He sucked his pinky with a loud slurp and rubbed it on his shirt. “Kind of like you and me.”

“Yes, just like that.”

“Because Mommy says Richard really needs a girlfriend.”

The napkins slid from her knee and splayed at her feet. In a flurry, she gathered them and dumped them in Sam’s lap. “Is that right?”

“She says it to Dad all the time.” He crammed the last bit of cone in his mouth, smashed the napkins into a soggy ball, and thrust it at her. “What should I do with this?”

On the opposite side of the seating area, a garbage can overflowed. She pointed. “Run and throw it away.”

Sam crouched in a runner’s stance and took off.

She slid a glance at Richard. He leaned toward Caitlin, his fingers interlaced behind his head and his legs stretched long, seemingly absorbed in conversation. With any luck, he missed Sam’s ruminations on his love life.

Caitlin dropped the spoon in her empty cup and stood. “I’m hot and tired and ready to go home.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Richard nested her cup in his. “Your chariot awaits.”

Tessa checked on Sam’s progress.

The boy hovered beside the trashcan, clutching the gooey mass.

“Time to go, Sammo!” She extended a hand toward Richard. “I’ll take your trash.”

He relinquished the cups with a smile. Returning to talk of ones and zeros, he and Caitlin headed for the air-conditioned car.

“Tessa!” Sam called.

His voice was high and pinched. She glanced over.

Still clinging to the wadded napkins, he stood frozen in place.

What in the world was he doing? “Come on, Sam. Throw it away, and let’s go.” A flicker of annoyance starting in her belly, she dragged sticky fingers over condensation on the outside of her cup and brushed them together. Time to get this kid home and into the tub. Maybe she had an old wet wipe she could use to mop him up. Juggling the trash, she zipped and unzipped the compartments of her backpack. The last thing she wanted was to return Claire a gummy mess of a child. Not to mention the damage he would do to Richard’s upholstery. Failing to locate anything, she threw her backpack over one shoulder with a grunt.

Sam called her name again.

Clocking a tremor in his voice, she paused. Why was the air around him dark? It almost appeared to be moving. She squinted through a curtain of heat rippling from the asphalt and gasped.

A cloud of insects whizzed in circles around him.

Bees!

In a convulsive spasm, Sam swatted his head and shoulders. “Ow, ow, ow!”

She recoiled, slamming her calves into the bench. “Stand still, Sam!” Her body lurched toward the boy, but her feet stayed rooted—as if the soles of her shoes melted into the tar. She couldn’t move.