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Authors: Rita Herron
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She
slipped a fuzzy brown bear puppet from her bag and introduced him, then
launched into the story. The children settled into the circle on the rug
and stared wide-eyed as she told the story, her dramatics keeping them
on edge as she described how the bear slept through Christmas, then
finally emerged in the spring to find his mother giving birth to baby
cubs. For the grand finale, she produced five small bear puppets and let
the children name them.
Her heart swelled at the awe in the kids’ eyes, and she took requests,
making sure she used little Lindy’s suggestion. She finished the hour
with an audience-participation story, inviting the children to make the
animal noises along with her as she sang “Old Mac-Donald Had a Farm.”
Even Lindy forgot to stutter as she joined in the fun.
Afterward, she calmed them with a finger play before she sent them to
Mimi for the follow-up art lesson they’d coordinated-they were cutting
and pasting together bear puppets made out of paper plates. As the
children hugged her goodbye, she pictured a child of her own, tucking
him or her into bed at night, whispering a good-night story by the dim
light of the moon glowing in the window. A little boy with black hair
and grass-green eyes.
She looked up, half expecting to see Thomas Emerson watching her. She
had to work up her courage to ask him about the baby plan.
But her nerve failed when she spotted him in Mimi’s adjoining coffee
shop. He wasn’t alone. Trish Tieney had cozied up to him in a booth,
flinging her wild red hair over her shoulder, giggling and flirting
outrageously.
Thomas tried to focus on Trish Tieney’s long-winded diatribe about her
real estate career; she had sold him his house, and no doubt he would
need her services again when he decided to put it back on the
market, but his gaze had strayed periodically to Rebecca and the show
she performed for the children.
When she looked his way, he smiled, and she offered a strained one in
return. Trish covered his hand with hers, and Rebecca turned away
abruptly. Her easy dismissal of him stung.
Besides, she’d been so loving to all the kids, and she’d sung and told
story after story with a dramatic flair, and hadn’t stuttered once with
them.
“If you need furniture, I’d be glad to go shopping with you,” Trish
offered. “I minored in decorating at Valdosta State.”
“I’m fine for now,” he said, knowing he didn’t want to buy anything else
that might not fit into his new place. But he was getting ahead of
himself. He still had to land the job.
“The invitation’s always open.” She flipped her curly hair over her
shoulder for about the dozenth time. She must think the gesture was sexy
but it simply annoyed him.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He stood and pushed his chair back. “I
have to get back to the clinic now.”
Trish raked fake red nails down his arm. “If you need anything else,
too, just give me a call. I’d be glad to cook you a French dinner one
night.”
“Uh…sure, that sounds great.” What else could he say?
He rushed toward the door, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned and
searched the bookstore one more time for Rebecca. But she was helping a
customer, some burly guy who needed a shave, and she didn’t even glance
his way.
“Listen, Jerry, I appreciate the invitation,” Rebecca said, “but I’m not
much of a dancer.”
“Aww, come on, Becky, the American Legion plays great country music. And
it’s New Year’s Eve, everybody’ll be there.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I’ll teach you the two-step. It’s real easy.” He leaned forward, so
close his burgeoning belly brushed her arm. “It’ll give us time to
scrooch up and get to know each other better.”
Exactly what she didn’t want. “I…I think…” I’ll have a headache that
night. “I’ll
slipped a fuzzy brown bear puppet from her bag and introduced him, then
launched into the story. The children settled into the circle on the rug
and stared wide-eyed as she told the story, her dramatics keeping them
on edge as she described how the bear slept through Christmas, then
finally emerged in the spring to find his mother giving birth to baby
cubs. For the grand finale, she produced five small bear puppets and let
the children name them.
Her heart swelled at the awe in the kids’ eyes, and she took requests,
making sure she used little Lindy’s suggestion. She finished the hour
with an audience-participation story, inviting the children to make the
animal noises along with her as she sang “Old Mac-Donald Had a Farm.”
Even Lindy forgot to stutter as she joined in the fun.
Afterward, she calmed them with a finger play before she sent them to
Mimi for the follow-up art lesson they’d coordinated-they were cutting
and pasting together bear puppets made out of paper plates. As the
children hugged her goodbye, she pictured a child of her own, tucking
him or her into bed at night, whispering a good-night story by the dim
light of the moon glowing in the window. A little boy with black hair
and grass-green eyes.
She looked up, half expecting to see Thomas Emerson watching her. She
had to work up her courage to ask him about the baby plan.
But her nerve failed when she spotted him in Mimi’s adjoining coffee
shop. He wasn’t alone. Trish Tieney had cozied up to him in a booth,
flinging her wild red hair over her shoulder, giggling and flirting
outrageously.
Thomas tried to focus on Trish Tieney’s long-winded diatribe about her
real estate career; she had sold him his house, and no doubt he would
need her services again when he decided to put it back on the
market, but his gaze had strayed periodically to Rebecca and the show
she performed for the children.
When she looked his way, he smiled, and she offered a strained one in
return. Trish covered his hand with hers, and Rebecca turned away
abruptly. Her easy dismissal of him stung.
Besides, she’d been so loving to all the kids, and she’d sung and told
story after story with a dramatic flair, and hadn’t stuttered once with
them.
“If you need furniture, I’d be glad to go shopping with you,” Trish
offered. “I minored in decorating at Valdosta State.”
“I’m fine for now,” he said, knowing he didn’t want to buy anything else
that might not fit into his new place. But he was getting ahead of
himself. He still had to land the job.
“The invitation’s always open.” She flipped her curly hair over her
shoulder for about the dozenth time. She must think the gesture was sexy
but it simply annoyed him.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He stood and pushed his chair back. “I
have to get back to the clinic now.”
Trish raked fake red nails down his arm. “If you need anything else,
too, just give me a call. I’d be glad to cook you a French dinner one
night.”
“Uh…sure, that sounds great.” What else could he say?
He rushed toward the door, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned and
searched the bookstore one more time for Rebecca. But she was helping a
customer, some burly guy who needed a shave, and she didn’t even glance
his way.
“Listen, Jerry, I appreciate the invitation,” Rebecca said, “but I’m not
much of a dancer.”
“Aww, come on, Becky, the American Legion plays great country music. And
it’s New Year’s Eve, everybody’ll be there.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I’ll teach you the two-step. It’s real easy.” He leaned forward, so
close his burgeoning belly brushed her arm. “It’ll give us time to
scrooch up and get to know each other better.”
Exactly what she didn’t want. “I…I think…” I’ll have a headache that
night. “I’ll
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