Even in November, the temperatures in Houston could reach the sixties, like on this day. Sitting on a park bench with a bucket of chicken between us, anyone looking on would think we were just normal people out enjoying a beautiful afternoon and an early dinner. But we were far from normal. “Stop it,” Vivienne said under her breath. For a moment I thought she might be talking to me, but then she closed her eyes and whispered, “Not now. Go away.” No fear flowed from her, only mild agitation, so I took another bite of chicken, glad she was at least communicating with Hindered rather than simply ignoring them. The tiny park was empty with the exception of a couple on the other side of the pond sitting on top of a picnic table with their backs to us. Vivienne shook her head. “You thought I’d rejected you. No wonder you told me to leave the house that night. I can’t believe Race or Cinda didn’t fill you in on what went on down in Galveston.”
