Comfort And Joy

When the national media and the public at large had reached saturation point with the devastation and the hard-luck images, they’d moved on to the next breaking story, and Katrina—the good, the bad and the ugly—became a continuing reality only for New Orleans and the cities that had taken in the majority of those who’d had to flee. The lack of interest elsewhere was a curse, but at this particular moment in Hennings, it was also a strange blessing.

Back at 793 Chestnut, Walter met them at the door. “I got a surprise for you boys.” The old man looked like the proverbial cat with a canary in its craw.

Gabriel suddenly felt uneasy, but as Justin and Jared dashed up the porch steps, he began to unload the bags of groceries from the car. By the time he made it through the front door, the twins were on the living-room floor, playing with a fleet of Tonka trucks. Brand-new construction equipment. Shiny yellow dump trucks, bulldozers, cement mixers, cherry pickers, earthmovers. You name it, Walter had bought it.

“The set you and Daniel had,” Walter explained, all puffed up and looking proud of himself, “was metal. Pretty dinged up and rusted. Tetanus shots in the making. These are the same brand, but they’re plastic. They’re safer, plus they’ll last longer.”

Gabriel knew he should be thankful Walter was warming to this new role of grandfather, but…“Would you get the rest of the bags from the car?” he said. “I have stuff here that needs to go in the freezer.”

Walter narrowed his eyes, paused a fraction of a second and then headed outside.

When the two men came together in the kitchen, Gabriel had curbed his initial negative reaction. “It’s great you wanted Justin and Jared to feel at home,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “But let’s not go overboard with the toys. The boys are going to get bombarded with advertising between now and Christmas, and they’ve had so little these past two years, I don’t want them to have unrealistic expectations.”

“Are you finished?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been buying a truck here and there for the past four years. Ever since I knew I had grandsons. Four years I’ve been waiting to meet them. There might be eight trucks out there. One a piece, for each birthday I’ve missed. So don’t give me any crap now about overloading them with gifts.”

Gabriel had no answer for that. In a tense silence, the two put away the groceries.

“Did you register the boys at school?” Walter asked at last.

“I did.”

“Who’s their teacher?”

“Olivia Marshall.”

“That’s good. She was an orphan—she’ll understand the boys.”

Gabriel felt the anger rise, hot and wild. Trying to keep his words from reaching the twins, he felt his voice come out thin and strained, like steam under pressure. “What are you talking about? My boys are not orphans.”

“Their mother abandoned them.”

“She brought them to me. Their father.”

Only four years ago Gabriel had found out he was a father. Morgana, a woman with whom he’d had a brief affair, had shown up in New Orleans out of the blue and deposited one-year-olds Justin and Jared on his doorstep.

She’d been an exotic dancer when he’d first known her. When she arrived in New Orleans, she was an exotic dancer with a drug problem. But at least she’d had her head on straight enough to realize she couldn’t continue to take care of the twins. His sons, she’d claimed. She’d even put his name on the birth certificates. So he’d taken a paternity test, and the boys were clearly his. As soon as the test results were in, Morgana had disappeared.

“Let’s get this straight,” Gabriel growled. “I’ve done some things I’m not all that proud of. You can beat up on me, but you are not to judge Justin and Jared for anything their father’s done. Understood?”

“I understand you’ve got a burr in your boxers. Always have. And I’ll be damned if I know why. But where your sons—my grandsons—are concerned, I was just stating a fact. Those two youngsters have had hard times to last four lifetimes. But they’re home now. Me, I’m just glad they’ll have a teacher who’ll show them some kindness. Don’t read any more into what I said than that.”

His speech ended, Walter stomped out of the kitchen. Gabriel could hear the La-Z-Boy creak as the television came on.

Maybe he did have a burr in his boxers. After seventeen years of being on his own, of supporting himself, of building a reputation as a chef, he didn’t find it easy starting over. Or coming to his dad, hat in hand. Walter, who’d never believed Gabriel could make it in the restaurant business in the first place. Thank God his boys were too young to understand the comedown.

