Only when John left his mothers to pick up Becca, did he really have time to think about his predicament. Love? That required being with her in a long-term relationship, dating, learning everything he could about Victoria. All he knew was that she was a military brat with a deadly jab. And that when she was a child, she yearned for stability so badly, she dreamt of being a farmer. The crop wasn’t important. He knew that she liked reading romance novels as much as she enjoyed living them with John. He knew that she was a hardworking woman who wanted to accomplish all her goals all the time. God, he knew that any day he spent not seeing her, not hearing her voice, felt as if he was being raked over the coals of ache and want.

John struggled to remember a time he’d felt this distracted and listless. He had woken that morning to take Becca to school and his mind had been somewhere else. Only when they got to the school parking lot, did he remember she was without lunch. His niece wasn’t upset when he fished a twenty from his wallet for her. She kissed him on the cheek and skipped off. When John got to the library, he’d read books to the afternoon crowd of children, but his heart wasn’t in it. The performance was dull to say the least. And now he had a cut hand to remind him what happened when he daydreamed about the woman who had quietly backed out of his life.

When he pulled up to the pickup curb, he waited for Becca and her gaggle of girlfriends to be released from their after-school detention. Seven girls were escorted from the building, all of them laughing and chattering about nonsense to be sure. John counted them again. Seven? He was certain that the feminist collective was only four. Becca walked tall with a confident grin as the girls huddled around her, gesticulating wildly and screeching. It dawned on him that one of those girls was probably Becca’s nemesis, Megan or whatever. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said with a low whistle.

As they approached his truck, she waved at him. He could overhear her saying in a nonchalant voice, “That’s my uncle Johnny, he’s a librarian.”

The gaggle of girls glanced over at him and giggled. The three he recognized from the slumber party called out in unison, “Hi, Mr. Donovan.”

He gave a half salute. “Ladies.”

His niece continued to chat with her small cult following until John rolled his eyes and laid on the horn. “Time to go, Becca,” he called.

“Hold on!”

“Call us tonight? I want to hear everything. Again.”

“Me too! I just can’t believe he would even.”

“I will, we have to Skype earlier though,” Becca said with a grin.

“Becca!”

“I’m coming!”