My hopefulness for the return of the boys’ parent, turned to astonishment when I saw that the buggy was driven by a uniformed policeman. A gray-haired older woman sat inside the conveyance, one arm hanging out the open window and her head bent sideways so she could see us.
“Is that your grandmother?” I asked the boys, pointing at the buggy rider.
“Never saw her before,” Frances told me, as I lifted his younger brother down off Frey. “We don’t have any other folks. Mom and Dad is all there is.”
The buggy stopped, and the man climbed down from the box seat, then opened the door and helped the woman out. They definitely weren’t a couple. The man was young and filled out his uniform in a rather nice manner. The woman was in her late sixties and clothed in a fashionable navy blue dress with white piping down the sides. She had on boots that looked new and clean.
I sighed, attempting not to be envious of such wealth. I turned and lifted Frances down off Frey. When I set him on the ground beside his brother, both boys grabbed at my shirt and clung like flour paste.
The couple, who weren’t a couple, romantically, at least, walked over to us. The officer had a threatening manner in his walk and the kind of glint in his eyes that said he was fully capable of attacking at any moment. I thought that his being on full alert was strange, since there was nobody here but the boys and me. Did we look dangerous to a policeman?
“Are you Frances and Carlo?” the man asked, staring at the boys, while keeping me under his keen eye, as if he suspected me of being some kind of violent criminal.