“What’s all this racket out here?” a woman says from the porch. “Bernard? Are you okay?”
She’s older, wearing a loose-fitting bronze pantsuit, kitten heels, and a worried look as she scans the yard, her silver bob swinging back and forth with the movement.
“That dog tried to kill Rosalia.” The man points an accusing finger at Peanut Butter, snarling his lip.
“It was a long drive, so he really had to go,” I explain apologetically.
“No big deal. The poor baby had to piddle.” She’s telling Bernard, but Peanut Butter has climbed the steps and is sitting politely at the woman’s feet as though he recognizes a kind spirit. She reaches down to pet his head and he leans into her touch. “My bladder’s the size of a walnut too.”
Standing back up, she greets the rest of us. “You must be Carter. Thanks for coming all the way out here. I hope it wasn’t a trouble, other than the peeing.” She laughs at her own joke, petting Peanut Butter again.
Carter takes a few steps up to the porch and offers his hand. “Happy to come out anytime, Mrs. Cartwright.” He pauses, drops his chin, and then smiles. “I mean, Elena.”
Ooh, he’s good. That was a pure act of fertilizer-grade manure with the name misspeak, playfully coy while also being old-fashioned polite. He’s shoveling it both ways.
“And you must be Luna, Carter’s lovely wife. You should hear him talk about your artwork. They say what a man says when you can’t hear him is as close to the truth as you’ll ever get. If that’s the case, he’s quite smitten with you, dear.” She winks at me theatrically, and I freeze.
When Carter glances back at me, there’s a slight blush coloring his cheeks. It’s kinda adorable, and then I remember that whatever he told Elena was fake as hell. I play my part, though, stage whispering as I tease, “You should hear what he says when we’re alone.”
Elena laughs, thinking I’m being cheeky, but my true target is Carter and the things he’s said that weren’t so kind. If he can shovel two ways, then so can I.
“I’m Miss Grace Marie Harrington, eight years old, third grade. And that’s my Uncle Kyle’s dog, Peanut Butter,” Grace offers with a ladylike curtsy. She sounds like she’s introduced herself on countless Miss America pageant stages until she adds, “But we call him Nutbuster.”
Carter chokes. “Oh, Gracie, Elena doesn’t want to hear that.”
But Elena’s chuckling and petting the nut-busting dog again, not offended in the slightest. Instead, she curtsies back to Grace, holding out the leg of her pants. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Harrington. Now, how about you call me Elena and I call you Grace, and we can go inside where it’s cool, m’kay?”
“Okay, Elena,” Grace parrots.
“Oh, Bernard . . .” Elena says to the man who’s still scowling at Peanut Butter, “Would you mind taking this sweet, good boy over to the barn? I bet he’d love to play in the hay and have an oat cookie or two. If that’s okay?”
That last bit was directed to Carter, who nods to Bernard gratefully and then adds, “I really do apologize. We had a bit of a family emergency, and I—”
He holds his hands out wide, gesturing to Grace and Peanut Butter. But this is Elena’s show, and she waves it off. “Nonsense, the more, the merrier!”
“Yeah, Uncle CJ, me and Elena are cool.” Completely comfortable having crashed Carter’s meeting, Grace takes Elena’s hand and they walk into the house together like insta-besties.
Bernard pats his leg, content with his orders. “Wanna cookie, boy?”
That’s all it takes for Peanut Butter to trot off after him, leaving just me and Carter behind. He looks back and forth between Peanut Butter and Grace, though, concern on his face for his two charges. It’s actually admirable.
And a bit adorable.
“We got this,” I tell him gently as I hold my hand out. He takes it, and together, we walk inside. The house is impressive, with soaring ceilings, marble floors, intricate moldings, and antiques. But beyond the air of fanciness, what draws my attention is the art on every single wall.
“Is that . . .” I can’t get the words out as I rush to a piece in the foyer, dragging Carter along. “The colors, the texture, her expression.” I clamp my hands over my mouth as tears unexpectedly fill my eyes. This artwork is everything I’d dreamed, only better.
“Oh, you found our Eakin piece. It’s not a classic—or not yet, at least—but Thomas really enjoyed the emotions in her eyes.”
We all stare at the art for a moment in silence, feeling connected to the woman in the drawing.
“She looks sad, like she’s gonna cry,” Grace whispers.
Bending down, I nod agreeably. “People do cry when they’re sad, but there are happy tears too. And I’ll tell you a secret, I even cry when I’m mad. Do you think she might be crying for another reason?”
I can feel Carter and Elena’s eyes, but I’m in tour guide mode with Grace because you never know what will spark a child to have a life-long love of art.
“Elena? Dinner’s ready.” I look up to see a square-shaped woman with blonde hair slicked into a military tight bun standing by a doorway. She’s wearing black pants, a black polo, and black kitchen clogs. Clearly, she’s house staff.
“Nelda, this is Carter, Luna, and Grace. Could you be a dear and get us an extra setting on the table?” Elena subtly tilts her head toward Grace.
“Of course,” Nelda answers. “Should I make an alternative meal for the young lady? We’re having salmon.”
Grace looks up at Carter. “That’s the pink fish?” When Carter nods, she speaks directly to Nelda. “I like salmon.”
Of course she does. I think I’ve had salmon once in my life at a museum event where I mostly hid in the corner and prayed no one would ask me questions. But this little girl knows pink fish from other fish and can talk to strangers with ease. I make a mental note to see if I can use Grace as a character inspiration in my graphic novel.
Instead of the dining room, Elena takes us to the kitchen where a round breakfast nook table is set for dinner with family-style serving dishes in the middle. Nelda quickly adds another setting as Carter pulls out a chair for me, and then, in a move that startles me, he slides the napkin into my lap. It feels intimate, and when I glance up, Carter’s eyes are stormy. The second I meet his gaze, he jerks his away as though burned and finds his own seat between me and Grace, with Elena sitting across.
“I hope you don’t mind eating in here. The dining room is so stuffy, and between you and me, I need glasses and a hearing aid to talk to people at the other end of that thing.” Elena holds her hands up wide, demonstrating how big the table is.
“No, of course not. This is perfect,” Carter says obsequiously.
Elena picks up a platter from the assortment in the middle of the table and leans toward Grace. “Would you like help getting the salmon on your plate? Sometimes, they like to swim away.”
She laughs at her own silly joke, and Grace grins as she nods. Once everyone has filled their plates, Elena says, “Tell me about Blue Lake Assets, Carter.”