“The public?” he asked, feeling a growing sense of unease.
“Well, usually. But as we are here this week, you and Hillary can declare the winner.”
“Goodie,” Hillary said, clapping her hands.
Harrison felt something bump against his leg and glanced down. Itwas Duchess, and he reached down to scoop her up, relieved to see her. That meant Amy was back. “I’ll just take this one to her person,” he said.
No one heard him. There was a brewing controversy between Melissa and Carol, who both intended to make chocolate-chip cookies for this year’s cookie wars, which, for some reason, they both deemed to be cheating.
He made his way to the mudroom and out the door, down the steps, to the door of the studio. He could see Amy inside, her back to him, seated at the easel. He rapped on the door, and she jerked around so quickly she almost spun off her stool. Her face lit with a smile that tugged at his heart. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone was that glad to see him. He didn’t want to go back to having no one to be that glad to see him.
She hopped up, opened the door, and brought him inside. She was wearing a thick sweater today. The studio wasn’t well insulated, and cold damp was seeping in through the windows.
“Duchess, there you are! Were you sleeping in Mom’s bed again? Traitor.” She took the dog from Harrison’s arms and kissed the top of her head, then put her on her bed. Duchess stood up and circled on the dog bed several times before settling into a bagel shape.
“Busy?” Harrison asked.
“Sort of. I’m ready to show you what I’ve been working on.” She stepped aside so that he could see it. Ladies in bathing suits and red hats were in pool ring floats. Duchess was in one, too, floating alongside them. There was snow on the deck, a Christmas tree, and what looked like elves busily hanging lights on the arbor. A small swan floated on the pool among the ladies, and the sky was filled with white, fluffy clouds. The lake sparkled in the distance.
“Wow,” he said, grinning. “I love it.”
“I have another one,” she said, and moved that painting from the easel. She picked up one from the floor and set it on the easel.
The ladies in the red hats were still in their bathing suits. But they were seated on swans that were flying over the lake as it snowed. Below them, boats festooned with Christmas lights and trees were sailing along. The women appeared to have gained a little weight from the first painting she’d showed him. “I’m impressed,” he said. “The ladies are even more talented than I gave them credit for.”
Amy smiled with delight. “I’m calling it the Bossy Posse series.”
“For real?”
“For real.” She stood back, examining her painting. “Should I name it something else?”
“No, it’s perfect. These are both fantastic, Amy,” he said, and unthinkingly put his arm around her. “Very whimsical. And sort of vintage?” He didn’t have the words to describe the art, other than it seemed strangely joyful. “Wait…is that Duchess?” he asked, pointing to a small dog riding on the tail feathers of one of the swans.
“Traitor Duchess. She likes my mother a little too much.” She removed the canvas and propped it against the wall, next to the other one. “How do you think it would do in a Christmas bazaar? Like, would you stop and look at it, or would you keep walking?”
“I would stop and look,” he said.
“You’re just saying that.”
He nodded. “Maybe. But I really think I would stop. It’s too interesting to pass up. How many paintings do you have?”
“Just the two. And the one of the lake. But I’m not happy with it.”
“That one?” he asked, pointing at a smaller canvas leaning against the wall. “I love it. It reminds me of my time here.”
“For me, that’s all it evokes. Anoh-I-was-there-oncesort of feeling. But nothing more. No emotion. No soul.”
“I disagree. It holds a lot of emotion for me,” Harrison said. “This is the view where I met you.”
She turned to look at him, frowning slightly with confusion. “Do you want to be reminded of that?”
“Of course I want to be reminded,” he scoffed. Something strange snaked through him. A sliver of hope. Or maybe fear. He couldn’t tell which. “Don’t you?”
“Actually, I—”
There was suddenly quite a lot of shouting outside; Duchess started to bark and leaped to her feet, taking off and slamming into the wall. She course corrected and shot out the door.
“Duchess!” Amy tried to grab her, but the old dog was remarkably nimble and racing (as much as a blind dog could race) toward the voices.
