She nodded in understanding. Yes!
Uncle Freddy was the one who saw the wooden truck on the floor. It was in Olivia’s backward path. With many years’ experience in a wheelchair, he whipped it around so he could bend down and grab the truck. He tossed it to Mr. Gates, then turned the chair just before Olivia would have stepped on him.
Mr. Gates put the truck on the table, but he never took his eyes off Olivia.
She only stopped moving when her back was against the far wall of the kitchen.
Straight ahead, through the open door, Kit was shaking water off his nearly nude body. He ran his hands through his thick hair, flinging droplets into the sunlight.
Olivia’s heart was pounding, her breath coming fast and hard. Had a cyclone torn through the kitchen at that moment, she wouldn’t have noticed.
It wasn’t until Kit stepped out of sight that she began to remember where she was. When she did come back to reality, it was with the precision of a military general. She turned toward the four people at the table, ignored the smirks of the old men, and looked at Letty. “Go tell him lunch will be served in thirty minutes.” She looked at Ace. “Get me four zucchini from the garden.”
The children didn’t move.
“We just had lunch,” Letty said.
“What zoo? I like the tigers best,” Ace said.
“We’re going to have a second lunch.” Olivia started grabbing the half-full dishes off the table. “And before you ask, you did not have a first one. Zucchini are those green plants you two use for space guns. Now go!”
The kids jumped up and ran to the door. “And keep him busy!” Olivia added.
Letty paused in the doorway. “What can he do?”
“Anything,” Olivia said under her breath, then louder, “Be yourselves. That should occupy him for an hour or so.”
Olivia looked back at the men whose expressions were smug. They may as well have tattooed I told you so across their foreheads. “One word and I’ll say you’ve already eaten.”
Instantly, their faces went into angelic repose. “What can we do to help?” Mr. Gates asked.
Olivia slapped a couple of old cutting boards on the table, two knives, and a pile of onions and potatoes. “Peel and chop,” she ordered. “And do it quickly. No storytelling about the good ole days.”
The men didn’t reply, just began cutting.
Olivia knew she was being ridiculous. Absurd, even, but... She had no excuse for her actions except the ringing in her ears, the vibrations of her body, the scrambled eggs that were her brain. It was as though something had gone off inside her. An alarm? No. More like a bomb.
She was at the kitchen window, frantically scraping carrots. Behind her were the old men and their silence filled the room. Usually, they occupied themselves by laughing at the world. But right now she could feel them looking across the table and wiggling their eyebrows.
Olivia would like to be aloof from what she was feeling, to be above it. But then, she looked out the window and saw him. The kids, true to form, were keeping him occupied by pestering him. Ace had tossed six zucchini at the back door, three of them broken in half, then he’d run back to be with Letty.
She was the talker, while Ace was all action. Letty had bombarded the tall young man with a thousand questions, never giving him time to answer. He was looking down at her with a smile of amusement.
In Olivia’s first look at him, she’d never noticed his face. He could have three eyes for all she’d seen. But now, when she saw his face, aristocrat was the word that came to her. Sharp cheekbones, eyes that weren’t round and open, but secretive, as though he didn’t want people to see what was in his mind. His nose was large, hawk-like.
All in all, Olivia could imagine him in a full-length portrait wearing the robes of a nobleman. In a play, he’d be the king.
Olivia picked up the zucchini. What was it her mother did with them? She wished she’d paid more attention to what went on in the kitchen. There was a cut-up chicken in the fridge.
She’d meant to use it tonight but...
She grabbed the chicken, threw it in a bowl with flour and lots of pepper, and heated a deep skillet full of oil. She could bread the zucchini and fry it. Too Southern! she thought. This guy was a Yankee so he’d probably be disdainful of all things from the South. He’d—
“Tomatoes,” Uncle Freddy said. Olivia didn’t at first hear him.
“Tomatoes,” Mr. Gates said louder. “This morning I saw Kit break off a ripe one and eat it like an apple. He said they were the best he’d ever tasted.”
Olivia handed him a big enamel bowl. “You can go get some. I’ll slice them.”