“And so are most of her friends. But they’re not above taking advantage of their years today. They love being treated with such deference.”
Eyeing the lines waiting to be served, Sam asked, “So, how old does one have to be to qualify for that privilege?”
“Much older than we are,” Serena replied with a smile. “Let’s set these chairs down somewhere and get in line.”
She’d been a bit stiff with him when they’d left her house a short while earlier. He didn’t know whether it was their public surroundings or the deliberately casually friendly way he’d been treating her, but she was beginning to relax—and he was relieved. Both of them had had plenty of time to second-guess the impulsive kisses between them. He was certain she’d come to the same conclusion he had—the kisses had been a mistake. He would hate to see anything drive a wedge in the comfortable friendship that had been forming between them.
He needed the few friends he’d made here—at least until he remembered if he had any elsewhere.
As they waited in the long line for food, Sam idly scanned the crowd. He saw several people he’d met at the diner and the librarian he’d gotten to know as he’d researched amnesia articles and cruised the Internet for clues to his identity. He waved to her, and she waved back. Dan Meadows and a couple of his officers were highly visible, mingling, obviously on alert for signs of any trouble. Sam suspected that Dan would make very sure the annual Independence Day festivity proceeded smoothly, at least in the crowd control area.
He and Serena had almost reached the serving tables when Sam noticed a lone man wandering on the far side of the football field. Something about the guy struck him as odd. Maybe it was the way he was dressed—dark chinos, crisply pressed sport shirt, black oxfords, expensive sunglasses. He seemed out of place in the cutoffs-and-flip-flops crowd that had gathered in the summer heat. While everyone else was socializing, this man walked alone, exchanging only an occasional perfunctory nod, not seeming to know anyone he passed.
Must be one of those out-of-towners who’d come to observe the festivities, Sam decided. Maybe hoping to meet women. If so, he should loosen up some. That stiff, rather formal manner was hardly conducive to casual friendly encounters.
Losing interest in the guy, Sam turned to respond to a greeting from a regular diner customer, then to accept a plate from one of the cheerful servers. A glance at the awning let him know that the helpful teenagers Serena had mentioned had already broken in line and snagged meals for the seniors there. He smiled as he watched Marjorie regally pat a boy’s arm, wearing the same grandmotherly smile he remembered from his first meeting with her. “Way to go, Marjorie,” he murmured.
“Don’t encourage her,” Serena advised him, overhearing. “She’s shameless.”
Sam only grinned.
They carried their plates to the lawn chairs they’d brought with them and were soon surrounded by Serena’s friends—mostly young married couples, some with small children, and a few singles, Lindsey Gray among them. Serena introduced him to everyone he hadn’t met before, her tone very casual, making it quite clear that she and Sam were mere acquaintances. She almost overemphasized that fact. Sam could see that some of her friends were eyeing the two of them curiously, as if wondering what was really going on between them.
They’d only shared a couple of kisses, he could have told them. Spectacular kisses, it was true—but that was all there was between them. Maybe he’d thought about kissing her again—okay, he had definitely thought about doing it again—but he had enough willpower to resist. At least, he hoped he did.
The gospel quartet had been replaced on the stage by a group of pint-size tap dancers in red, blue and silver-spangled costumes. The daughter of a couple sitting near them was one of the dancers, so everyone turned to watch. Sam found the performance both charming and amusing. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a trace of genuine talent in the entire group of moppets.
“Awful, aren’t they?” A lanky-limbed man with brown hair in need of a trim and unusual gray eyes made the comment as he joined them, causing those who overheard him to wince.
“Our daughter’s in that group,” an indignant mother said, motioning toward her husband.
The newcomer responded with a careless grin. “And they’re just as cute as all get-out. But not one of them could dance her way out of a paper bag.”
“They’re only four and five years old,” the mother insisted. “They’ll get better with practice.”
“That’s your kid on the right, isn’t it, Claudia?” the man inquired, glancing at the stage.
Claudia preened. “Yes. That’s our Stephanie.”
“Definitely born with her father’s complete lack of rhythm. Sorry, Joe, but you know you’ve got two left feet. I’ve seen you dancing—or trying to—over at Gaylord’s.”
Joe chuckled ruefully. “You’re right, Riley, I can’t dance worth a lick. I was hoping dance lessons would help Stephanie overcome her hereditary limitations.”
“Ain’t going to happen,” Riley pronounced, settling on the grass not far from Sam’s chair. “She’s got her mama’s pretty face and her old man’s endearing clumsiness.”
Claudia didn’t seem to know whether to be flattered by the offhand compliment or insulted by the repeated aspersions against her daughter’s talent.
Riley had already turned his attention elsewhere. “You must be the guy Lindsey’s been telling me about. Sam, right?”
“Yes. And you’re Riley, the reporter.”
“Bingo.” Riley studied him with unselfconscious thoroughness. “How come you wouldn’t answer any of Lindsey’s questions? Got something you’re trying to hide?”
“So, are you trying to annoy everyone here?” Serena asked Riley mildly.
He chuckled. “Just trying to spice up the aft
ernoon.”