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“Then why,” Olivia demanded, “did they bring Annabelle’s dad with them?”
“Well,” I said, “your aunt has legal guardianship of you. So if she’s changed her mind and doesn’t want you to stay with us any longer, there’s nothing we can do . . . at least for now.” Seeing the look of growing dismay on her face, I added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “But, Olivia, I promise that Dad will never rest until he gets permanent custody of you, if that’s what you want. It just might take a little—”
“Noooooo!”
This is what Olivia cried as she leaped from the bench and ran back inside, Snowball bounding after her. It took me completely off guard, since it was so totally unlike her. She was a quirky kid, but normally pretty calm . . .
Until she wasn’t.
I hurried after her to see where she’d gone, and was relieved when I saw that she’d only rushed back into the library . . . to throw her arms around her father.
He, of course, looked as surprised as me, but was running a hand through her new spiral curls, saying, “Shush, Olivia, it’s going to be all right.”
“I won’t!” she yelled, quite loudly for such a tiny thing. “I won’t go back with them to New Jersey!”
My dad leaned down to whisper something in her ear. I have no idea what it was, but it caused her to loosen her hold on him a little and appear somewhat more composed, though she was still giving her aunt and uncle the stink eye.
I could see then that she’d inherited more than a love of poodles from her paternal grandmother’s side of the family. She’d also inherited Grandmère’s ability to dress someone down with a single look.
“Well,” her aunt Catherine said nervously. “We’d better be going if we want to beat the traffic.”
From the look in Dad’s eye, I could tell he wanted to beat something, too, but it wasn’t the traffic. He was nobly holding himself back, however.
Grandmère appeared in the foyer as Olivia was leaving, Snowball on a sparkling rhinestone leash.
“Do not forget this,” she said with regal calm, and handed her younger granddaughter the end of the lead.
“Grandmère, I can’t!” Olivia cried. “Snowball is your dog.”
“Not anymore,” Grandmère said, and refused to hear anymore about it.
This seemed to cheer Olivia up a little, though Uncle Rick didn’t look too happy about it. He started to say something about his allergies until Grandmère, too, gave him one of her patented evil stares.
I’ve never seen anyone shut his mouth faster.
“Listen,” I whispered to my little sister as I hugged her good-bye. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Thanks for the help with the cruise ships. And keep writing in that diary.”
She nodded, as teary-eyed as I was. “You, too,” she whispered.
&n
bsp; After they left, we all felt low and dispirited, even Rommel, who retired to his French egg basket to lick off what little remaining fur he had left. Dad tried to make himself feel better by getting on the phone and shouting at his lawyers for being incompetent.
I sidled up to Grandmère and—in my new capacity as a mother-to-be, in which I felt I now understood not only her, but what’s actually important in the universe—whispered, “I saw what you did there.”
Grandmère had lit a cigarette—not even a vapor one, which is a sign of how upset she was. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you are blathering about, Amelia.”
“Yes, you do. It was very kind of you to give up your new little dog. It meant a lot to Olivia. And thank you, Grandmère, for always telling me the truth, and preparing me for the real world. I should have thanked you before, but . . . well, I never realized before now what an incredible impact you’ve had on my life.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised when she turned and blew a stream of smoke right at my face.
“I never wanted that bitch in the first place. She nipped Rommel every time he came near her.”
I assumed she was referring to Snowball, not her long-lost granddaughter, but it was hard to be sure. I was coughing too hard, trying to make sure no smoke got into my lungs and threatened my unborn fetuses.
“Why are you just standing there?” Grandmère went on as Michael hurried over to make sure I was all right. “Make yourself useful, and get me a drink.”
“Is everything okay?” Michael asked, concerned, as he dragged me out of the line of secondhand smoke.
