Natasha jumped when something grabbed her legs from behind and she looked down and laughed. Bending, she lifted the small child and anchored him on her hip before continuing. She cut her eyes back at Ward, who shrugged.
“Obviously my son thinks I've said enough.”
There was more resounding applause and laughter.
“So, if we can move this inside you'll find hot coffee, fruit punch, and an assortment of cakes and cookies. Our staff and volunteers will be happy to guide you through the building. We're open for business starting this afternoon, and this facility will be open as long as there are patients who need the services. Thank you again.”
Carrying the child, Natasha walked over to receive a kiss from Ward.
“Sorry about the interruption,” Ward said, “but Palmer's strong as a bull. He broke loose and I couldn't catch him.”
“Like you tried,” Natasha said, laughing.
Gene Duncan smiled at them, and put an arm around his wife, Lucy, who was seven months pregnant. “You did good, Dr. McCarty,” Gene said, simultaneously hugging her and the child.
“Ward should have given the address,” she told them.
“Nobody would have heard me over the sound of my knees knocking together. All I did was write checks. Natasha did the work.”
Alice Palmer stood beside the Duncans, smiling, showing an even row of straight teeth. Her long blond hair was tucked behind her ears, and she wore a cashmere coat open to show off her dress, accented by a pearl necklace with matching earrings.
Natasha handed her son to his father, kissed the boy on his forehead, and said, “You are your father's son, Palmer McCarty.”
“That he is,” Gene agreed, smiling at the child, who stuck out his tongue and made a loud, particularly wet raspberry sound.
“Be nice, Palmer,” Ward told the boy.
“Come to Aunt Alice.” Alice reached out to take Palmer, but he slapped at her playfully, shook his head, and buried his face in his father's chest.
“Palmer McCarty!” Alice chided. “You know you want to come to me. Natasha,” she said, “that was a beautiful speech. Jeez, I almost always cry at this happy shit.”
And with that, Natasha hooked her arm in her husband's. They melted into the wide line of people filing into the new building past the life-size bronze statue of a nine- year- old boy who, while holding a model car in his delicate hands, greeted the passersby with an angel's smile.
