“No!” they said, nearly in unison.

“What color is this box?” he asked, scratching his head.

“Yellow!” they chorused.

“Oh, isn’t this the box I want?”

“No! The red one!”

“That’s right, that’s right!” he said, as if remembering, while the children laughed.

He put the yellow one back inside the trunk again. From time to time, he peered cautiously over his shoulder at the place on the lawn where the audience knew the beast still lay sleeping. Taking the red box closer to the children, he asked, “What did Wally find in the box?”

“The key!” A boy shouted. “The key!”

“Yes!” Travis said, bestowing a smile on the boy as he took a large gold key from the box. “He found the golden key. Now what did Wally do? Did he run home?”

“No!” A resounding chorus.

“But he’s afraid of the dragon!”

There was a jumble of answers, which Travis seemed to understand perfectly. “Oh, he rescues the knight?”

“Yes!” The chorus again.

“You’re absolutely right!” Acting out the story, he said, “Wally sneaked past the dragon and out of the dragon’s fine hall. Then, carefully tucking the golden key in his pocket, Wally ran down the long staircase to…” He paused, scratching his head again. “Now where did that dragon put that knight?”

“The dungeon!” the children shouted.

“Oh, yes, that’s where he went.” More running. “And when he got to the door of the dungeon-uh-oh!” He began patting the tunic. “Where did I put that golden key?”

“Your pocket!” a girl yelled.

“Oh, yes! Thank you,” he said with a bow.

“You’re welcome!” the girl said in a quieter voice.

As the rest of the story unfolded, Wally freed the knight; Wally and the knight went safely back to their home; the sleeping dragon awoke and, seeing his meal missing, decided to become a vegetarian-a term which one of the children already knew. The same one who asked, “Was he a vegan?”

“I believe he was,” Travis said. When the story ended the children and parents cheered him. He bowed humbly, sat on the grass with them, and began asking them about their favorite stories and books. To their delight, he gave away stickers of dragons. “Let’s go back inside the library,” he said at last.

He picked up one end of the trunk, which I could now see had wheels on the other end. He rolled it along as the children and their mothers followed him.

Rachel and I looked at one another, then tagged after him and his troops at a distance.

“Is that him?” Rachel asked, and I could see a look of unholy glee on her face.

“Shut up,” I said.

“Love the outfit,” she whispered. “Do you suppose he makes his own booties?”

I didn’t answer.

“And the panty hose. You think he has to wear queen-sized?”

“Tights. I’m sure he has many costumes-” I began.

“Oh, I’m sure he does, too!” she said, laughing.

“What’s your problem?” I asked, losing patience. “Didn’t you see how those kids looked at him?”

“They loved him, of course,” she said, but kept grinning.

I walked a little faster, pulling ahead of her, then stopped and threw back over my shoulder, “You’ve forgotten why we’re here.”

Somehow, watching her face fall wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be.

Inside, Travis sat at a small round table that had several plastic dinosaurs on it. He was perched on the edge of one of the sturdy wooden children’s chairs that surrounded the table, being smothered in hugs as his pint-sized admirers took their leave. I could see that more than one of the mothers were eyeing him with something that went beyond gratitude for entertaining their children. We stayed back, but from time to time he glanced up at us, a little uneasy, more aware now that we were there without children. Once or twice I caught him briefly studying me.

Before he was entirely free of the group of mothers and children, he excused himself and went into the library office.

“Think he’s taking off?” Rachel asked, folding her arms.

“No,” I said. “He’ll be back out. The trunk is still here. And I don’t think he knows who we are.”

Ms. Galvan came over to stand by the trunk, apparently keeping an eye on it for him. Seeing that we were waiting for him, she asked, “Did you enjoy the performance?”

We agreed that we had.

“Is this the first time you’ve seen him tell stories?”

“Yes,” Rachel answered, and continued small talk while I found myself growing more and more uneasy over the task at hand.

When he emerged from the office he was carrying his costume in a bundle. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a green T-shirt, wearing a pair of running shoes. The beret off, I could see that his dark hair was cut short. He seemed serious and distracted, but as he looked toward us his face broke into a smile, making him look quite handsome.

“Think he’s got a girlfriend?” Rachel whispered.

“For all I know, he’s got a wife,” I said.

“Or two,” she said, not repenting in the least when I turned to scowl at her.

In the next moment, I was shocked to hear my cousin say, “Irene, I can’t thank you enough!”

Rachel and I turned to him, mouths agape, but he was extending a scar-thatched right hand to the librarian.

“I should be thanking you,” she said.

“Irene?” I said weakly.

She looked over at me. “Yes?”

“Oh. That’s my name, too. I’m Irene Kelly.”

She smiled. “I guess those of us whose mothers liked that song-”

But Travis interrupted her, saying in utter disbelief, “Irene Kelly?”

“Yes,” I said, not hiding my relief at his recognition of my name. “Your cousin.”

He stared at my outstretched hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it, then suddenly turned and picked up the handle of the trunk. When he turned back to me, the charming smile was gone. His face was flushed, his eyes were blazing, and his mouth was drawn tight in a look of undisguised fury.

“Frankly,” he said as he began to move away from us with long strides, “I expected more of you.”

Stunned, it took me a moment to find my voice, and then all I could manage was “Travis?”

But he was almost out of the room by then.

“Travis!” I called out.

He stopped and said, “Forget it. And don’t try to follow me.”

Everyone in the place was staring at us by then. The librarian said, “I don’t understand-”

“They’re family,” Rachel said, as if that explained everything. She took hold of my elbow and began steering me out the front door.

“He’s not going anywhere,” she said calmly, moving toward the parking lot.

“In the mood he’s in, he just might back over your sedan,” I said.

“Naw,” Rachel said. “That pickup truck looked new. And he won’t want to mess up that purple paint job.”

“You don’t know-”

We heard a loud bang.

“-the Maguires,” I finished, just before we heard the second bang.

Rachel’s legs are a little longer than mine, but I do a lot of running, so I was around the corner of the building first. Travis was stepping out of the pickup, looking shaken. Rachel started shouting in Italian-what I understood of it made me pray all other Italians were out of earshot. But anyone who didn’t speak the language could read the gestures.

The right front side of the car was not looking good. The wheel stood at a crazy lopsided angle, antifreeze was puddling onto the asphalt, and the headlamp was history. The pickup had surprisingly little damage. Its rear bumper was scraped and dented.

Travis stared at the car and his truck, as if he had only just awakened and found unexpected chaos. Rachel bounded over to him and grabbed him by the shirt collar, shoved him off balance and smacked his back up hard against the camper shell.

“No! Don’t hurt him!” I shouted. She gave me a sharp look that said I just might be next, but let him go. She turned away from him, put her hands on top of her head, clenched her teeth and closed her eyes tightly, as if trying to contain an explosion.