Page 33 of Bend Toward the Sun

“Nineteenth-century alarm system,” Rowan mumbled, looking down at her feet. Someone in the room laughed.

“We have a guest,” Maren said. She tucked her arm through Rowan’s to tug her forward. Harrison’s book fell closed, and he stood for a moment, nodding in greeting. It was such an old-fashioned gesture, Rowan imagined if he’d had a hat on, he’d have tipped it to her.

A woman with silver-spun black hair popped up from the table and padded over, barefoot. She was petite and gently rounded, the dark skin of her cheeks lit with rose. Reading glasses hung from a crystal-studded chain around her neck. Aloose, plummy tunic flowed over snug jeans, and she moved with the spare efficiency and grace of a dancer.

“Welcome,” she said, pulling Rowan forward into a tight, lingering hug. Jasmine perfume and the kitcheny smell of a hot oven puffed out of the woman’s hair and clothing, as if motherhood had been manufactured into a wearable scent. Over the smaller woman’s shoulder, Rowan’s wide eyes locked with Harrison’s. A brief smile hooked his mouth sideways, and he sat back down.

“Ma, you can’t just—squish people without their consent,” Duncan said.

The dark-haired woman released her, but Rowan could feel the reluctance in it. “Americans don’t touch enough.” Her words were faintly accented. “I’ve been here almost forty years and I’ve still never gotten used to it.”

“Dinner in five!” a man’s voice belted from the kitchen.

“Rowan, nice seeing you again.” Duncan came around the table to shake her hand. “Gianna Brady, meet Rowan McKinnon. Rowan, this is our ma.” He placed a big hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder.

A big man with hair the same winter wheat of Harrison’s emerged from the kitchen, wearing mismatched oven mitts. He carried a huge, shallow pan by its handles. Steam and the sublime fragrance of seafood and garlic and onions filled the room. Rowan recognized him from the party, the one who’d barked out the Team Tag rules from the top of the picnic table.

“Someone go get the children,” he said.

“I got it,” Duncan said. From where he stood, he bellowed, “Monsters! Come down for dinner!”

“I could’ve done that much.” The elder Brady grumbled, positioning the pan on a trivet near the end of the table. When he saw Rowan, his eyes crinkled with his smile. He extended hisarm for a handshake, the oven mitt still on. He made a short grunt of amused exasperation, pulled off the mitt, and shook her hand. “Will Brady. Welcome.”

Gianna maneuvered Rowan to the far end of the table, putting her next to Harrison. Seated, she was close enough she felt the heat from his forearm next to hers. In her lap, she fidgeted with her cloth napkin, alternating between smoothing it flat and wrapping it tight enough around her hand to cut off circulation to her fingers.

Moments later, two kids exploded into the room. When Maren raised a single hand, they boomeranged quickly to a halt.

“Who’s she?” The boy pointed immediately at Rowan and approached her.

Rowan couldn’t remember the last time she’d interacted with a child. This one was five, maybe seven? She extended her hand to him, but the boy simply looked at it in confusion. His dark brows crammed together on his forehead like little brown caterpillars.

Rowan flushed.Who tries greeting a kindergartener with a handshake?

The girl threw an elbow to jostle her little brother out of the way. “Rude,” she said to him, then she smiled at Rowan, revealing newly emerged adult teeth in the front that were too big for her face. They made her look like an adorable mouse.

The little boy reached around his sister, grasped the pointer finger of Rowan’s still-extended hand, and pulled.

“Nowfart,” he commanded.

Maren snatched the boy by his shoulders and moved him bodily into a chair. “This is Grey, and that’s Alice,” she said. “Occasionally, they have manners.”

“Who taught him that?” Gianna demanded, wagging a finger at Grey. “That fart thing?”

Everyone looked to Duncan. He held his hands up and shook his head. “Not me.”

“Uncle Harry did.” Grey grinned.

Harrison slowly looked up from his book with dramatically widened eyes. He held a finger to his lips. “Our secret,” he stage-whispered.

Grey smiled conspiratorially and sunk down in his chair.

Alice sat next to Rowan and spoke with the friendly confidence well-loved children had. “Everyone calls me Ace. You can call me Ace if you want.”

“Okay, Ace. I’m Rowan. Nice to meet you.”

Maren stood behind her daughter and smoothed a hand over Alice’s hair. “She’s pretty, Mommy,” Alice said, looking up to Maren.

“Smart, too,” Maren said. “Maybe she can tell you some neat science stuff later.”

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