The Night Garden by Lisa van Allen Page B

able to tell Sam the truth about what had happened to her. She needed to keep him away from her—at least until she found a cure. She could not bear the idea that repeated exposure to her might make him worse.
    Sam came up to her where she stood at the sink and started to put his arms around her waist. But she elbowed him lightly, told him she wasn’t feeling well, and did not kiss him good night at the door. The next day, she’d broken up with him. She hadn’t actually expected that she would never find a cure for her condition and never be with him again.
    Now she tried to go easy on herself when she spotted Sam in the distance crossing the fields toward her. If her stomach fluttered weirdly and the backs of her knees began to itch every time she saw him, it was only because her teenage self was still lurking somewhere down beneath her pragmatic and levelheaded twenty-nine-year-old self.
    “I’ll tell him to back off,” Tom said. “If you want.”
    She gave a smile she didn’t feel. “It’s okay.”
    Sam was with them a moment later; he wore his dark blue uniform, which only seemed to emphasize how long and trim he was. His shoes were shiny and his radio crackled at his side before he turned it down. Even in the middle of the summer, the allergies he’d suffered as a child seemed to have abated. She’d been watching him closely to see if his occasional proximity to her was causing any reactions; so far, she’d seen nothing to indicate that his sensitivity to her had worsened over time.
    “Hi, guys,” he said.
    “What’s going on in Mayberry, Officer Fife?” Tom said. “Rescuing cats out of trees?”
    Sam stood tall in his uniform. “I need to talk to Olivia. Alone.”
    “Now?” Olivia said. She felt suddenly self-conscious of theway her long cotton skirt was hitched in her belt, exposing her work boots and socks and perpetually bruised shins.
    “I’m on the clock,” Sam said, his face tight. “So, yeah. Now would be good.”
    “What do you think, Liv?” Tom asked.
    “Well, we were just about done here anyway,” she said to Tom. “You’ll call Robbie about the bugs?”
    “You got it,” Tom said. “I’ll page you in ten, let you know what he says.”
    She nodded; Tom didn’t need to page her. He was just telling her he’d check up on her. The gesture embodied the kind of tacit affection that had marked her relationship with Tom from the beginning, though they’d never spent time together apart from work. She watched as he walked away, and when he was out of earshot, she turned her attention to Sam.
    “Are you okay?” Olivia asked. “You seem upset about something.”
    “Your neighbor’s at it again.”
    Olivia rolled her eyes. “What is it now? Are the peacocks too noisy for her? Did she find one of my barn cats sleeping on her porch swing?”
    She waited for Sam to laugh but he didn’t. “She was down at social services yesterday. That’s what everyone’s saying.”
    “What’s that have to do with me?”
    “Not you. Your father.”
    “I don’t understand …”
    Sam told her how Gloria had made her way to the social services offices and began asking questions—off the record, she’d said. Hypothetically speaking, what would you do if I knew someone who was abusing an elderly parent? I’m not saying I know anybody, but what if I heard this person had her father allegedly living like a dog in a shack in a ravine, without even the basic necessities? What would be the next step? Of course, the woman who worked behind thefront desk, Sam’s childhood babysitter, had known immediately that Gloria was talking about old Arthur Pennywort. And she’d called Sam to tell him right away.
    “But they can’t do anything,” Olivia said. “It’s not like I’m abusing him. Or neglecting him. I trek down there to see him at least once a day, sometimes more. He’s got everything he says he needs. There’s nothing more I can do.”
    “I know that. Everyone in Green Valley knows