"She can't have everything here," Mitch said then he got down on one knee in front of Sammy. "When Mrs. Del Rio sells this stuff, the money is going to charity, to help people."
"We're going to sell pretty junk to help people?" Sammy said.
"That's right."
"OK," she said and she was ready to give it all up, but Mrs. Del Rio insisted she keep a few of the things she really liked.
That reminded Mitch about the silver egg. "What about that nest egg?" he asked Mrs. Del Rio.
"Oh that's hers now," she said.
"Rico gave it to me and the blue flower," Sammy said. It seemed that the things Enrico gave her were too special to give up.
"She probably won't want this," Enrico said as he handed Mitch a saltshaker in the shape of an acorn. Feeling their hands brush, Mitch almost dropped it. Catching it just in time, he noticed it still had salt in it and made the mental note to empty it upstairs.
He then noticed that Enrico was acting odd. Making sure that Sammy wasn't looking, Enrico quickly shoved something inside the trash bag. Curious, Mitch opened the bag and saw four rows of faded butterflies pinned inside a yellowed acrylic display case.
Enrico must have thought it might upset Sammy and didn't want her to see it. Mitch smiled and shoved the butterfly display even deeper inside the trash bag just as Sammy came over.
"What's this, Rico?" Sammy asked and showed Enrico what she had found.
He looked over the little wooden thing then made a guess. "A clam."
His grandmother huffed like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Your own grandmother is a dancer and you don't know what these are. These are castanets," she said as she took them from him.
"Those things flamenco dancers use to go click, click," Enrico realized.
"Yes," she confirmed and demonstrated how they worked a few times. Then she went all out. She spun around slowly one arm raised high above her head the other one behind her back while her heels hit the floor and the castanets clicked in a complementary rhythm.
Sammy clapped, but Mrs. Del Rio didn't just want her in the audience. She told Sammy, "You do it too." She even had the nerve to look at Mitch and Enrico as if she expected them to join. "You used to love dancing with me when you were little," she reminded Enrico.
"I still do, but look at the pile of stuff we have to get through," Enrico said. He nudged Mitch with his elbow and hissed. "Look busy."
Mitch was glad for any excuse not to make a fool of himself. But once the thought of dancing with Enrico flashed through his head, he couldn't help but wonder what that would feel like.
"Listen to you being responsible. You didn't get that from me," his grandmother told him while she and Sammy twirled and stomped their feet all over the basement.
Mitch told himself he was happy just to watch his Sammy dancing, but he didn't dare look over at Enrico or he might just grab him, hold him in his arms and start spinning all around with him.
Chapter 18
The basement was more or less cleared up, and Grandma and Sammy were busy in the yard planning a big flower garden. Mitch and Rico were watching them from the porch.
"That's more work for us, you know," Rico pointed out. "Digging, planting, making sure the plants don't die."
"We'll manage," Mitch said evenly. That man wasn't afraid of hard work.
That reminded Rico about tonight. Wyatt was throwing another one of his dinner parties. He was doing barbeque this time. Rico already knew Mitch and Sammy were going. Now he let Mitch know he was too, "I'll warn you right now. I plan to be at Sam and Wyatt's tonight. They said barbeque, and I said, 'I'm in.'"
"Aha. Want a ride over there?" Mitch asked.
"Yes and no," Rico said. He was dying to spend more time with him, but he had to go to the café. "I'll probably catch a ride with Grandma." With that he went off to collect her so they could get going.
In the car Grandma sighed. "I thought we might find something interesting down there."
Rico looked at her. "Like what? A mummy? A forgotten Rembrandt? A series of shallow graves?"
"The things you come up with," his grandmother said with distaste. "I mean something about Harry Dunbar."
