“It takes alittlelonger than two days to make a very fancy dress like Mr. Bellamy designs,” Victoria explained.
Noah’s expression relaxed, although not by much. “Well, if you’re sure.”
“Pretty sure. What are you up to today?”
“Getting Mom her coffee!” Noah puffed up proudly. “And maybe goin’ to a movie with Mr. Growly.”
“Mr…Growly?”
Noah got a positively sly grin. “It’s really my dad, Mr. Rowly, he and my Mom got married last year, but I call him Mr. Growly because—” His gaze slid around like he was making sure nobody overheard him before he leaned in to whisper, “’cause it’sfunny.”
Vicki, who had been expecting some kind of actual secret, laughed in complete surprise. “Yes, it does seem to be. What movie are you seeing?”
A thrill of obvious excitement made Noah bounce on his toes. “Star Captain and the Planet of Danger!”
Vicki laughed again. “Oh, of course. The new Benton Sinclair thing. My brother said I should see that. Maybe I’ll see you at the movies, Noah. For now, you better get your mom’s coffee.”
“Yah, okay.” Noah hesitated, though, squinting at her. “Who’s Bendon Sinclair?”
“Benton. He’s the actor who playsStar Captain.”
“An actor? Like when we put on the Christmas show? That kind of acting?” Noah’s head turtled back in surprise as he took that in. “You mean he’s notreallya star captain? Does he have a spaceship? Can hefly? What about his jet pack? Do you meanthere aren’t really any aliens?” he asked with increasing horror.
“I’m afraid not. All of that is part of the magic of movies. They’re just stories like in books.”
A complex expression, dismay mixed with sudden cunning, washed over Noah’s face. “And acting is ajobyou can do?”
“It is. Sometimes, if people are very lucky like Benton Sinclair has been, you get very rich and famous as an actor. Although that has its down sides, too.” Vicki sort of wondered how she’d ended up in this conversation, and whether it was entirely ethical to tell a six year old the odds of success in a field like acting. “Not very many people get that famous, though.”
“I would,” Noah said confidently. “If I wanted to.”
Vicki grinned. “You just might. All right, go get your mom’s coffee before she starts wondering what happened to you.”
“Okay! Bye, Ms. Hawthorne! It was nice to see you!” Noah bounced off and Vicki, having somehow finished her pie while they were talking, left a tip and pulled her hood up as she headed out to visit the library.
There were quitea few people out now, despite the weather. Or maybe because of it: Vicki was pretty sure Noah would be joining the crowd of kids building snowmen and having snowball fights in the enormous town square as soon as he had his hot chocolate. There were a lot of parents hanging around the edges of the square, sipping hot drinks and gossiping while their kids played.
Small roving packs of older children, tweens and young teens, alternated between playing in the square and pretending they were too old and cool to do that. Vicki loved kids that age, especially when they were given the space to still actlikekids. Sometimes it was easy to forget that teenagers were still, in fact, children, and still needed the outlet of play.
There were also a bunch of older teens who had allowed themselves to be dragged into the little kids’ snowball fight, and were helping to build forts and pack snowballs that wouldn’t fallapart as soon as they left a mitten. Adults occasionally assigned them the task of watching the littler ones so they could go warm up or do some shopping, and most of them didn’t object too much.
She waved at a few of her students as she crossed the square and got completely blank looks in return. With a laugh, she remembered she was entirely bundled and had her hood up. When she pulled it down, recognition flashed across the kids’ faces and they waved energetically.
She had justbarelygotten the hood up again when a snowball smacked her on the back of the head. She stopped dead and turned slowly with a deep warning look on her face. She had absolutely no idea who’d thrown the snowball, but the guilty party did: a small,veryapologetic voice said, “Sorry, Ms. Hawthorne.”
Vicki kept the scolding expression as she nodded a stern forgiveness, but she giggled as soon as she’d turned away, and kicked some snow along like she was a kid herself.
A tense male voice said, “I suppose you’re happy with yourself,” as she reached the sidewalk on the square’s far side. Vicki, surprised, almost slipped on the ice and steadied herself before pulling her hood back so she could see who’d spoken.
Arthur Lowell, her absolute favorite person in Virtue. Vicki sighed. He must have gotten a glimpse of her face while she had her hood down, or he wouldn’t have any idea who she was any more than anybody else did. She told herself she had to be polite for at least the opening part of the conversation, and if he started acting like a jerk, she could be as rude as he was. “I’d say I’m pretty content, yes, Mr. Lowell.”
Lowell was all too clearly accustomed to commanding what he thought of as respect, which was really authority. Vicki hadn’t encountered him much since their first meeting, but every time shehadmet him, it had reinforced her opinion that he thoughtif people didn’t bow to his authority, he didn’t have to treat them like people. “Happy that you’ve brought all this attention to our small town? Are you trying to ruin Virtue?”
Vicki sighed deeply and inhaled just as deeply as she considered her answer. Therewasno right answer, of course: literally anything she said would be wrong, by Lowell’s standards. So after a moment’s consideration, she just leaned in. “Sure, yes, why not?”
The older man’s pale eyes popped like he couldn’t believe her audacity. “That’s exactly why we don’t need outsiders coming in here! People like you who don’t care anything about the town’s heritage! About our privacy! About the good, honest, hard-working citizens who?—”
“—are all getting a little extra business at a quiet time of year because there’s a media uproar in town, and all those media folks needed somewhere to stay, something to eat, and a massage or two after sliding around on the ice. Come on, Mr. Lowell. It’s a flash in the pan. Zane Bellamy won’t be back in town for weeks, if at all, and everything will be back to normal by Monday.”
