Page 19 of Hotshot Mogul

“What’s your name, kiddo?” the man said.

“Oliver.”

“What say we get you home? Is anyone there?”

“No.”

“You don’t look too bad. Let Miss Callie and this other pretty lady fix you up, then we’ll go.”

Oliver nodded. “This is Anneliese,” Callie said to the man with the beard. “She’s circulating the petitions.”

He thrusted his hand toward me. I remembered from my lessons on shaking hands. I thrusted mine toward him. His hand felt scratchy and hard, but his grip was gentle. His smile was friendly. “I’m Rufus, the tree guy. What say we take a look at your trees after we sort out this guy.”

“Sounds good.” I was grateful for the interruption, but sad Oliver got hurt on his bike. What would I have told Bruce? What would he have told me?

I went with Callie and Oliver into the house. It smelled sweet. Oliver perked up. “Cookies?” he asked.

“I just took them out,” Callie said. “You can have some when we’re done.”

Would Bruce leave? That would be best, I supposed, a clean break. Callie pointed to a kitchen chair for Oliver to sit on, then studied me. “Oh, hon, he’s not leaving anytime soon. Trust me on that.” She set her mouth in a hard line and turned away. “He hasn’t told you he’s…”

“Hey, Cal?” Rufus called out. “Could you spare a couple cold ones? And do I smell cookies?”

“Help yourself, old man,” she laughed.

She took out a box that said First-Aid Kit as Rufus grabbed two cans from the fridge and cookies from a wire rack on the counter. Isolde had instructed me in first aid. “Clean cloths?” I asked.

Callie pointed. “Top drawer.”

I put the cloth under the faucet—running water was awesome—then smeared the wet cloth with soap. I pressed it gently against Oliver’s knee and elbow, then wiped the soap away with the part of the cloth without soap.

“That didn’t hurt.” Oliver smiled. He had spaces in his mouth where teeth hadn’t grown yet. His eyes were blue like Bruce’s and his hair was light like mine. Would our child look like Oliver?

I had to stop that—thinking of things that would not happen.

Callie put bandages on his knee and elbow, then pulled out her cell phone. “Put your thumb here. Leave it there until it beeps.”

He did. “This says you’re not allergic to nuts or chocolate. That right?”

He nodded. Callie brought him three cookies. “Thanks, Miss Callie. Chocolate chip is my favorite.”

He ate his first cookie in three big bites. “How old are you?” Callie asked.

“Eight,” he answered, between bites.

“You told Mr. Rufus your parents aren’t home.”

“They turned the robot on.”

Callie set her mouth in a firm, hard line and shook her head. “More money than sense,” she said, so only I could hear. “Anneliese, could you bring Oliver a cold can of lemonade? He can take it home.” I gave him the can and followed them outside. Rufus put his hand on Oliver’s shoulder and Bruce wheeled his bicycle down the street. We sat down in chairs on the porch.

“Technology, people use it as a substitute for being there for their kids. What’s a robot going to do if an eight-year-old decides to ride his bike and gets hurt?”

“Fairies, the good ones, try to help children. They keep them company…” Deer turds. Isolde said I should not mention that.

“I have read that,” Callie said. “It’s not right to leave children that young alone, supervised by only a robot, even if a fairy is watching.”

Was the purple-haired fairy watching Bruce? “The purple-haired fairy was at the beach, in the water. She poured hot liquid on Livvie and she tried to harm Bruce, to drown him. I stopped her. The horseshoe, it would have protected him. I left it in the Jeep. She pretended to drown. Bruce tried to help her. I fear for him when I leave.

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