“Then, of course, you should apply at the bookstore.” Willow forced a smile for his sake. “They’d be lucky to get you.”
“And it might diminish the chances of bumping into my mother. For some reason I cannot imagine she’d show her face in a bookstore. She probably doesn’t even know how to read.”
“Oh, Collin.” Willow chuckled. “But you’re probably right about her lack of interest in books.”
“So you won’t be mad at me for not working in the gallery?”
“Not at all, Collin. I really do want you to do what’s best for you. But now I better start looking for someone to help out. From what I hear, town gets busier in the summer.”
“Maybe Josie would like to work for you.” Collin snickered like this was a great joke.
“That might actually work.”
“You gotta be kidding, Nana. You’d let Josie terrorize your customers?”
“Valid point.” Willow cringed to imagine Josie tearing into some unsuspecting visitor to the gallery.
“Hey, maybe Marissa could work for you. She’s looking for a summer job. And she actuallylikesart.”
Willow brightened. “That, my boy, is not a bad idea. Why don’t you tell Marissa to pop in and talk to me about this? I mean, if she’s genuinely interested.”
Collin’s eyes lit up. “Do you like her, Nana? Not just for my sake. I mean do youreallylike her?”
Willow smiled. “I do like her. Very much. From what I’ve seen she’s a kind, thoughtful girl.”
“And she’s intelligent.”
“Sounds like what I need in the gallery. I just hope she’s interested.”
“I’ll go call her right now.” Collin collected their empty dishes. “Thanks for dinner. Want me to help clean up in the kitchen?”
“No, you go call Marissa. That’s helpful enough.”
After Collin left, Willow remained out on the terrace. It had been an extra warm day, but a slight western breeze brought a refreshing coolness with it, and the sky was just getting rosy with the promise of a beautiful sunset. Willow took a slow, deep breath, leaning back on the padded lounge chair with tired contentment. Everything had been so crazy and hectic these past few days, she relished this quiet moment to herself, up here in her lovely garden with the gurgling sound of the nearby fountain. How perfectly delightful to be alone.
thirteen
By Sunday afternoon, following about an hour of measuring, calculation, and careful contemplation, as well as two trips to the hardware store—first for chain lengths, then for S-hooks—George managed to hang his hammock between the pear and apple trees. But getting into the contraption presented a whole new challenge. The confounded thing would simply not remain in place. Each time he was about to climb in, it would sway precariously away from him, and he would barely escape. Finally, after several unsuccessful attempts, he was nearly settled when the obstinate hammock suddenly flipped over, dumping him to the ground. George stood up, clenching his fists in frustration and controlling the urge to spew some unsavory language.
Clearly it was time for a showdown. It was either him or the hammock. George took a deep breath and, steadying himself, backed up toward the hammock. He then gripped it tightly with both hands, one on each side, and eased his backside onto it. So far so good. Next he cautiously liftedhis legs, shifted his weight, and gingerly leaned back. George could feel his heart racing as he lay there as rigid as a stick, waiting for the unruly hammock to exert its will against him, but nothing happened.
Determined to relax, George tried to ignore the strings that felt like they sliced through his back. But before long his head began to throb as well. How in the world was a hammock supposed to be relaxing? And how was he supposed to swing the wretched death trap when even the slightest motion threatened life and limb?
After a few minutes, deciding he’d had enough, George swung his legs downward, but this motion sent the hammock into another dizzying spin, landing George on all fours in the grass and sputtering like a lunatic. As he stood up, brushing grass from his trousers, he could hear loud giggles coming from the direction of Lorna Atwood’s side of the fence. Naturally, she’d been witnessing this whole fiasco.
Trying to maintain a slight shred of dignity, George tipped his head toward her. “Good afternoon.”
“Looks like you’re having some trouble with your hammock,” she called out.
He sighed as he went over to speak to her. “Yes, it seems I’m not a hammock sort of fellow.” He held up his hands. “For some reason I thought that it would be a relaxing way to pass the time with my newly acquired retirement. But now I’m ready to dump the whole works into the trash can.”
“Don’t do that,” Lorna said. “You just need to get the hang of it.”
“It nearly hung me.”
“There is an art to using a hammock,” she explained. “Believe me, I had one for years at my previous house. I would’vebrought it here with me, but I couldn’t find an appropriate place to hang it in the yard. Although I am considering one of those free-standing ones.”
“Well, if you had a place to hang a hammock, I would offer you that one.”
