The Lost Husband by Katherine Center Page A

next to me, I’d have felt irrationally giddy to be meeting her. But I’d already met her as Sunshine. I tried to superimpose a People cover on top of the girl in black lipstick standing beside me, but I just couldn’t make it fit.
    Sunshine didn’t act like a star, either. The kids were out front, kneeling by some rosemary bushes and building a fairy city out of rocks and sticks—something Jean had suggested—and as soon as Sunshine noticed them, she walked right over.
    “Whatcha doing?” I heard her ask.
    “Fairy city,” Abby said, as if no other words were needed.
    “I love fairies!” Sunshine said, and then, not even bothering with introductions, got down in the dirt with them, crisscross applesauce, taking directions from Abby almost as well as Tank did.
    Russ and I watched for a minute, and it hit me that Sunshine wasn’t pretending to have fun with the fairies the way most grown-ups do with kid things. She was actually having fun with the fairies.
    “She never really got to finish her childhood,” Russ said after a minute.
    “I get that,” I said. And I really did.
    Dinner was 100 percent kebabs. It was a chilly February night, so we ate in the kitchen because the oven made it the warmest room in the house.
    O’Connor showed up just as we started eating, his face a little red from the cold. Jean handed him a bottle of beer without asking, and as he tilted his head back to take a swig, I watched him. When I caught myself staring, I turned my eyes away and kept them averted for much of the meal.
    Conversation at the table was lively. Sunshine and the kids disappeared under the table after eating and played happily there for a good while, which left the remaining grown-ups time to relax and visit more than usual.
    I couldn’t contain my curiosity about Russ, who was totally hot in a Wilford Brimley way, and who was clearly smitten with Jean. I kept watching him watch her, and I couldn’t help but note that he was a man in serious love.
    “How did you two meet?” I asked.
    “In high school,” Jean said.
    “I proposed to her in high school,” Russ pointed out.
    “You guys dated in high school?”
    “We went on a few dates,” Jean corrected. “Dating was different back then.”
    “Mostly I just followed her around,” Russ said. “Begging her to marry me.”
    “You did do that, didn’t you?” Jean said, regarding him.
    “She always gave me butterflies,” Russ went on. “Even long after she’d found Frank, and long after I was married myself. Anytime I saw her around town, I’d have to just plant my feet and take a deep breath.”
    Jean looked over. “Is that true?”
    Russ nodded and examined his beer bottle. “I just never could quite put out that spark.”
    Jean put her hand on top of his.
    After a moment I turned back to Russ. “Tell me about your tattoo,” I said.
    “Darlin’,” he said, snapping to attention, “don’t you recognize her? That’s your aunt Jean.”
    I tried to decide if he was teasing.
    Russ shrugged. “She dared me.”
    “You guys seem like a great pair,” I said.
    “Well,” Jean said, “I’m a hippie liberal, and he’s a neoconservative nut job, but we make it work.”
    Russ nodded. “We do our part for the unity of the country.” Then, to clarify, he said, “I’m really just a Republican. Jean just likes the way ‘nut job’ sounds.”
    “It has a certain ring to it,” I said.
    Soon the conversation veered off to farm topics, and I relaxed into the pleasant atmosphere of food and conversation—untilSunshine popped her head up from under the table and said, “But have y’all heard about the panther?”
    We all turned and stared.
    Sunshine scrabbled back up to her chair. “There’s a black panther prowling the spring at night.”
    “Prowling the spring?” I asked.
    “Prowling the whole town, actually,” Sunshine said. “It’s front-page news at the feed store.”
    “Sunny,” Russ said gently, “there aren’t any black panthers