Bea and I might be besties, but we areverydifferent people.
“I have a solution,” Simon announces.
“I sneak it back into their house while they’re on their next camping trip?” Bea says.
“We jointly purchase the cheese shop and convert it into a bar with a mechanical bull.”
“Whoa, hands off the cheese shop,” Oliver says. “Build a bar at your drive-in.”
I don’t know why that makes my brain squirrel where it goes, but it does, and suddenly, Oliver and I are on the ground.
Flipped right out of the hammock.
Because I sat up too fast without thinking, because—“Oliver.”
He rolls to his side, reaches out a hand to give Feather a light ruffle on her head, and deadeyes me. “Again?”
“No, no,listen.”
He shakes his head, the smile starting at the corners of his mouth. “I can’t even be mad. You have a look, and I love those looks. Okay, Daphne. I’m listening.”
“Do you remember when your father went to prison?”
He blinks one long, slow blink while Bea stifles a laugh behind a cough.
“I think he remembers that, Daph,” she says in a strangled voice.
Simon’s clearing his throat like he too is trying not to laugh.
“I do recall that,” Oliver says patiently, his lips fighting with themselves over whether he wants to be annoyed or amused.
I twist on the ground, land my face in the side of the hammock, bat it away, and then climb to my feet.
“You told me you sold a bunch of your mother’s artwork.”
“All of her favorites. Yes. It was delightful fun.”
“Which artwork? Paintings?”
“So many paintings.”
“Who did them?”
Simon makes a noise I’ve never heard him make before.
Bea sucks in a breath too.
Oliver gives Feather one last rub on the head, and then he rises too, looking at the three of us like we’ve lost our marbles. “You want me to name all of the artists?”
“Was one of them Naomi Luckwood?”
“Oh, god, yes. That was the biggest?—”
He cuts himself off and looks at Simon, eyes round, clearly connecting the dots on the last name.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispers.
“Simon.” I bounce on my toes. “Why did your parents go broke?”
