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Lucy looks up at June. “Do the babies cry a lot?”

June looks over at the stroller. “Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Oh, for all kinds of reasons. Hungry. Tired. Big feelings. Wrong color cup. Sometimes, it takes me a while to work it out.” I like the way she admits it.

Lucy considers this. “I cry sometimes.”

Floored, I freeze.

June doesn’t. She just nods like Lucy has told her the sky is cloudy. “Me too.”

Lucy’s eyes widen a little. “Grownups cry?”

“Oh, sure they do.” June’s smile turns soft. “Sometimes we’re just better at hiding it. Not always in a good way either.”

Lucy looks at me. “I don’t see Aunt Laurel cry.”

Aunt Laurel.

My throat tightens around the title.

June looks at me briefly, eyes gentle, then back to Lucy. “Maybe she has quiet tears by herself,” she suggests. Bafflingly, Lucy seems to accept this without question.

June doesn’t dwell on the sad part, just changes tack a little. “Anyway, like I said, I always have a market stall here on Saturdays,” she tells Lucy conversationally. “So if you need a break, a chat, or even some more wooden toys, I’ll be there. Okay?”

Lucy nods, hugging Foxy and Bun closer.

“That’s good to know, huh?” I ask her, trying not to show how stunned I am when I feel her slip her small hand in mine. I squeeze it gently, almost overwhelmed by the unfamiliar emotion that engulfs me.

Lucy nods, not exactly happy but… comforted.

“Thanks, June,” I tell her with real gratitude, wanting to grab her and force her to tell me her childcare secrets. “It’s been great meeting you.”

“Same here,” she says, her smile taking us both in. “See you soon.”

We watch her trip off back to her babies and her stall. And her three men.

By the time me and Lucy look around, Della Morris has gone. So has the guy with the beard and the nodding problem. No one is staring at us as they pass.

Inspired by June, I bend down to Lucy’s eye level, keeping hold of her hand. “Still want to go home? Or shall we go get some candy?”

Lucy briefly communes with Bun and Foxy before announcing, “They want candy.”

I smile as I straighten. “Candy it is.”

CHAPTER TEN

Briggs

I don’t appreciate puzzles.

People say that when they mean they don’t enjoy crosswords or those little wooden boxes with hidden compartments sold at craft markets.

That’s not what I mean.

I don’t want to see gaps.