outside West Virginia.”
Anton adjusted his position at the table. “It’s not a tradition as much as a compulsion. Roma travel because they come from a life and time when they didn’t have homes. They traveled Europe in search of work. When the work dried up, they moved on. My parents traveled with their grandparents. They have hundreds of stories from their childhood and they try to recreate that time for us. They don’t care how much everything else changes. Our parents came to America as teens, already married. When they arrived, some family members found jobs and bought property. A few couldn’t stop traveling.”
“Like your parents.”
“They were too young to buy property. We traveled with my grandparents and a circus family from Indiana when I was young. Eventually, we branched out on our own, but my parents never gave up on the notion of following the work. They never bought a home. Never settled.” He lifted tired eyes to the sky. “We are travelers because it’s our way.”
I breathed in the sunny summer air, accepting the resignation in Anton’s voice. He didn’t like their ways, but he loved his family. The divide between Dad and me came to mind. Maybe it was the humidity from extended rains, but the air seemed heavier, headier, kissed by wildflowers and thick with possibilities.
Cross pressed a hand against my shoulder. “Pru’s taking all the information pretty well. How are you doing?”
I pursed my lips. “Our dad blames the Lovells for Faith’s death. For Mom. For the mess we became after that night. The sheriff and some other town officials do too. I had no idea until this morning. I’m not going to lie. I’m confused. This is hard to process. You should’ve heard them.”
“Hey.” Anton twisted free from the picnic table. “I think I saw Mouse by the coffee shop. I’m going to go check it out. Meet me later to jam?”
Cross nodded. “Five o’clock at Red’s?”
Anton smiled. He shook my hand, waved a two-finger salute to Pru, and left.
I frowned. “Did he say he saw a mouse?”
“Yeah. His sidekick, Mouse.”
Huh. “Is she small?”
Cross’s lips twitched into a lazy half smile. The split second move revealed a dimple in one cheek. Dimples didn’t go with the persona I’d pinned on him. “Nah. She’s quiet. Like a church mouse.”
Pru strode across the pavilion floor. “Who?”
Cross squared his shoulders. “Anton’s woman, Mouse, is quiet…like a mouse.”
“Gross.” She turned her face away. “He has a girlfriend?”
“Yes.” I groaned. “And he’s at least six years too old for you.”
“Whatever. Dad said come home and never leave again.” She popped a hip. “What else were you two talking about?”
Cross tilted forward at the waist, fingers wedged in his pockets. He rocked on his heels. “I’m playing at Red’s tomorrow night. You should come listen.”
Pru bounced. “Excellent. Playing what?”
He looked at me for a long beat before turning his attention back to her. “Guitar. I’m a songwriter. A talent scout’s coming. It could be my big break. We came here early so I could make this show.”
Pru clapped silently. “We’ll be there.”
I sighed. “What happened to going home and never leaving again? What about the old-man mob and the pitchforks?”
She beamed.
Cross nodded. “Great. I’ll walk you as far as Main Street.”
We headed back across the field in a row with Cross at the center. Pru supplied the conversation in her typical interrogation format. “What kind of songs do you write?”
“Country mostly.”
“Poems?”
He cleared his throat with a rasp. “Never.”
“Songs are like poems.”
He snorted. “No.”
“Is Cross your first or last name?”
“Neither.”
“Oh.” She dug in her pocket. “You like my sister.”
He slid careful eyes my way without speaking.
“Knew it.” She freed her phone and scrolled through texts. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Lorraine saw Jason with