In fact, Lightfoot was the only person who seemed at all upset over the incident. He was in a completely foul humor. And kept glaring over at me. Did he suspect me of having arranged Cleopatra’s appearance, to upstage his concert? Or was he just staring at the sling Dad insisted I still wear? People tended to notice it, and a lot of them came over to commiserate with me, shooting him frowning glances as they did, but I wouldn’t have taken him for someone who cared what others thought.

Then again, maybe he was afraid I’d sue. That seemed more in character. I made a point of beaming graciously at him the next time I caught him glancing my way, which seemed to disconcert him more than all the whispering and finger-pointing.

The audience finally settled down, and Lightfoot raised his baton and the concert resumed.

“O Come, All Ye Faithful!” was followed by “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and then “Ding Dong Merrily on High,” “Go Tell It on the Mountain,” “Glory, Glory, Glory to the Newborn King,” “When Was Jesus Born?” “O, Holy Night,” and “Children, Go Where I Send Thee.”

Josh was clearly enjoying the concert immensely—he was nodding his head, tapping his feet, and slapping his knees in time to the music, even during the slow songs. I loved watching him, but I had to admit, I was glad he had crawled into Michael’s lap, not mine. I was holding Jamie, who was sitting with his mouth and eyes wide open, utterly motionless, as if afraid the whole thing would vanish if he moved a muscle or made a sound.

Satisfied that the boys were having fun, I settled back against Michael’s shoulder, closed my eyes, and gave myself over to enjoying the music.

It was well past the boys’ bedtime when the concert ended, so rather than wait for the slow procession out the main doors, where both Robyn and Reverend Wilson were shaking the hands of the departing audience, we ducked to one of the side doors—where we found Riddick Hedges standing guard. He frowned at us.

“Good evening, Riddick,” Mother said. “Lovely to see you.” With that she sailed toward the door, clearly assuming he would open it by the time she reached it. Riddick blinked, and then scrambled to comply.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Riddick said. He didn’t quite bow, but he was clearly tempted.

We all followed in Mother’s wake, wishing Riddick good evening—except for the boys who were fast asleep on Michael’s and Rob’s shoulders.

“I was supposed to be keeping this door secure,” he muttered as I approached, bringing up the rear of our party.

“Against intrusion, I assume,” I said. “Or did Robyn tell you to lock it up so no one could escape her handshake?”

“Never had such foolishness before,” he muttered. “Skunks! Snakes! What next?”