Always Florence by Muriel Jensen

person to hit back.” He leaned over the little boy and gently manipulated his hand. It felt intact, though there was a slight bruising on the back. “Can you close it tight?”
    Sheamus made a fist and didn’t even wince.
    “I think it’s fine. Now, don’t hit anybody else, okay?”
    Sheamus looked abused and misunderstood. “I don’t ever hit anybody. I just hit him ’cause I hate him!”
    “I hate you more!” Dylan replied venomously.
    “You don’t hate each other,” Nate insisted, pained over the thought that they really might. “You get angry because life is hard, and you take it out on each other.”
    They looked at him as though he were a Klingon come to life. It occurred to him to be grateful that at least they agreed on that.
    “No,” Dylan insisted seriously. “We really hate each other.”
    Nate gave Sheamus a gentle shove toward the school yard, where kids ran and shouted and waited for the bell to ring. “Remember that tonight you’re Spider-Man and everyone’s going to give you candy.”
    “We have to go to Bobbie’s,” Sheamus said over his shoulder. He’d stopped crying, and excitement now battled the misery in his eyes.
    “Right. First thing.” Nate caught Dylan by the shoulder and stopped him from following Sheamus.
    They boy squirmed, trying to escape. “I’m going to be late!”
    “You’ve got four minutes.” Nate held on to him. “Look, Dyl. You have to stop being so mean to Sheamus.”
    “But he...”
    “I know. He swung at you first because he’s even more scared than you are, and you’re always awful to him. I know he can be exasperating for you, but try to have patience. Try to help him out a little.”
    “He’s a dork.”
    “He’s seven.”
    “I’m not scared. I’m just...”
    When Dylan hesitated, Nate offered carefully, “Lonesome?”
    Dylan looked into his eyes and for just an instant the vulnerability he struggled so hard to hide was visible. He opened his mouth to speak. Nate waited, hoping. Then the bell rang and the moment was gone.
    “Now I have to go,” Dylan said.
    Nate dropped his hand and straightened. “Right. Try to have a good day. Think candy.”
    Dylan seemed to consider whether or not to be amused by that blatant example of bad adult advice, but decided against it. He simply turned and ran for the door, his Iron Man pack slapping against his back.
    Nate returned to the present as Hunter pulled open the office door for him. His friend took one look at him and the empty coffee cup and made a face. “Rug rats getting to you, huh? I want to sympathize, man, but the Astoria Food Bank Fund-raiser Committee is in the conference room and they’ve been waiting for you for a good fifteen minutes.”
    Nate said something he’d never let the boys hear. “Forgot they were meeting here today. We have to get doughnuts.” Not only had he taken over Ben’s place in the Astoria office of Raleigh and Raleigh, but he’d found himself taking over his brother’s place as a community volunteer. He could deal with never having a free moment, but with charity work he faced a learning curve, since most of his previous activities—both professional and social—had been focused on self-interests. Still, the people involved in this particular fund-raiser were hardworking and appreciated the use of the office conference room. And they probably accounted for all he had in the way of a social life these days.
    “Jonni went to Danish Maid Bakery, and Karen is making coffee and hot water for tea and cocoa. I told your committee that you had to stop first at a client’s.” He pointed to the cup Nate still clutched. “The Coffee House is a client. I didn’t say you were doing business, just that you had to stop there.”
    Hunter was several inches shorter than Nate, but had a build more appropriate to a quarterback than an accountant. He had the dark blond hair and blue eyes of his mother’s Scandinavian ancestry. Ben had trusted him completely, and now