Too Good to Be True(100)

Kaelen and Peyton rolled their eyes in unison. Hunter discreetly checked his cell phone. Kerry Blake examined her manicure.

But Tommy Michener stared at me, his mouth slightly open, and Emma Kirk’s eyes were solemn and wide.

“Let’s go, kids,” I said. “Remember, you’re part of First Cavalry now. General Buford is over there. Do what he says, and just…well. Whatever.”

With a few groans and giggles, the kids straggled after me. I got them in line with the other Brother Against Brother members. General Buford (better known as Glen Farkas, an accountant from Litchfield), rode his horse up and down the line. The kids sobered at the sight of the snorting bay mare, the sword flapping at the general’s side. Glen was really good at this.

“When does it start?” Tommy whispered.

“As soon as General Heth attacks,” I whispered back.

“My heart’s kind of pounding,” Tommy said, grinning at me. I patted his arm, smiling back.

And here they came. The Rebel yells pierced the air, and over the hill streamed dozens of Confederates.

“Onward, men!” called General Buford, wheeling his horse. And with a mighty yell, First Cavalry followed, Tommy Michener at the front of the pack, his empty musket held high, yelling at the top of his lungs.

Five hours later, I was driving the Manning minibus back to school, grinning like an idiot.

“That was so cool, Ms. Em!”

“Did you see me nail that guy with my bayonet?”

“I was actually, like, scared!”

“I thought that horse was gonna trample me!”

“Tommy and I took over that cannon! Did you see that?”

“And when those other dudes came up behind us, when we were, like, losing it?”

Kerry Blake kept up her ennui, but the rest of them were chattering like wild monkeys. And I was soaring. Finally.

Finally, the subject we’d been studying all semester had had a tiny impact on their polished, protected worlds.

Once at Manning, they piled out of the car. “I’ll e-mail you a copy of that picture, Ms. Em,” called Mallory. Even though modern inventions were frowned upon at reenactments, we’d bent the rules and taken a picture in front of a cannon. My kids and me. I’d have it blown up, frame it and put it in my office, and if I was head of the department, I’d… Well. Chances were, I wasn’t going to be head of the department. The announcement still hadn’t been made, but telling Dr. Stanton about Callahan O’ Shea had pretty much killed my chances. I wondered if I should tell him I wasn’t seeing my ex-con anymore. But no. If I wasn’t going to get the promotion because of some guy I was or wasn’t seeing, I guess I didn’t really want it.

Maybe Callahan had cooled off, I thought as I drove home. Maybe he’d see my point. Maybe he’d been missing me, too. Maybe my lie didn’t seem so bad, now that some time had passed. Maybe— As I turned onto my street, I saw a real estate sign up in front of Cal’s house. My heart stuttered. Yes, I’d known Cal was planning to sell the house. I just hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

The front door opened, and a woman emerged…the blonde from the bar. His real estate friend. Callahan followed right behind.

Margaret’s car was not in the driveway, which meant no backup for me. She had a big case pending, so chances were she was at her office. I was on my own. I opened the car door and got out.

“Hey, Cal,” I called. My voice was fairly steady.

He looked up. “Hi,” he said, closing his front door behind him. He and the woman came down the walk where I’d once smacked Callahan O’ Shea with a rake.

“Hi, I’m Becky Mango, as in the fruit,” she chirped, sticking out her hand.

“Hi,” I said. “Grace Emerson, as in Ralph Waldo.” Well, didn’t I sound nice and snooty. “I live next door,” I added, glancing at Callahan. He was looking at the new landscaping, which had gone in this past week. Not at me.

“Beautiful house!” Becky exclaimed, gazing at my place. “If you ever want to sell it, give me a call!” She stuck her hand in her bag and pulled out a card. Becky Mango, Mango Properties Ltd. Licensed Realtor. The logo matched the one on the For Sale sign.

“Thanks. I will,” I said, then turned to the brooding male next to her. “Cal, do you have a minute?”

He looked at me, those blue eyes that had once smiled so wickedly now so guarded. “Sure,” he said.

“Callahan, I’ll see you next week?” Becky asked. “I think I might have a property you’d be interested in down in Glastonbury. Real fixer-upper, going on the market next month.”

“Okay. I’ll call you.” We both watched as she got in her car and drove off.

“So you’re…you’re done here?” I asked, though the answer was rather obvious.

“Yup.” He slung his bag into the bed of his pickup truck.

“Where to now?” My eyes stung, and I blinked hard.

“I’m working on a place up in Granby,” he said. “I’ll be in the area until my grandfather…as long as he’s around.”

He took his keys out of his pocket, not looking at me. “But I don’t think he’s long for the world.”

My throat tightened. Cal’s last relative, except for the estranged brother. “I’m sorry, Cal,” I whispered.