Heroes Are My Weakness(116)

A boy with straight dark hair and a scowl sat cross-legged between two of the Adirondack chairs talking to Scamp, who was peering at him over the arm of one chair. “And . . .” the boy said, “. . . that’s why I stomped my feet. Because he made me very, very mad.”

The puppet shook her yarn curls. “Horrors! Tell me exactly what he did again.”

The boy—whose name was Charlie Harp—impatiently shoved his dark hair off his forehead and puffed up his cheeks in outrage. “He won’t let me drive the truck!”

Scamp pressed her cloth hand to her forehead. “That blackguard!”

A long-suffering sigh came from the next chair. Scamp and Charlie ignored it.

“Then . . .” Charlie added. “He got mad at me just because I took my turbo car away from my sister. It was mine.”

“Insane!” Scamp made a dismissive gesture toward the curly-haired toddler napping on an old quilt in the grass. “Just because you haven’t played with that car for years is absolutely no reason for her to have it. Your sister is nothing but a bother. She doesn’t even like you.”

“Well . . .” Charlie frowned. “She kind of likes me.”

“Does not.”

“She does! She laughs when I make funny faces and when I play with her and make noises, she goes crazy.”

“Très intéressant,” said Scamp, who still had a thing for languages.

“Sometimes she throws her food on the floor, and that’s pretty funny.”

“Hmmm . . . Perhaps . . .” Scamp tapped her cheek. “No, forget I said anything.”

“Tell me.”

“Well . . .” The puppet tapped her other cheek. “I, Scamp, am thinking that your turbo car is really a baby toy, and if anybody saw you playing with it, they might think you yourself are a—”

“They won’t think nothing because I’m giving that baby toy to her!”

Scamp regarded him with openmouthed astonishment. “I should have thought of that. Now, I believe I shall compose a song to—”

“No song!”

“Very well.” Scamp sniffed, deeply offended. “If you’re going to be like that I’m going to tell you what Dilly said. She said you can’t be a real superhero until you learn how to be nice to little kids. That is what she said.”

Charlie didn’t have a good counterargument, so he picked at the bandage on his big toe and returned to his prime grievance. “I’m an island kid.”

“Tragically, only in the summer,” Scamp said. “The rest of the time you’re a New York City kid.”

“Summer counts! It still makes me an island kid, and island kids get to drive.”

“When they’re ten.” This voice, deep and assertive, came from Leo, who was Charlie’s second favorite of the puppets—a lot more interesting than boring old Peter; or stupid, silly Crumpet; or Dilly—who was always reminding him to brush his teeth and stuff.

Leo peered at Charlie over the arm of the next chair. “Island kids have to be at least ten to drive. You, compadre, are six.”

“I’ll be ten soon.”

“Not that soon, thank G—goodness.”

Charlie glared at the puppet. “I’m really mad.”

“Sure you are. Super mad.” Leo circled his head one way and then the other. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What?”

“Tell him how mad you are. Then look really pitiful and ask him to take you Boogie-boarding. If you look pitiful enough, I bet he’ll feel so bad that he’ll take you.”

Charlie wasn’t born yesterday. He looked past Leo to the man holding him. “Really! Can we go right now?”

His father set Leo aside and shrugged. “The waves look good. Why not? Get your stuff.”

Charlie jumped up, and raced toward the house, his legs pumping. But just as he got to the front step, he stopped and whipped around. “I get to drive!”

“No you don’t!” his mother countered, slipping Scamp from her arm.

Charlie stomped inside, and his father laughed. “I love that kid.”

“Now, there’s a surprise.” Charlie’s mother gazed at the sleeping baby. The toddler’s wild honey-blond curls couldn’t be more different from her brother’s stick-straight dark hair, but the children shared their father’s blue eyes. They also had their mother’s irreverent personality.

Annie leaned back in the chaise. Theo never got tired of looking at his wife’s quirky face. He reached over and took her hand, running his fingers over the diamond-encrusted wedding band she’d declared too lavish but loved all the same. “What time do we get rid of them?”

“We’re dropping them off at Barbara’s at four. She’s giving them dinner.”

“Leaving us the whole evening for drunken debauchery.”

“I don’t know about the drunken part, but there will definitely be debauchery.”

“There’d better be. I love those little demons with all my heart, but they sure do play havoc with our sex life.”

Annie curled her fingers around his thigh. “Not tonight, they won’t.”

He groaned. “You’re killing me.”