Blackbird. Natália Gomes

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      He turned back to the bench. “I’m sorry. I thought you said—”

      “I’ll repeat it for you. Instead of jail and a fine, you may escort Gillian Bates to a dinner dance.”

      He stared at the woman as he grappled with what he was hearing. He was being sentenced to a date? Impossible. Completely ridiculous. Quite possibly illegal. But it couldn’t be serious. “No,” he said, taking a step toward the judge. “Really, what are my options?”

      The judge looked at him soberly. “There are some conditions to the community service,” she said as if this performance was as real as rain. “You’ll need to ask her out at least once before the dance. And you must let her think it’s all your own idea. If she discovers it’s part of your sentence, it’s an automatic jail term. If you don’t succeed in escorting her to the dance, it’s an automatic jail term. And finally, you must leave her kindly and you must wait at least twenty-four hours after the dance has ended.”

      “You can’t do that,” he said. “You can’t force me to date someone.”

      “Oh, but I can, sir. I can, and I am.”

      “But—”

      “But nothing,” the judge interrupted sternly. “Make your decision, Dr. Malloy. Jail or a dinner dance with a very nice girl.”

      He knew he was awake. This didn’t feel like any dream he’d ever had. “Your Honor, I’m an attending physician at Texas Children’s Hospital in Houston, and I—”

      “And you’re on vacation.”

      Damn. How could she know that? “Yes, but I have other obligations and—”

      “And you’ll have to find another way to meet those obligations. You’ve brought this on yourself.”

      “But all I did was—”

      “All you did was act crudely and in a vulgar manner in front of very vulnerable ears, Dr. Malloy.”

      He glanced behind him once more and was met with eager grins. The woman from the bakery. The woman from the first doorway. Even the sheriff. They were all smiling, urging him silently to do it. To say yes. What he couldn’t understand was why? Why him. Why a date? What the hell was going on?

      “Dr. Malloy?”

      He turned back. The simplest thing to do was agree, then let Dan fix it. Let Dan expose this insane town with its insane judge. “All right, Your Honor,” he said softly. “I’ll do the community service.”

      Now came the applause. The whole room burst with it. Even the judge smiled. Everyone seemed as pleased as punch. But he planned on taking each of them to court. To a real court. Not here in Wacko Land.

      The judge banged her gavel a few times, and the room grew silent once more. She’d lost her smile. “Do you understand the full extent of your community service?”

      “I think so.”

      “Please repeat it for the record.”

      He swallowed, suddenly aware that he really needed a glass of water. “I have to take this Gillian Bates to a dinner dance,” he said. “But I have to ask her out at least once before that. I can’t let her know this is all some twisted plot and I can’t leave until at least twenty-four hours after the dance.”

      The judge nodded. “Except for the creative description in the middle, that’s fine. Remember, she’s not to know anything about this.” Then she turned her attention to the gallery. “Not one slipup, people. This one has to go off without a hitch. We owe that to Gillian.”

      She stood up, and the whole room followed suit. Conner felt a hand at his elbow. It was Sheriff Dick Tracy, ready to take him downstairs. He led him down the aisle where several people patted him on the back and one person pinched his behind. He whipped around to see who it was, but no one looked the least bit guilty. Then they got to the exit, and headed down the stairs.

      When they reached his cell, he saw that his clothes had been neatly folded on the cot. That his shaving kit had been retrieved from the bathroom. He grabbed them, anxious to get the hell out of there.

      The sheriff moved into the doorway, forcing him to stop. “Listen here, Doc. I know you think this is crazy, but you’ll see. You just do like the judge says and everything will turn out fine.”

      Conner nodded impatiently.

      “And, Doc? Don’t even think about leaving town. We know where you live. Where you work. It’ll be hard on you, you understand?”

      Conner nodded again.

      “I’ll see you around, Doc.” The sheriff moved out of his way.

      Conner stopped again just before he got to the exit. “Sheriff?”

      “Yes?”

      “How am I supposed to meet her? Gillian Bates, I mean?”

      “She teaches kindergarten at the school on Fourth. And she lives on Hickory Street. Thursday night she runs a book club over at the library, so you might try there.”

      Conner didn’t thank him. He just walked out into the sunshine and into what looked like an ordinary day in an ordinary town. But he knew better.

      He could barely begin to imagine Gillian Bates. What kind of woman needed a court order to find a date? He shuddered, then headed down the street to his car.

      “WHAT DOES THE COW SAY?” Gillian asked.

      “Mooooo!” replied nine five-year-olds.

      “And what does the lamb say?”

      “Baaaaa!”

      “And what do we say when someone gives us a present?”

      “Thank you!”

      “Very nice, boys and girls.” She smiled, then sneaked a glance at the big clock over the chalkboard. Thirty minutes to go. Thank goodness.

      Normally, her days went by too fast, but today had inched along at a snail’s pace. Teddy had waited too long to visit the rest room, Vicky had eaten two crayons and Max had let the class hamster out of its cage, which led to unbridled hysteria and a chase that lasted all through nap time.

      “Okay, kids. Cleanup time!”

      The children got up off the big mat in the middle of the classroom and headed in nine directions. A few of them—Zeke, Molly and Eli—actually picked up toys and put them on the shelves at the back of the room. But Jody and Luke decided to fight over a stuffed panda bear, so Gillian had to break that up. After quite a few tears and sniffles, she got them to shake hands and say they were sorry. Then, just as Gillian bent to pick up the prized panda, Sandy Goodwin tripped and spilled the entire tray of watercolor paints down Gillian’s back. She screeched and stood up so fast that she knocked the tray out of Sandy’s hand. It went flying, spraying the remains of the paint all over the front of her dress.

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