“Pittypat!” Nolie’s high-pitched voice echoed from upstairs, on the side of the massive deck. “Grandma! I’m coming down! I can walk her for you.”
Maggie smiled up at her beloved girl, almost as excited as Pitty, who was dancing and wagging at the sound of Nolie’s voice.
A moment later, the little girl came flying out, waving an empty plastic bag. “I wasn’t sure if you had a poop bag!”
Maggie rolled her eyes at the uncouth phrase, but took the hug sweet Nolie offered.
“I’ve been hoping you’d get up early,” Nolie said, breathlessly dropping to her knees to cover Pitty in kisses. “Everyone in the house is still asleep and Mommy said I had to let you sleep, too.”
“She’s up?” Maggie asked.
Nolie nodded. “On the deck.”
So it was a perfect time to talk.
Maggie secured the leash in Nolie’s tiny hand. “Stay with her until she does her business, darling. I’m going to have coffee with your mommy.”
“Okay!” She pranced away and Maggie headed right to the stairs that would take her to the deck. There, she found Crista deep in thought, staring at the horizon.
She wasn’t holding a coffee. She wasn’t scrolling her phone. She was just…looking out. Hands resting on the balustrade railing, shoulders tense, dark hair pulled back, face with an expression of…well, she certainly didn’t look like someone enjoying a beach morning.
She lookedtroubled.
Crista didn’t turn until Maggie was almost beside her.
“Oh,” Crista said quickly, blinking as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. “Hi, Mama.”
Maggie eyed her carefully. Yes, Crista was four months pregnant, and no doubt had lost sleep, especially during that first trimester. But the shadows under her eyes were deep—deeper than they were when she’d been pregnant with Nolie.
“Nolie didn’t wake you, did she?” Crista asked.
“Please. Jo Ellen is the loudest tea brewer in history,” Maggie said. “It’s like the symphony percussion section has arrived every morning.”
Crista made a small laughing sound. “She’s…something.”
“She’s a delight,” Maggie said.
Crista glanced at her, surprised, probably because Maggie had never had anything nice to say about Jo Ellen Wylie in recent decades, but that was a long time—and a lot of revelations—ago.
“I’m glad you two are enjoying each other’s company,” Crista said.
“Oh, we are. I forgot how much fun she is.”
Crista swallowed and her gaze slid back to the horizon, too deep in thought to even react to Maggie’s appreciation for fun. It wasn’t something she was famous for.
Crista blinked, hard, as if the sun was in her eyes. The silence stretched a beat, long enough for Maggie to dive in.
“Are you happy you came down?” she asked.
Crista hesitated. “Of course.”
“And Anthony? Sad to miss it?”
Her eyes flashed. “Work,” she said simply.
“Ah, the new promotion really has him putting in the long hours, huh?” Maggie asked.
“Something does,” her daughter mumbled, the words almost lost as she turned. “There’s coffee brewed. Want a cup?”
