“Mia seems to love her.”

“Only granddaughter.” Julia waved her hand. “Entirely different kind of relationship. And I bet, deep down, Mia is terrified of her.”

Thinking back to the morning’s conversation, I wasn’t sure the fear was buried very deeply. “Well, there has to be a way to bring her around.”

“It’s cute that you think so.” Julia gave me a tolerant look. “Some people won’t shift their sense of right and wrong even if they’re the last metaphorical one standing. They’ll just cross their arms and say the rest of the world has gone to—”

“And it’s time to go.” I tossed the plastic container that had formerly held my peanut butter and jelly sandwich into the depths of the console and started the motor. “Next stop, southeast Tonedagana County.”

“Do you think Lawrence will be there today?” Julia asked.

It took me a blank moment to connect the name Lawrence with Mr. Zonne, the widowed octogenarian I’d never been able to call by his first name. He’d confessed last spring that he’d begun to feel a loss in range of motion and started a yoga regimen. By June he’d been able to, straight-legged, put his hands flat on the ground and in September he’d let us talk him into doing a full lotus pose, which had ended with Eddie in his lap. The man amazed me and I hoped to be more like him when I grew up.

When we pulled into the church parking lot, it was empty. Which was disappointing, but by the time we’d fired up the computers and done the rest of the regular setup, three cars had pulled into the lot, one of them being the big blue Buick driven by Mr. Zonne.

The other two cars were filled with moms and homeschooled children who piled out excitedly as soon as the vehicles came to a stop. The door of Mr. Zonne’s car had opened, but shut again as the children raced, shrieking, across the parking lot.

A busy fifteen minutes later, the children, now covered in Eddie hair, were hurtling down the bookmobile steps, the moms were thanking us, and we were all waving good-bye.

As soon as the child-filled cars left the parking lot, the door of Mr. Zonne’s car opened. “Are they gone?” he called.

Laughing, I waved him over. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of kids.”

He ambled across the gravel. “At my age, you can’t be too careful. One accidental push and I’d be on the ground with a broken hip, and then where would I be?”

“In Lakeview, hanging out with Max Compton,” I said promptly. “The place would never be the same.”