I couldn’t if I tried—my whole dog’s barking today—but I suppose I do want to see if that dreadful possum’s been sniffing around the raised garden box again. I mosey over to it, checking for the decaying meat odor that lingers long after the beasts are done playing dead. But no tomatoes have been planted this year, no basil or kale—and so there’s no reason for the possum to do anything but pass through. I make a pile in a corner of the yard, then circle the yellowing grass for good measure before letting myself back inside, as Miguel has left the door cracked forme.
There’s a smell that’s at once familiar and foreign wafting from the kitchen. I trot over to Miguel, who’s at the counter. That’s when I see he’s wearing an apron.
He’s making food? Dare I trust my (admittedly hazy) eyes?
I lift my head, trying to figure out precisely what he’s working on up there; the only scents I can detect are flour, butter, and powdered sugar. I’ve still got my snout in the air when the phone rings. As he bounds across the kitchen to see who’s calling, I take the opportunity to put my front paws on the edge of the counter.
“Eh, I’ll call Miriam back later,” he says when he reaches the phone. I’ve just spied a bowl, a spatula, and a plastic tub of some unidentified substance when he spots me. “Harold! Get down right now! I can’t have you getting fur in the guava cakes.”
But…I don’t smell guava. And he only baked those for Amelia.
I’m not sure if I like that he’s making them now. In fact, I feel oddly protective, like the time Amelia’s friend brought over her Maine coon—that cat was a real show-off, chasing after a tennis ball like it was some kind of puppy. Couldn’t he bake something else for Fiona?
This means your plan is working, Harold,I remind myself.You don’t get to pickhowhe’s being romantic. Just enjoy your victory for a hot second.
“Can’t believe I have to substitute quince,” he says, frowning at the tub.
Quince? Phew.
He continues. “Maybe after the bookstore’s closed, I’ll open atiendita—someone needs to stock guava paste and plantains around here.” He sticks the end of a spoon into the container, then puts it into his mouth, oblivious to my incredulous stare. He may be half joking, but I don’t like him talking so casually about closing the store. “Hmm. Acceptable.” He tosses the spoon into the sink, where it lands with a clang, then says, “Sorry, dog, these are for our picnic. But be patient, because I’m sure your little friend will slip you one when I’m not looking.”
For once, I don’t care about free human food. We’re going on a picnic? With Amelia Mae? Two get-togethers two days in a row is well beyond Miguel’s limit. He’s doing even better than I’ve given him credit for. And maybe I should give myself credit here, too, because didn’t I help summon Amelia Mae and Fiona to town?
I spend the next hour pacing in nervous anticipation instead of napping like I should. Miguel finishes baking the cakes, then packs them up and directs me to the car. I expect him to keep humming, but he’s quiet on the short drive to the bed-and-breakfast. I myself am having trouble focusing, but that’s mostly from feeling tired and wired. But I forget all about my exhaustion when I see Amelia Mae skipping down the front walk toward the car.
“Hiya, Harry,” she says, sliding next to me in the back seat. “I’d give you a squeeze, but—” She gestures to the large picnicbasket she just placed between us. “The inn had a basket we could borrow, and Fiona took it as a personal challenge to fill it to the brim.”
“I might have,” says Fiona, who’s just gotten into the passenger seat. She’s changed into a short blue dress today and has a big straw hat on her head, while Amelia Mae’s dressed in dark colors and is wearing a pair of very big sunglasses. “I appreciate you picking us up,” she says, leaning across the armrest to give Miguel a hug. He accepts, but I can’t help but notice he looks like a person who’s never had a pair of arms around his shoulders before.
“No worries. You look nice,” he says.
A compliment? I take it back. Heck, I’d give him a bone if I could. He’s being such a good boy!
“Thank you. I found a place to pick up some clothing, since”—Fiona raises an eyebrow at her daughter—“this was an impromptu trip.”
“Since you haven’t gone on vacation in a million years, you’re welcome,” says Amelia Mae.
“Thanks, I suppose,” Fiona says, but she’s smiling at Miguel now. “At any rate, I’m so glad there’s a breeze. It’s perfect weather for a picnic.”
“Isn’t it?” he says. “I think you’ll like the park I’ve picked out.”
The park’s really just a stretch of grass that runs along the beach. My Amelia liked to come here sometimes because tourists didn’t know about it; even in the middle of the summer, it was often just the three of us. There are only a few other people in sight this evening, too.
“Don’t go in the water,” Fiona warns Amelia Mae as she spreads out the blanket that Miguel has retrieved out of thetrunk. She pulls sandwiches and fruit out of the basket. She’s packed plates and little glasses, too, and a bottle of some sort of beverage, and—ooh, is that a bone?
“The bone is from me, Harry,” Amelia Mae tells me. “But you’ll have to wait until dinner to have it. In the meantime, let’s go check out the lake.”
A gift to gnaw on? Could this day get any better?
“I’m serious about the water, love. There could be a rip current,” Fiona warns her.
She glances down at her shirt and shorts. “Do you really think I’m going swimming in this getup? I’m just going to go to the edge and stick a toe in. Then I’ll find a nice stranger to accept unwrapped candy from.”
Fiona balks, but Amelia Mae’s already turned to me. “Harry, you don’t have to if it’s too much.”
It probablyistoo much, but that’s never stopped me before. I stick my tongue out and wait for her to pick up my leash.
It’s hard to walk in hot, dry sand, but soon we reach the firmer sand at the shore’s edge. And maybe because I’m so poky, she decides it’s best if we sit. Her eyes rove along the water, which sparkles in the low sunlight. “I like it here,” she says after a while. “At home, everyone thinks I’m the know-it-all with the famous uncle. I can’t change their minds, but I could make new friends somewhere else. I bet this could be a good place for a fresh start.”
