It was once that exact thing for me. I still remember the first time Amelia brought me to the lake. She thought I would swim, since I’m a bird dog who’s supposed to know how to find ducks or whatever it is my ancestors were bred to fetch, but the water was so cold that I decided to drink it instead, and she laughed and laughed.
That was long ago. Now I just hope this will be a good place for a slow finish.
“Fiona’s being weird,” Amelia Mae tells me. She’s running her finger along the sand and writing something—of course, I don’t know what it says, and even as I’m wishing I did, a wave comes and washes it away. “I asked her why Uncle Jon left, and she said she doesn’t have the faintest idea, but I don’t believe her. My mom isn’t perfect, Harry, but she never lies to me. Why would she do that now?”
I sigh and rest my head between my paws.
“I don’t get why Uncle Jon would take off like that—it’s not like him. Heowesmy mom. I’m not supposed to think that, but she took care of him after my grandparents died even though she should have been off at college doing whatever college kids do.” She lowers her head for a second. “It’s probably my fault. He must have gotten tired of trying to fill in for my dad. Uncle Jon’s always telling my mom to get out more, to go live a little instead of doing everything for me. But he never really did that, either. Maybe that’s what he’s off doing now. Living.”
She puts her hand on my back. I wish I could tell her that these are big worries for such a small human, that none of this could possibly be her fault.
“They like each other,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Can you tell?”
I turn to see what she’s looking at. Fiona and Miguel are each propped on an elbow, so they’re facing. Even from here, I can tell that Amelia Mae is right—theydolike each other. Oh, this is all coming together so perfectly!
“The question is, which one of them will mess it up first? Probably both now that I’m thinking about it.” I must give her a funny look because she laughs and jumps to her feet. “Don’tpoop on the messenger, Harry! That’s just what adults do—make simple things complicated. Hopefully they’ll listen to us if it comes to that.”
Miguel and Fiona are still sprawled out on the blanket when we return to the grassy area. They’re so deep in conversation that neither even glances at Amelia Mae as she grabs a sandwich and passes me my bone.
“You really haven’t readStoner?” Miguel asks Fiona.
“Nope. I’ve heard of it, but so many books…”
“So little time,” he finishes. “You should—it’s one of my favorites. But one caveat: Williams doesn’t get his female characters right. At least, that’s my take.”
“And I should read it because…” she says teasingly.
He laughs. “I know, I know. I’ll argue it’s still worth it. Maybe if he’d written it a little later, he’d have known better. I mean, don’t you think some of the nuance your brother brings to his work is because he was born in this era instead of another?”
Above us, the sky is clear and sparkling, but a shadow crosses her face.
“And from your input,” Miguel quickly adds.
She manages to smile again. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I mean it, though.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me from you.”
His fingers linger on hers as he passes her one of the little cakes he made. She takes a bite, then closes her eyes for a second. “Oh, my word. This is divine.”
His smile’s tinged with embarrassment. “I’m a little rusty, and the ingredients aren’t quite right.”
“If that’s true, I’m afraid to see what you can do when you’re well oiled.”
They’re staring at each other now, and neither one is smiling anymore. When dogs look at each other like that, it’s a challenge. This is, too—but a different kind.
“May I ask how you got into such a tight spot at the bookstore?” Fiona asks after a moment. “Like I said, I understand that it’s hard to be a bookseller, but I really didn’t know Jon’s event could be a make-or-break for you.”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got time if you want to tell it.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “The thing about my Amelia was…she was generous. She used her royalties to pay off the mortgage on our house, then subsidized the store with anything she had left over.”
“I apologize if I’m being too forward, but wouldn’t her royalties keep coming to you?”
“No, they go to her parents now.” His brief laugh’s more weary than bitter. “We were together almost sixteen years, but we never got married. I would’ve married her in a heartbeat—Iused to propose to her all the time—but she didn’t want…well, she didn’t want to become her mom and dad. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a will, because who expects to die at thirty-nine? And common-law marriage doesn’t exist in Michigan.”
