The Witness

and the law for just those reasons.”
    “I can’t argue that, either, but the law, and the system, have to breathe some.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Law needs some room, some flexibility, to consider the human factor, the circumstances.” At the toot-toot of a horn, he glanced toward the street, waved at a man with a huge black beard driving a rusty pickup. “The man who steals a loaf of bread,” Brooks continued without missing a beat, “because he’s starving and desperate shouldn’t be treated the same as the one who steals it planning to sell it at a profit.”
    “Perhaps. But if the law had more uniformity, those who steal for profit would have fewer opportunities to repeat the offense.”
    He grinned down at her in a way that made her wonder if she’d said something charming or foolish. “Ever think about being a cop?”
    “Not exactly. I really should go back and—”
    “Brooks! Bring that girl on over here.”
    With a jolt, Abigail swung around, stared at the house with the dragons and mermaids and fairies. And saw Brooks’s mother climbing down a run of scaffolding. She wore paint-splattered bib overalls and paint-splattered sneakers. A bright red kerchief covered her hair.
    The minute her feet hit the ground, the puppy who’d begun to yip and dance at her voice leaped so high he executed a midair flip before he tumbled into a sprawl.
    The woman laughed, scooped him up as she unsnapped his lead.
    “Come on!” she called again. “Come on and introduce Abigail to your little brother.”
    “Her favorite son right now, too,” Brooks told Abigail. “Let’s say hey.”
    “I really should get back to the market.”
    “Haven’t I been yelled at and lectured to enough for one day?” He sent Abigail a pitiful, pained look. “Have some pity, will you?”
    She couldn’t be invisible if people noticed her, she thought, and it was worse if she made it obvious that she wanted to be invisible. Though she wished Brooks would let go of her hand—it seemed too intimate—she crossed the short distance to the yard of what she thought of as the magic house.
    “I was hoping you’d drop by for a visit,” Sunny said to Abigail.
    “Actually, I was—”
    “I talked her into a walk before she did her marketing.”
    “No point wasting a day like this indoors. Meet Plato.”
    “He’s very handsome.”
    “And a rascal. I do love a rascal,” Sunny said, nuzzling the puppy, then Brooks. “He’s smart, too.”
    “Me or the dog?”
    Sunny laughed, patted Brooks on the cheek. “Both. This one sits when he’s told, but he won’t stay put yet. Watch. Plato, now, you sit.”
    Sunny set the dog down, kept a hand on his rump as she dug in her pocket for a tiny dog treat with her free hand. “Sit now. There you go, a genius!” She let the dog gobble the treat when his butt hit the grass.
    And he was up and jumping, wriggling two seconds later, then scrabbled his paws on Abigail’s shins.
    “We’re working on manners.”
    “He’s just a baby yet.” Unable to resist, Abigail crouched down, smiling when Plato tried to crawl on her knees, laughing when he leaped and licked. “He has happy eyes.” She closed his jaws gently when he tried to nip and chew. “None of that now. Yes, you’re very handsome and happy.”
    As if overcome by the compliment, he flopped down, rolled over to expose his belly.
    “And he has good taste,” Sunny remarked, as Abigail gave Plato a belly rub. “Both my boys do. You have happy eyes yourself today, Abigail.”
    “I like dogs.” But she looked at the house, shifted the focus. “Yourhouse is so interesting and colorful. It must be rewarding to share your art with whoever passes by.”
    “Keeps me off the streets and out of trouble. Mostly.”
    “It’s wonderful. I’ve enjoyed seeing what you’ve done and continue to do since I moved here. I like that it doesn’t make sense.”
    When Sunny laughed, Abigail felt the heat rise up the back of her neck. “I didn’t say that correctly. I meant—”
    “I know exactly what you meant, and you’re exactly right. I like that, too. Y’all come on in. I made some peach sun tea this morning, and I’ve got some of those ginger cookies with the lemon icing you like, Brooks.”
    “I could use a cookie.” Reaching down, he skimmed a hand over Abigail’s hair.
    “Thank you very much, but I need to get to the market, and home to my own dog.” Abigail picked up the puppy as she rose, handing his wriggling