Maybe this whole direction he’d decided upon was wrong. Maybe Hennings wasn’t the place to regroup.

“I need to get some air,” he said to the living room at large. “Boys, do you want to go for a walk with me?”

“Jared and I want to stay with Grampa and play trucks,” Justin answered. “It’s nice and warm in here.”

Walter didn’t take his eyes from the TV screen.

Outside, Gabriel walked in no particular direction, the low gray clouds matching his mood. He soon found himself standing outside the boys’ school. Lights were on in one of the classrooms, and he could see Olivia Marshall gathering up her belongings. Why was she still at school well after dismissal on the afternoon before Thanksgiving? Didn’t she have a better place to be? In fact, why was she still in Hennings at all?

When he’d hung out with her as a kid that one summer, she’d seemed so adventurous. As if the town wasn’t big enough for her imagination. His friends had felt sorry for him, when they’d heard how he’d spent his vacation. With a girl. Two years younger than him, no less. He’d never admitted it, but it was one of the best summers he could remember. Olivia was smart as a whip. Fearless, too. He’d kind of expected the daring Olivia he knew then to grow up to be more than a demure hometown kindergarten teacher.

“Did you forget something?” Her grown-up voice at his side startled him. Not as much, however, as the very real, very close, very pretty woman’s face that replaced the freckle-nosed girl he recalled.

He looked at the school and saw her classroom was dark now. How long had he been standing here? “Actually, I was remembering something.”

“Good, I hope.”

He didn’t answer. The past didn’t matter. The present didn’t mean much to him, either. He was working on the future.

“Out for a walk?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you have cabin fever already. Winter hasn’t even begun.”

“Being closed inside against the cold is going to take some getting used to.”

“Well, when you’re outside, you’re going to have to remember to keep moving. Walk me home—I’m only a couple blocks out of your way.”

How could he say no? He fell into step beside her, the soles of his shoes making crunching noises on the frozen sidewalk. He found it hard not to glance at her. Not to notice that the tip of her nose was already turning red and that the wisps of condensation as she breathed made her lips look soft and muted, as if she were an actress in a film and the director had called for the gauze over the camera lens. As if the mood aimed for was romantic.

Get a grip, Gabriel, he told himself. You’ve been too long without.

“I only know New Orleans from books and travel shows,” she continued, her voice dreamy. “But with the warm climate and all the verandas and balconies and sidewalk cafés, I imagine the inside and the outside just melt one into each other.”

“They did. Before the storm. Now…there are pockets. But the ease is gone from the Big Easy.”

“You don’t want to talk about it.”

“No.”

“Okay. Change of subject.” Was she always this amenable? This upbeat? Didn’t it exhaust her? “Are you bringing the boys to the Turkey Trot on Friday?”

“Turkey Trot?”

“It’s a 5K road race up Main Street to the park. Race is a bit of misnomer, although I think they still give out a prize for the first person to cross the finish line. The real fun comes with the informal parade that tags along after the racers. It’s kind of evolved over the years. People dress up. There’s a prize for best seasonal costume. Parents push strollers. Kids ride decorated bicycles. Carl Obermeyer always walks on stilts, and his wife juggles.”

Olivia picked up a stick and ran it, as a kid might do, along a wrought-iron fence that fronted a neatly kept yard. “One year,” she continued cheerily, “a group of men from the Shamrock Grill attempted a synchronized lawn-mower routine. Turkey Trot’s always a little nutty, but it’s a good way to meet your neighbors and walk off the previous day’s food. At the park, the outdoor skating rink officially opens. The whole thing’s a lot of fun. Your boys would love it.”

He stared at her. Slightly out of breath, she actually seemed as excited as a child at the prospect of this civic goofiness. “I don’t know.”

“Got better things to do?” There was mischief in her eyes. And a challenge.