He wondered if she practiced saying no to everything, or if it just came to her as naturally as her pinched expression did.
“If you all need a time-out,” she said, “there’s a basket of kick balls in the yard.”
Fine. Ben took the kids to the yard, marching them to the far end. “Okay,” he said, lining them up. “New lesson. Anger management.”
“What’s that?” several kids asked.
“It’s when you expel your pent-up negative energy through physical exertion,” he said.
They all blinked in collective confusion.
“You know how sometimes you just want to hit someone?” he asked them.
“You mean like when someone tells a lie about you?” Pink asked, glaring at Dani.
“Or when they steal your string for your kite?” Dani asked, glaring back at Pink.
“Yes,” Ben said, stepping between them. “Just like that. But we’re not going to hit anyone. Instead we’re going to hit something. Something that won’t get you in trouble. In this case, the fence.” He set a kick ball in front of each kid, separating them widely enough so that no one could level anyone else, accidentally or otherwise. There he stepped to an empty spot with his own ball. “Go,” he said.
Everyone kicked their balls at the fence, which made a very satisfactory sound as it was hit. The balls went flying, and the kids raced after them. They lined up again.
And again.
Ten minutes later each and every one of them was panting in exertion and…smiling.
Except for Ben. He drove Pink and Kendra home and finally found something that did make him smile.
Dan was sitting on the front steps of the house, waiting for his kids.
Chapter 26
Aubrey hadn’t had very many shitty days lately, not since Ben had come into her life. But the past few days had been real doozies. It was horrifying, demoralizing, devastating to realize how badly she’d messed up. Earlier she’d opened the bookstore determined to hold her head up high. What was done was done. She’d had the best of intentions when she’d confessed her misdeed to Ben, and though she still had to somehow make him understand that, she also had to go on.
She had a lot to look forward to, she reminded herself. For one thing, her store was doing okay. And for another, her grand-opening party was only four days away. She’d do even better after that, or so she hoped.
The bell over the door jangled, and her first customers of the day walked in. Lucille and—oh, crap—Mrs. Cappernackle, the retired librarian.
Mrs. Cappernackle gave Aubrey an indecipherable look down her long nose. “Lucille informs me you came by my place some time ago.”
“Yes,” Aubrey said. “I did.” She paused. “You don’t remember?”
“I’ve had some health problems,” she said, still snooty. “Affects my short-term memory.”
Behind her, Lucille swirled her finger by her right ear, making the sign for “crazy.”
Mrs. Cappernackle didn’t catch this, thankfully. “My long-term memory, however,” she went on, eyes eagle sharp and on Aubrey, “remains perfectly intact.”
Terrific. Not daring to meet Lucille’s gaze, Aubrey bent down to the cabinet beneath the cash register and pulled out the book she’d been saving to give back to the retired librarian.
Mrs. Cappernackle’s eyes narrowed. “So you did have it.”
Aubrey didn’t bother to sigh as she handed it over. “It’s not the exact same copy. I bought you a new one.”
Mrs. Cappernackle opened the book and stared down at a check stuck in the first page. “What’s this?”
“Overdue library fees,” Aubrey said, hoping it was enough.
Lucille glanced over Mrs. Cappernackle’s shoulder, looked at the check, and smiled. “Aw, how sweet. Isn’t that sweet, Martha?” she asked Mrs. Cappernackle.
“Hmm,” Mrs. Cappernackle said. “I do like it when a person owns up to her mistakes.” She narrowed her gaze on Aubrey. “But I still want you to stay out of my library.”
Behind her, Lucille made the “crazy” sign again and then nodded, motioning that Aubrey should just agree.
“Done,” Aubrey promised.
Mrs. Cappernackle nodded. “I’ll wait in the car, Lucille. I’m tired now.”
“I’ll be right there,” Lucille assured her with a gentle pat, and when the door had shut behind Mrs. Cappernackle, she met Aubrey’s gaze. “Thanks.”
“I have the feeling I should be thanking you,” Aubrey said.
“Think nothing of it.” She leaned in, eyes unusually solemn. “How are you holding up?”
“Me?” Aubrey asked. “I’m fine.” She had no idea what exactly Lucille might be referring to, but best to be “fine” no matter what. Besides, there was no way the world could know about her and Ben yet, or at least she hoped not. “Uh…why do you ask?”
Lucille looked at her for a long moment. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’re not carrying Ted Marshall’s book in here anywhere.”
“No.” Hell, no.
Lucille nodded. “Wise choice. But you can’t keep it hidden forever, honey. Lots of people in town have e-readers now, you know. They’re downloading his book regardless.”
“My purpose wasn’t to keep people from reading it,” Aubrey said. “I just didn’t want to sell it here. I refuse to help him earn a single penny.”
Lucille nodded. “I understand that. So I hope you understand that my book club read it.” Aubrey winced. “We didn’t tell you, or order the book through your store, because we didn’t want to hurt your feelings. But just like with Fifty Shades, we were morbidly curious.”
“I do understand,” Aubrey said. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“Well, I sort of do.” Lucille met her gaze. “It was my idea, you see, and I feel awful about that. Because everyone read the book, all twenty-two of us, and now they’re talking about it.” She paused as if waiting for a specific reaction from Aubrey.
But Aubrey had no idea what that reaction was supposed to be. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so, no,” Lucille said. “You know Lucky Harbor. Those twenty-two people will tell twenty-two people, and so forth.” She shrugged. “People love a scandal. I didn’t put it on Facebook, though. I want you to know that.”
“Okay,” Aubrey said, even more confused now. “What am I missing, Lucille?”
Lucille paused, staring at her. “Honey, have you read it?”
“Just the first chapter.”
Lucille took this in while moving her lower dentures around some. “Oh, dear.”
“You’re starting to scare me, Lucille.”
Lucille sighed. “He outed you.”
“He…outed me,” Aubrey repeated. “What do you mean? I thought everyone already knew I was bitchy. That can’t be news to anyone.”
“It’s not just that. He published a picture of you—one of the less revealing pictures you’d posed for, in the grand scheme of things, but still. It’s pretty revealing.”
“A picture. Of me,” Aubrey repeated, aware that she was beginning to sound like a broken record.
“It’s the one where you were in the”—she hooked her fingers to signify quotation marks—“Sexy Kitty costume.”