“The view’s not bad,” she says.
“Not bad at all.” I chuckle. “My friends and family tease me about my love for understatement, but you might have me beat.”
“My dad used to say, ‘With Ellie everything is understatement, and with Annie everything’s hyperbole.’”
“Look at you with your fancy SAT words,” I quip.
“I figured you could handle it with your Ivy league education,” she shoots back.
“How did you know I went to an Ivy League school?”
“Same way I knew the Ferrari belonged to you. I excel at the educated guess.”
“I betyougot excellent SAT scores and got into some verygood schools.”
“I did,” she says.
“So where did you go?”
“Nowhere. My dad was dying. I took over his job managing the park. If I quit, our family would have to leave.”
“Oh... I didn’t realize.” I think of my months of college tours, the college admission consultant my mom hired to ensure I had the best applications, and the woman she brought in to help with my essays. All while Elinor was working to support her family. “That’s just so unfair. I’m sorry.” She leaves the window and sits down on the bed, giving me a half smile.
“It is what it is. I was happy to do my part. And your grandpa was really nice about it. When I proved my worth after a couple of years, he offered to pay for my schooling. But I already knew how to run the park, and Annie had just been accepted to UC Santa Barbara, so I asked if the money could go towards her tuition.”
“That’s even more unfair. Didn’t you say she’s a poet? You would have studied something more practical.”
“I did. I got an online degree in accounting—which your grandfather also paid for. All in all, I consider myself extremely fortunate. You don’t need to feel sorry for me, Mr. Frechette. I have a good life.” She hops off the bed and crosses back to the window.
“I know. Sorry. I just... I think I’m mainly struck by how hard you’ve worked and how easy I’ve had it compared to you. But also—poetry?”
“It would be nice if she contributed a little more financially. But I wanted Annie to have the chances I didn’t have.” She gazes out the window, a hand resting on the window frame. “Originally, I wanted to study art in school. My dad’s death ended so many dreams. I wanted Annie to keep hers.” Her face glows in the lowering sun. Right now, I’m feeling very goodabout my irrational decision to tell her that we won’t be kicking her out of Bumble Cottage. This woman deserves every good thing.
***
I have never tasted better fried chickenthan Maggie Greenwood’s. The chicken is tender and juicy, the coating crisp and flavorful. I devour two pieces—along with a generous serving of mashed potatoes, plus a garden salad with tomatoes that taste like sunlight.
Somehow during dinner I let it slip that Elinor and I met last fall
“Really?” Annie snatches this tidbit with the same eagerness I apply to my third piece of chicken. “Thisis the cute guy you met on the trail?” She says with a mischievous grin. “Edward, you should know, she really regretted saying no to you.”
Elinor scowls at her sister, then mouths. “Stop it.” I stifle a laugh as I take another pillowy roll from the basket and smother it with the homemade honey butter.
“I love honey butter,” I say before taking a generous bite.
“Elinor takes care of the bees,” Mrs. Greenwood says pointedly.
The whole meal she and Annie have been giving me the hard sell on Elinor Greenwood. I don’t mind—I’m already sold. And I’m eager to know everything about her. I like knowing that she made that cross-stitch on the wall for her mom. That she fixed the dishwasher all on her own last week, and that one of her paintings got a blue ribbon at the county fair. But Elinor appears uncomfortable with all this pointed praise. So I do my best to take some of the focus off her.
“I understand you’re also an artist,” I say to Mrs. Greenwood. “I saw a cool painting of yours in the guest room.”
“That’s one of my favorites.” She looks pleased.
“My mother is an avid art collector,” I begin.
“I know. She used to be one of my best patrons. As was your grandfather. He commissioned me to paint a portrait of my mother-in-law. That might be my best painting.”
“I know that one!” I say. “He kept it in his office. I always wondered what wives four and five thought of it.”
