Part 29 (1/2)

mind. As long as her hand was firmly caught in Bev's, she could crane

her neck and look at all the people. Bald heads, floppy hats, scraggly

beards. When her neck got tired, she switched to shoes. Rope sandals,

s.h.i.+ny wing tips, snowy white sneakers, and black pumps. Some people

shuffled their feet, others tapped, a few s.h.i.+fted from side to side, but

hardly a one was still.

When she grew tired of that, she just listened to the voices. She heard

a group of girls arguing nearby. As teenagers, they had Emma's

immediate envy.

”Stevie Nimmons is the cutest,” one of the girls insisted. ”He's got

big brown eyes and that groovy mustache.”

”Brian McAvoy,” another corrected. ”He's really fab.” To prove her

point, she took a photo, cut from a fan magazine, out of her madras

purse. A communal sigh went up as the girls crowded around it. ”Every

time I look at it, I just about die.”

They squealed, were glared at, then m.u.f.fled giggles with their hands.

Both pleased and baffled, Emma looked up at Bev. ”Those girls are

talking about Dad.”

”Ssh.” Bev was amused enough to want to relay the story to Brian, but

she was also aware that she was wearing the wig and sungla.s.ses for a

reason. ”I know they are, but we have to keep who we are a secret.”

”Why?”

”I'll explain later,” she said, relieved when their turn at the

elevators arrived.

Emma's eyes widened when her ears popped as they had on the airplane.

For a moment she was terrified that she would be sick again. She bit her