LITMIR.BIZ

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move, and Sarah told me, and I don’t want to. I like it here. I don’t want it to be the way it was...before. So I thought...maybe, if I told Miss Brown about it, she might help.” She cocked her head consideringly. “How come you know I talked to her, anyway?”

      “Miss Brown—” he felt strange referring to Bunny-Boo so formally “—came to see me.”

      “Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Does she want to give us some money? She said she’d try to think of a way to help, and everybody knows she’s got lots.”

      Eli stared at her, at a loss for words. “No,” he managed finally.

      Chelsea’s thin shoulders slumped. She glanced dejectedly at the toe of one small sneaker. “Oh.”

      “And even if she did offer money, I wouldn’t take it, baby. Things are a little tough right now, but we’re going to be all right. I promise.”

      She didn’t look convinced but nodded anyway. “Okay.” Her brow creased. “But...what did she want?”

      He hesitated, not quite certain how Chelsea would take the news. “Believe it or not, she wanted us to get married.”

      Her head snapped up. “Really? Wow! That’s awesome! So are you going to do it?”

      He stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “No, I’m not.”

      “But why not?”

      For a split second he was tempted to blurt out the truth. Because I’m not the marrying type. And even if I was, the last person on earth I’d pick for a wife would be Bunny-Boo Brown, whose idea of a good time is probably rearranging a card catalog.

      Yet one look at Chelsea’s trusting blue eyes made him realize the need for a little diplomacy. He cleared his throat. “Because,” he explained, “Miss...Brown and I don’t love each other. Heck, we barely even know each other. And it’s not like it would be a real marriage. It would only be a temporary one, for the summer—”

      “That’s okay.” Chelsea gestured expressively. “Lots of my friends’ parents are divorced. And this way I wouldn’t feel bad when things were over ’cuz I’d know what was going on. And we’d have a really neat place to live this summer, with a yard and trees for Oliver and—”

      “No.”

      “But—”

      “No. And that’s all there is to it.”

      She gave him her offended look and fell silent—for all of ten seconds. “Eh?”

      “What?”

      “How come Miss Brown asked you? I mean...I know why we should marry her.” The look she flashed him was eloquent. “But why does she want to marry us?”

      He shrugged. “It’s a legal thing.”

      “What kind of legal thing?”

      “It has to do with her grandfather’s will.”

      “What about it?”

      “She has to get married or she loses her house,” he admitted reluctantly.

      “But that’s terrible! Poor Miss Brown! She must feel really awful. Willow Run’s so cool.”

      He felt a flicker of surprise. “You’ve been there?”

      “Sure. Me and Sarah go visit sometimes. Miss Brown likes us to come. She’s all alone, you know.” She stared at him meaningfully. “Remember how lonely you were before you had me to keep you company?”

      Great It wasn’t bad enough that until a few minutes ago he’d been totally ignorant of a significant part of his daughter’s life. Now he was supposed to feel guilty about Norah’s solitary status, too. “Maybe we could get her a kitten,” he murmured.

      “Eli!”

      “Let it go, Chelse,” he said, starting to get exasperated. “Miss Brown is planning to ask someone else, so there’s no reason to get all worried.”

      “But, Eli! I don’t think she’s ever even been on a date. What if she picks somebody awful?”

      The specter of Nick Carpetti rose up to haunt him. He pushed it away. “That’s not any of our business.”

      “But she’s my friend,” Chelsea said stubbornly. “And you always say that if you want to have a friend, you have to be a friend.” She squared her deceptively dainty shoulders and stood even straighter. “As Miss Brown’s friend, I think we ought to marry her.”

      Eli shook his head. “No way.”

      “But you always say—”

      “Forget it, baby. No matter what I said, I’m not getting married.” He made a vow then and there to keep his mouth shut in the future.

      Chelsea gave him a long, indecipherable stare, then slowly transferred her gaze to the floor. “Okay,” she said sadly. In a gesture strikingly similar to Norah’s earlier one, she let her shoulders slump before she turned and began to walk dejectedly away.

      “Hey.” He followed as she trudged to the minuscule bedroom. “Where are you going?”

      She sighed. “To lie down. I don’t feel very well.”

      “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “What about the kitten? Don’t you want to call Sarah and give her the good news?”

      “I’ll call her later. I don’t feel like it now.”

      “Now listen, Chelse—”

      “It’s okay. I know you’re only doing what you think is best. But it just wouldn’t be right for me to be happy when poor Miss Brown is going to feel so bad.” Refusing to look at him, she picked up her one surviving teddy bear and curled up on the bed with her back to the door.

      Eli’s heart squeezed, even though logic warned that she was playing him like a violin. “Aw, jeez. Come on, baby. It’s not like she’s going to be homeless or something.”

      Chelsea shrugged. “I don’t know...she is all alone in the world, you know.”

      He was not going to let her make him feel guilty. After all, despite what his daughter seemed to think, he was not some sappy romantic hero who had nothing better to do than marry women to keep them off the street. Not that Norah was in danger of having to live on the street. No way. Although if she was, he supposed he would at least have to consider—

      He caught himself. “Forget it,” he said loudly. “It’s not going to work.” I’m not marrying Bunny-Boo Brown and that’s all there is to it.

      He sounded so convincing he almost believed it himself.

      Two

      “Well, my dear, I’m afraid that does it.” Ezra Lampley, the patrician old gentleman who was Norah’s attorney, closed the file on his desk with a look of intense regret. “I’m sorry there’s been no word from Mr. Wilder. You’re certain there’s no one else you might ask?”

      Norah shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

      “You looked through the personal column in the Sunday paper as I suggested?”

      “Yes.”

      “And you looked at your school yearbook, as well as the library cardholder list, and still couldn’t come up with anyone?”

      She gave an apologetic shrug. “It’s...a small town.” She saw no reason to mention Nick Carpetti. After all, Mr. Lampley had looked frail ever since his mild heart attack last winter. Why upset him by revealing that her only other candidate was out of the running because his parole had been revoked?

      The attorney

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