Travis(32)

Connor glanced at her. “Ohhh,” he said. “Do you like bugs?” he asked Haven, very seriously. “That other lady didn’t like bugs at all.” I almost laughed as I recalled Phoebe practically jumping out of her skin, emitting a high-pitched shriek, when Connor tried to place a ladybug on her arm. A gesture he’d meant as affectionate and welcoming, and one she’d responded to as domestic terrorism. They mostly steered clear of her after that, not that I brought her along with me very often when I spent time with the twins. It seemed to be her preference. And mine.

But Haven’s face filled with surprised happiness, eyes widening with pleasure. “I love bugs!” Ah, here my nephews were on common ground with a woman. The bug enthusiasts and the plant lady. A match made in heaven. Or the garden of Eden or whatever paradise welcomed both plants and bugs.

She bent forward, putting her hands on her knees, both going down to their level and getting closer. Archer’s mother, Alyssa, had spoken to me that way. A sudden picture of her in front of me filled my mind. Clear. Sharp. My gaze flew to Archer’s, and he peered at me, his expression registering confusion and mild concern about whatever he’d seen on my face. I relaxed my features, looking away. “One of my favorite bugs is the pirate bug,” Haven was saying. “It eats bad insects and keeps plants healthy.”

Their identical golden-brown eyes grew wide. “Pirate bug!” Charlie repeated gleefully. “Ladybugs eat bad bugs too!” he said. “My mom says they’re good luck, but I shouldn’t put them on Uncle Travis’s girlfriends.” He looked down, grinding his toe into the dirt, perhaps recalling the piercing rebuke he’d received to his gift.

“Well, I’m not Travis’s girlfriend,” she said, giving me a quick glance, “but I’d like it very much if you gave me a ladybug. I’d call her Bitsy and make her a home in the ivy on my windowsill. Every night, before turning out the light, I’d say, good night, Bitsy. Sleep tight in your bed of ivy.”

They stared at her in utter, awestruck delight.

“Another favorite bug of mine is the dragonfly,” she went on, cementing their everlasting devotion. “They devour mosquitos and all kinds of other pests. Just suck them right up for dinner like a spaghetti noodle!”

“Hurray!” Charlie shouted while Connor made a slurping sound filled with as much saliva as glee.

Haven laughed, standing straight, her eyes dancing with happiness. For a moment, I couldn’t look away. The sun seemed to have grown several degrees hotter, even though we were standing in the shade, somehow warming my insides as well as my skin.

Haven looked off behind me, waving. “Oh! There’s Betty and the rest of the crew just setting up a picnic table,” she said, placing her hand on my arm. “I’m going to go say hi and see if I can get anything for them.” She turned to Bree and Archer. “It was so nice to meet you.”

They smiled at her warmly. “You too, Haven,” Bree said. “I hope to see you again soon.”

Her smile grew as she looked at the twins. “Me too,” she said. “Goodbye, fellow bug lovers.”

“Goodbye!” they said. “Uncle Travis! Will you take us to get an ice cream? Our daddy has to make a speech.”

“I’ll be back shortly,” Haven said to me.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’ll be waiting.” Our eyes lingered for a moment and then she turned, heading toward the place where our crew was setting up.

“Uncle Travis! Ice cream! Ice cream!” Charlie reminded me exuberantly.

Bree kissed Archer and he turned to leave, giving me a chin tilt. “Good luck,” I said. I knew he didn’t need it. He had made hundreds of speeches to the community members at this point, and there wasn’t a lot of pressure involved in waxing poetic about the history of the town festival and the significance of blueberries.

“Is ice cream okay with your mom?” I asked. The twins both looked over their shoulders and shot nervous glances at their half-eaten hot dogs and then at their mother.

Bree put her hands on her hips, making them suffer for a moment before she looked at me, smiled, and said, “Sure.”

“Hurray!” they both cheered, taking my hands.

After the ice cream and the short welcome speech, thanking people for coming to the festival that had been going on for more than two centuries, Archer took his boys in hand, and I made my way back to the picnic tables. Disappointment descended when I saw that the table where Haven had gone to greet the crew was empty. I pictured them off playing ring toss, blind Burt’s shots going wild and knocking over small children, or getting smashed on cheap beer and smuggled-in hooch, or some other such nonsense, and felt strangely glum that I wasn’t there with those ridiculous fools.

Bree was sitting on a blanket near their table, the stroller parked next to her, and I wandered her way, sitting down, stretching my legs out in front of me, and leaning back on my hands.

Bree peeked under the blanket draping the stroller, where Averie had apparently fallen asleep. An electric fan, clipped to the side and making a soft whirring sound, was keeping her cool as she napped.

“Beautiful day,” I said, scanning the laughing, strolling people in the near distance, moving from one booth to another, my eyes peeled for a walking stick or a halo of blond hair or maybe a pair of overly large overalls. But mostly, looking for a head of chestnut curls, mostly constrained into a braid. Archer stood nearby, his hands moving briskly in the air in front of him, turned away so I couldn’t see exactly what he was saying to the couple he was speaking with. Whatever it was, he was making them laugh, the woman’s hands rising in response, though her husband spoke with his voice. The twins ran around Archer’s legs, playing tag as their father simultaneously—and expertly, it had to be said—used his hands both to speak and keep his energetic duo under control with a gentle pat here and an arm block there.