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“Don’t look.” She laughed. “Come on, we’ll finish the tour.”
“Lead the way,” he said with a smile.
When they reached the far side of the garden where she grew climbing ivy that sprawled along the cinderblock wall, Wyatt asked, “Did you go to art school? Or is this something you figured out on your own?”
“I went to a semester of art school,” Anita said. “Then Bobby and I got married. We’d been together since high school. I guess I had my blinders on, and I agreed. A year later, Carly was born, so I became pretty busy.”
“I’ll bet.”
She could see the questions in his eyes—the question of what happened to her marriage. And why, after so many years, was she still single.
But he didn’t ask those questions. Instead, he said, “Did you grow up with a garden?”
“Not at my house. My grandfather gardened, and I helped him a lot. Hated to stay around the house when both my parents were home. They had one of those marriages that should have been a divorce. Instead, they stayed together and just fought all the time.”
Wyatt grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Mom.” Carly’s voice sounded from the house. “How long are you going to be? I’m making popcorn to go with your cookies.”
“We’re being summoned,” Anita said with an apologetic smile.
“Sounds like it.” Wyatt glanced around them. “Maybe we can finish the tour another time.”
“There’s not much else.” She stepped back onto the path she’d created with white gravel.
“Oh, I have lots of questions,” he said, following her.
She laughed. “I don’t think a kindergartener has as many questions as you.”
“You might be right,” he said, his tone warm, “but this is all out of my depth, so it’s kind of fascinating.”
Anita had to focus on not walking awkwardly after that. His compliments were subtle, but seemed sincere. As they neared the house, she smelled cooking popcorn. “I guess she’s still hungry. Brownies just don’t cut it.”
Wyatt chuckled.
Inside the house, Carly stood next to the stove, pouring kernels of corn into a pan with sizzling oil. She stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, then set the lid on it and turned down the element. The first kernel popped.
Anita found a bowl for the popcorn, then opened the refrigerator. “What would you like to drink, Wyatt?” she asked. “We have cream soda, water, milk.”
“It’s powdered milk,” Carly shot out. “You should pass on it.”
He paused by the counter. “Water’s fine.”
“You can’t have water with popcorn,” Carly said. “You have to have cream soda.”
“Carly—he can have water,” Anita started.
“I’ll have the cream soda, then,” Wyatt said with a smile. “You’re a persuasive young lady.”
Carly only grinned, and Anita pulled out three cream sodas.
Soon, they’d all settled at the table, popcorn between them. Wyatt turned to Carly. “Since you have the best handwriting here, can you be the scribe?”
Anita raised her brows. How he knew anything about her handwriting was a mystery, but she pulled the notepad toward her, looking very pleased.
“Now,” he said, “we should start with the phone book and call all the Martins in the area.”
“What are we going to say to them?” Anita asked.
