“And they’re smart.” The boy leaned forward. “They have good memories. They don’t see colors, and they have brown eyes. But not like yours. Yours are yellowy golden brown. Donkey eyes are dark, dark brown.”
“You already know a heck of a lot more than I do. You can be the donkey expert.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” the boy said to himself, relaxing into the seat. “I like you, Libby.”
“I like you, too, Sebastian.”
“Want to know something else about donkey eyeballs?”
“Sure,” she replied, stifling a chuckle.
“They have trouble looking up and mostly look down to eat. Sometimes they don’t see what’s right in front of them.”
She nodded. That wasn’t only true of donkeys—jackasses like Erasmus Cress also fell into that category.
She kept her gaze on the road as the park came into view. Situated near the community center, she caught a glimpse of a person with long white hair entering the building. A strange sense of déjà vu passed over her—or else it was her garbled chi. She brushed off the feeling and pulled up behind a cherry-red Urus, Charlotte’s car, then cut the ignition.
“Do you want to know more about donkey eyes? I read a lot about them,” Sebastian added.
She looked up and met the child’s gaze in the mirror. “Can I ask you a question about your eyes, Sebastian?”
She couldn’t stop herself.
“Okay, what’s your question?” Sebastian asked.
Libby pushed the image of the mystery woman entering the community center out of her head. She focused on the boy. “You never got to answer if you thought your eyes were more blue or more green.” She slipped Ida’s gift from her pocket, then unclasped her seat belt and turned to face the boy. “They’re the color of this stone. It’s aquamarine. It’s the Colorado state gemstone. It can be blueish or greenish or a combination of the two like this.” She handed him the stone, and he rubbed his thumb across the smooth surface.
“This color makes my dad sad,” Sebastian answered and returned the rock.
“Why would this color do that?”
“Because I have the same color eyes as my mum did. She died when I was little, but I have a picture of her. Do you want to see it?”
Raz was a widower?
Libby nodded. She shouldn’t be this curious about the man’s life. She had a job to do—and she couldn’t allow her heart to get in the way. But as the thought crossed her mind, a breeze cut through the trees lining the periphery of the park. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught an aspen tree dancing in the air, almost shimmering, when Raz’s words came back to her.
I should warn you. I’m a boxer. I’m better at breaking things than I am at putting them back together.
“I keep Mum’s picture in my grandad’s watch. I never knew him, but Granny Fin said she was sure he’d want me to have it.” Sebastian reached into his pocket and removed a golden pocket watch. It caught her off guard. Kids these days usually carried handheld electronics, not antique clocks. Gently, he pressed a release, and the door clicked open. “Her name was Meredith, and she liked mint chocolate chip ice cream, twirling around in the rain, swinging as high as she could at the park, and drawing pictures in notebooks.”
Libby concentrated on the image of the beautiful young woman. Caught in a slip of time, the photo captured the woman as a lock of dark hair blew across her pink cheek. Her gaze cast to the side as if she were smiling at someone she truly loved.
A lump formed in her throat. “Did your dad tell you those things about your mom?”
Sebastian focused on the photo. “No, Auntie Callista and Auntie Calliope used to tell me lots of stories about my mum, but then they got busy with uni. They’re on the other side of the world teaching children how to speak English.”
“Do you miss them?”
He nodded. “Granny Fin can’t move around very well, so we spend a lot of time in the flat, just the two of us.”
“What about your friends at school?”
Sebastian closed the watch and returned it to his pocket. “I don’t have many friends. The boys want to fight me because they think I’d be a good boxer like my dad. They laugh at me and call me spaghetti arms when I try to throw a punch.”
Poor kid.
“I’m not one for violence or fighting at school, but have you asked your dad to teach you?”
“He doesn’t want me to be a boxer like him.”
“What do you want?” she asked. “Sometimes, if I want something, I think about it and put a lot of energy into the thought. It’s called setting an intention.”
Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut. “I want my dad to be happy.”
Her heart broke for the child.
She wasn’t one for violence, but she sure wanted to kick Raz right in the balls for keeping his sweet boy at arm’s length. And then her anger dissipated, and she felt a gentle energy coming off the child. It lapped and gurgled joyfully like a babbling brook.
Sebastian opened his eyes. “I put my energy into it. Could you feel it?”
She nodded, not sure what to say when a sharp knock on the window had her nearly jumping out of her seat. She turned toward the sound and spied a little girl with a hot dog headband and pink fairy wings fluttering in the breeze.
“Libby, you’re at the park,” Phoebe Gale announced. She jammed her finger against the window at Sebastian. “And who’s that?”
Oscar ran to the car and held up his Polaroid camera, framing a shot. “Hi, Libby! You’re in the Lamborghini car club, too. That’s awesome! And you’ve got a kid now.”
These two were a riot.
Penny and Charlotte joined the kids, and their attention bounced from the car to the child in the back. Her friends stared at her as if she’d arrived in an alien spacecraft while Oscar and Phoebe stared in the window at Sebastian like he was an exotic animal on display at the Denver Zoo.
“These people look a bit dodgy. Is it safe to exit the car?” Sebastian asked, his nose touching his side of the glass opposite Oscar.
She could feel the waves of anxiety coming off the kid. “Yes, these are the friends I told you about. They seem excited to meet you. But before we get out of the car, try this. It’s called a mudra.” She raised her hand and touched her index finger to her thumb. “This is called the gyan mudra. It helps you feel calm.”
Okay, that was a rudimentary description for the yoga practice that had been used for thousands of years, but she didn’t have time for a grand explanation.
Sebastian raised his hands like a mini-Buddha and copied the pose. “I feel better, Libby.”
“I’m glad, honey. Now, take a nice big breath and let it out slowly.”
The boy complied. “Am I doing yoga?”
“You are. How do you feel?”
Sebastian returned his attention to the children outside his window. “I feel better, but I’m still a little nervous.”
She smiled. “It’s okay to be nervous. Being a little nervous allows us to be brave. Are you ready to get out of the car? Are you ready to be brave with me?”
The child inhaled, then exhaled a slow breath like a seasoned yogi. “Yeah, I’m ready to be brave, Libby.”