They all turned to find Merritt standing behind Owen. Her hair was still damp from her shower, and she’d changed back into her uniform of blouse and skirt. Despite the hat and sunscreen, she’d still managed to get a kiss of sun on her nose and cheekbones. She looked less severe, less like the pale and lost Merritt that Loralee and Owen had first met. Younger, too, much more like the girl in the pictures Robert had kept in frames around the house, the girl in bright colors with a mischievous smile who hadn’t yet lost her mother. Loralee itched to swipe pink lipstick on Merritt’s mouth but kept her hands to herself. She didn’t want to scare Merritt right when they were beginning to make progress.
“My treat,” Gibbes said. “I know a great place, and I’ll order just as soon as you all tell me what you like on your pizza.”
Owen began listing all of his favorite toppings, but Loralee could tell Gibbes wasn’t listening. He stepped toward Merritt. “Where did you find those?”
She held up two pickle jars with faded yellow lids, rusty holes poked in the top. “I was looking for Cal’s shoe box. I’m pretty sure I brought it in from the car, but with all the sorting I’ve been doing I can’t remember exactly where I put it. But I found these in the back of Edith’s closet and thought Owen might want them to catch fireflies with a friend.”
Gibbes took one from her and peered inside. “These were mine and Cal’s. My grandmother must have saved them all these years.”
Owen looked inside the glass at the nearly translucent carcass of a long-dead insect lying at the bottom of the jar. “There’s a dead firefly inside that one. Isn’t that supposed to be bad luck?”
Gibbes rumpled Owen’s hair. “Nah. We all make our own luck.” He turned the jar upside down before reaching for the other one and doing the same. “This one was mine,” he said, handing the second one to Owen. “I’ll let you use it.”
Owen frowned, staring at the jar and turning it over. “How can you tell?”
“Because I had to get a replacement and this one’s newer. See how the shape’s different? The pickle company changed their jars in 1990 and this is the new shape.”
“What happened to your old one?” Owen asked. Loralee was proud of Owen and his questions. She and Robert had taught him that there was no shame in asking questions, only in remaining ignorant. She’d made sure that was in her journal, but thought that there might be room for another one, too: Never be afraid to ask a question, even if you’re not sure you want to hear the answer.
Merritt’s gaze caught Gibbes’s and it looked like she already knew what Gibbes was going to say.
“Because my brother broke mine.” He paused for a moment, as if deciding whether he should say more. “He didn’t like that I’d caught more fireflies than he did, so he smashed mine on a rock.”
“That’s mean.”
“Yeah, well, afterward he felt sorry enough to go buy a jar of pickles from his own money and eat them all in one sitting to punish himself before giving me the empty jar.”
Owen studied the jar for a long moment before turning to Merritt. “Sometime when you’re not busy we can go catch fireflies. We don’t have to have a contest if you don’t want, but let’s catch a bunch and use the jars as lights.”
Merritt dipped her head as if searching for a message in the holes in the lid, and for a brief moment Loralee thought she might say no. Instead, Merritt smiled and her cheeks seemed to pinken even more. “Sure. That sounds fun. It’s been a while since I’ve done it, so you might have to give me a refresher course.”
With a serious nod, Owen said, “I don’t mind. I can show you.”
Stifling a grin, Gibbes picked up the pile of games and handed them to Owen. “Go put these in your room for now—I’ll teach you how to play later. Maybe you and Maris can play a little Stratego on the next rainy day.”
Owen blushed as he took the games, balancing the jar on top of the stack, and headed back to his room. Gibbes pulled out his cell phone and was in the middle of dialing the pizza restaurant when a loud crash came from Owen’s room. Loralee reached Owen’s bedroom right behind Merritt and Gibbes.
The large LEGO airplane lay on the ground without one of its wings and with small pieces scattered around it like lost luggage. Owen’s eyes were wide with panic as he faced Gibbes. “I’m sorry, Dr. Heyward. I think I must have bumped it with one of the boxes when I walked by.”
Gibbes put his hand on Owen’s shoulder, then bent down to look at the plane. “Don’t worry about it, Rocky. It was an accident.” He picked up the two pieces of the wing and tried to fit them together. “It’s an easy fix—especially for a pro like you.” His smile stopped halfway, his gaze wandering over the blue and white plane.
“What kind of a plane did you say this was, Rocky?”
“A DC-six. Actually, a six-B if you want to be technical. That just means it was only used for passenger service, because it doesn’t have cargo doors. They were made from the mid-forties to the mid-fifties. I know that for sure because my daddy used to have a model of one on his desk at home. It’s in storage now, but Mama said we could have it shipped to us here after we figured it was okay with Merritt.”
Loralee felt Merritt’s eyes on her.
“How can you tell?” Gibbes asked, standing slowly.