the T-shirt picked up a rock and heaved it at the preacher. “Stop it,” she yelled, rushing for Hattie and whisking her into her arms.
“What the hell?” called the preacher. He turned and lunged at the boys.
As they took off running, the kid in the tank top scooped up another rock and threw it, this time connecting. The preacher went down, holding his head and groaning.
Hattie pointed at the preacher and began to cry.
“It’s okay, baby,” said Jane, kissing her, holding her tight. “I won’t let anybody hurt you.”
Jane waited, shielding Hattie, until the kids were out of sight. Then, hurrying over to the man, she crouched down, still holding Hattie in her arms. “Are you okay?” she asked.
He lifted the hand from his face, revealing a gash less than an inch away from his right eye.
“That kid could have blinded you,” said Jane.
Spitting sand out of his mouth, the preacher said, “If I ever see those two little turds again, they’re toast.” He took out a handkerchief and pressed it to the wound.
The words didn’t sound very preacherlike. “You need to get to a hospital, have that looked at.”
“Nah, I’m okay.”
“If you need a ride—”
“I’ve got a car.”
“I wish I had a car,” said Hattie coyly, playing with a button on Jane’s shirt.
“You do?” The preacher rolled over, pulling himself to a sitting position. “Where would you drive it?”
“China. To see the panda bears.”
Jane and the man exchanged amused glances.
“I have a first aid kit,” announced Hattie, poking Jane
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