“Yeah, but uh… people are gonna ask me who’s doing the work, and they’re probably going to have opinions.” Ash’s smile turnedsheepish.
The regret found me more swiftly than I’danticipated.
“It’ll be better this way. I promise! They’ll all talk to you at the meeting, and they won’t accost you on the street. Plus, there’ll be freefood.”
I let out an undignified whimper and Ashchuckled.
“Just think of the baked goods,Ev.”
* * *
Sadly,promised baked goods could only get a person sofar.
“I really think it would be adorable if we putpuppieson the backdrop.” Ash’s mom stood next to her chair, wringing her hands together in a manner that reminded me exactly of my own mother. “Puppies playing in leaves,maybe?”
“Thanks for your input, Margo,” Paul Fine said. He ran a hand through his thinning gray hair, and his blue eyes were patient. As the head of the town council, he was attempting to run tonight's meeting, which was a little like herding cats…blindfolded.
“Some of us are allergic to dogs,Margo," Ms. Dorian said, peering over the top of her glasses from the other side of the room. After this meeting, I could understand why Si called the librarian Dragon Dorian. The woman smelled like stale coffee and hadn't shut up in forty-five minutes, mostly because she kept talking over everyoneelse.
I propped my elbow on the dining counter and rested my cheek in my hand. It amused me that the town's largest dining establishment had completely closed downat dinner timefor this planning session, and that it almost didn't matter because so much of O'Leary was packed into the roomalready.
“You do know that the dogs won't be real, right Lisa?” a woman seated in one of the booths said dryly. “I’m sure Everett is a talented artist, but evenhecan't make dogs so real they trigger your allergies.” I decided I loved this woman on the spot, and I turned my head to smile ather.
She was brunette and slim, with kind eyes and a conservative yellow twinset. But unlike a couple of the other ladies in the room, I got the feeling she wore the twinset because she liked it, not because she thought sheshould.
I enjoyedthat.
“Who's that?” I murmured to my sidekick, who'd insisted on perching next to me with his cane laid on the counter like asword.
“You don'tknow?”
I turned and gave him a look that said,If I knew, would Iask?
“Carol Sloane,” Grandpa said. “Silas'smama.”
Huh. Well that was interesting. Looking at her again, I could see the resemblance. The same coloring, the same smile, the same eyes. It was sad how well I could recognize those things. I remembered the things Si had said about his mother grieving for his brother, and wondered if maybe that put-together twinset was a kind ofarmor.
“I think we’re wasting Ev’s time,” Cal said, throwing me an apologetic glance. “I mean, we don't need to reinvent the wheel just because the old ones were ruined. And Ev is doing us a favor. Just recreate the oldone.”
"I say we take this opportunity to get something new. Something that's really reflective of the town," one of the other councilwomensaid.
Reflective of O'Leary?I imagined presenting them with a collage of jerkface hot guys, delicious baked goods, and my grandfather’s damn cane. I had to cough to cover mylaugh.
My grandfather shifted beside me and Paul's eyes lit up. “Yes,Henry?”
“I think maybe you just gotta trust the artist. Let him do histhing.”
I spun in my chair and raised an eyebrow, sure I'dmisheard.
Grandpa Hen shrugged. “No one goes over to your place and tells you and Quinn how to run your theater, Paul. Nobody's telling Julian how to doctor his cats and whatsits. Nobody's telling Diane how to make the best pie in all of O'Leary.” Grandpa took this opportunity to shoot a dirty look at Shane Goode, the recipe thief. “’Specially after she gets her title back at this year'sfestival.”
“Henry!” Diane protested from the back of the room. She blushed to the roots of her red hair, but she couldn't hide hersmile.
“I think Hen’s right,” Julian said. He gave me a friendly grin. “Ev's the artist, so let him figure itout.”
“You're saying you trust me to do this?” I asked my grandfather. “Me? The man who can't be trusted to sell Jamie a handsaw without you watching over myshoulder?”
He raised one eyebrow right back at me, like I was being particularly stupid. “Saws are my business, Everett. To my everlasting disappointment, they're not yours. You picked art, and you're good at it.” He shrugged. “So, go be good atit.”
