I put my finger to my lips in the universal hush sign, then answer.
“Mim? I’ve been trying to call you for the last few hours.”
“I was in the garden. I thought you weren’t going to call until Sunday.”
“Why do you sound out of breath?”
“Just running to get the phone.”
“So what happened?”
“What h-happened? With what?”
“Ms. Salzmann.”
“Ms. Salzmann.” It takes me a few moments to remember. “Fine, she’s fine. Everything went fine.” I cringe. If I have to repeat fine three times, obviously things are not fine. “I delivered the flowers—the Prescott roses. She—”
“Oh, Mim.” I can hear the disapproval even through the static.
She knows. Somehow, she can see through the phone to Court brushing sand off my cheek. I give him an apologetic smile and turn toward the window. “Yes?”
“Prescott says ‘let’s be friends,’” comes her breathy scolding. “I’ve told you that. Next time, try the Bourbon.”
“Right.” I nearly laugh with relief. “So, how are you doing?”
“You got my email, didn’t you? You never replied.”
“I haven’t checked yet.”
Court’s cell phone rings. He hurries to silence it.
“What was that?”
“Just the computer.” Dummy. The computer’s in the workshop. Oh, but maybeI’min the workshop. Come on, Mim, pull it together. Pretend he’s not so close he could reach down and place a kiss on your neck. Everything is fine.
“So look at the pictures and tell me what you think.”
“Pictures?”
Her sigh sounds like paper rattling. “In youremail. You said the computer’s on, right?”
“Right. Well . . . hmm . . . something seems to be wrong with the connection.” I draw it out, like I’m actually waiting for my inbox to open. Court lifts his head from his cell phone.
“Oh, I’ll just tell you. I saw these beaded bags at the market. One had a tiger, the other had a dolphin or whale or something. Which would you prefer?”
“Whale or something.”
Court smiles.
“All right,” says Mother. “Are you eating well?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t forget about tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Tomorrow. “Oh yes, Dr. Lipizzaner.”
“Lipizzaner is a horse.Lipinsky.”
