My eyes stung. “That’s super sweet.”
“He’s a sweet kid,” Lila said. “And very responsible.”
“He has an old soul,” Gillian said. “When he was a little boy, he was always so serious.”
“We don’t worry to leave the kids alone as long as Tyler’s with them,” Delphine said.
“You needn’t worry about any of us,” Robbie said. “We’re like penguins.”
“Penguins? What do you mean?” I asked.
Robbie met my gaze. “Penguins operate as a collective. They huddle. When it’s cold or something’s wrong, they don’t spread out. They move closer. That’s what our mothers do and that’s what we do. Without the tuxedos, obviously.”
Darned if my eyes didn’t sting again. And I just might write a song about penguins.
Madison, done with her cartwheels, plopped herself onto Grady’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Grady, what’s an old soul?”
“Someone who has more wisdom than you’d expect, given his or her real age,” Grady said.
“I want to be an old soul.” Madison sighed, rather mournfully.
“You are, Sweet Pea,” Grady said, kissing the top of her head.
“I am?”
“Without a doubt,” Grady said. “And a good egg.”
Madison giggled. “I’m not an egg. And none of us are wearing tuxedos, Robbie. So we can’t be penguins.”
“Madison, it’s a metaphor,” Robbie said.
“Why is everyone always talking about stuff I don’t understand?” Madison asked.
Margot came to sit at her father’s feet. “It’s because we’re the youngest. But someday we’ll know the answers to everything and never have to ask questions.”
Delphine chuckled. “That day will never come, sweetheart. There’s always more to learn. Even when you’re a grown-up.”
“It’s true. Even adults make a lot of mistakes,” Gillian said. “But it’s all right to make mistakes, as long as we learn from them.”
“I don’t like to make mistakes,” Robbie said.
“Me either,” Vance said, exchanging a look with Robbie. “But sometimes it just happens.”
The fifth inning started. That’s when I spotted two guys, maybe fifty yards down the fence line. One had a long lens, the other a smaller camera with a telephoto. They weren’t watching the game. They were watching us. I knew the look. I’d seen the casual stance that wasn’t casual, and the way they pretended to be interested in something else while the lens stayed pointed in another direction. One was aimed at Seraphina and me in our lawn chairs. The other was aimed at the field. Actually, at the dugout. Where Tyler stood waiting to run out to the field.
I didn’t move. I didn’t want to alert the rest of our group yet. I tracked their sight lines instead.
“Hunter?” Seraphina’s voice came from far away. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t look,” I said quietly. “Two photographers. Down the left field line.”
She stiffened beside me.
“They’re aimed at us,” I said. “And Tyler.”
“They can’t—” Her voice cracked. “I told Brooke?—”
“I doubt these are Hawthorne’s people,” I said. “My bet is freelancers. Hoping to sell to whoever’s buying.”
