We’d made it down the path when I heard my name called. A deep, calm voice I’d know anywhere.
‘Molly.’
It was Noah. I spun on my heel, trying not to do a double take at the magic Pandora had worked on his hair. She’d trimmed it, just lightly, so that it was tidier around his ears and neck, but she’d left the length for the most part. He looked like he’d just stepped off the set of an indie film shot in black and white. If I were in a Victorian novel, I’d be swooning.
‘Noah!’ Ernie dropped my hand and went racing over to Noah, Sealy out in front of him like a steering wheel.
‘Hey, Ernie. Hey, Sealy.’
‘You know Sealy?’
Noah tossed the seal lightly up in the air. ‘We go way back. I’ve been helping Keiko out with some of her painting classes.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘You didn’t tell me anything about this.’
‘You never asked,’ he countered.
‘I’m definitely asking now. Hey, Ernie, what has Noah been teaching you how to paint?’
‘Hand-print crabs!’ said Ernie excitedly. He splayed his hands to demonstrate.
‘The fingers are the legs,’ explained Noah. ‘Then you add googly eyes to the thumbprints.’
‘And a smiley face!’ added Ernie.
‘And a smiley face,’ agreed Noah.
‘I made an extra one with my friend Jessie,’ added Ernie. He pressed his hands together into a butterfly. ‘It hadsixteen legs. Are you coming with us, Noah?’
‘I’m dropping him off at Keiko’s,’ I explained.
Noah hesitated.
‘Please?’ begged Ernie.
There was no denying Ernie. He was simply too cute.
‘Sure,’ relented Noah.
We strolled up the winding roads of Whisperwind Cove, warmed by the soft oceanside sun. Ernie zigzagged in frontof us, proudly reading the numbers on the mailboxes and the street names etched into the sidewalk cement and traced with moss.
Keiko’s campsite was down a long driveway that connected off Enchanted Way, a tree-lined street filled with quaint homes that enjoyed a magnificent view of the cove.
I pointed out my favourite houses as we went. A yellow one with a conical turret and a spotty terrier sunbathing in the bay window. A blue cottage with a thatched roof, and a garden to rival Rosie’s. A charming green house with gingerbread-style millwork and bird baths.
Ernie chimed in with every one, adding his cheerful agreement.
‘That’s my favourite one, too!’ he exclaimed. ‘And that one! And that one as well!’
Noah nodded along, but he seemed quiet. Distracted, almost.
‘Here we are, Ernie!’ I called, when the stained-glass flowers and bottle trees that lined the art camp gate came into view. I waved at the doorbell camera, and a moment later a tiny woman in a sparkly tutu, hand-painted Converse high-tops and a necklace made from sequined bottle tops came jogging up: Keiko. A gaggle of kids followed after her, half of them smeared with paint, and the other half carrying in-progress craft pieces.
‘Thank you for bringing him up,’ she said. ‘We’re doing pottery later today – Ernie’s favourite.’
‘Any time,’ I said, taking a moment tooohandaahat the artwork the kids were waving at us. Next to me, Noah was generously giving high fives and nodding wide-eyed at the stories he was being told about unicorns and dolphins.
‘Noah, will you be coming in for our painting session next week?’ Keiko asked. When I shot Noah a curious look, she added, ‘We’ve been working with gouache, and his colours are so vivid. The kids love it.’
