Then he leaned over and gripped my hand. “It’s good to see you again, Dottie. I know you’ll get this thing running again ... and hopefully before the baby gets here. Then you’ll be too busy.”
I managed a weak smile and thanked them for coming.
It was the nicest afternoon I’ve had in a long time. And Dickie has been wonderful. Kind, solicitous, tender, the way he was before we got married. I don’t have much of an appetite, but he makes all my meals for me. He puts a sandwich in the fridge before he goes to work, and makes a bowl of soup or a burger every night when he gets home. Then we snuggle up on the couch and watch Johnny Carson together.
Maybe he really can change. For the first time in a long time, I feel hope.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Kiersten
Kiersten woke the day of the Harvest Festival to find blue skies and temperatures in the mid-fifties, cold enough to encourage picturesque fall sweaters, but not cold enough to keep people inside.
Garrett planted a good morning kiss on her cheek as she made her first cup of coffee.
“I see you’ve gone ‘full farmer’ in honor of the occasion.”
He glanced down at his western-style shirt and cowboy boots. He touched the brim of his green John Deere cap and grinned down at her. “Gotta look the part for the city folk.”
He’d been tasked with driving a small tractor and trailer up and down the cul-de-sac, giving hayrides. Richard Davis had used his contacts in local government to secure permission to close the street to traffic for the entire day.
“Knock, knock.” Rosamund entered the house through the mudroom. “Guinevere could use some help setting up cornhole,” she called out to Kiersten’s boys.
She flattened herself against the kitchen island as they bolted out the front door to help.
“Morning, Rosamund,” Garrett called.
She raised her coffee mug in greeting. “They just unloaded the tractor, and Miles needs you to sign something.”
“Got it.” Garrett headed out the door.
Kiersten turned to Rosamund with an innocent smile. When she’d taken the trash cans inside last night, she’d seen the wildlife biologist whistling as he left Rosamund’s house.
“Looks like Miles had dinner at your place again?”
“Oh. Well. Yes,” Rosamund stammered, her cheeks turning a becoming shade of pink. “The poor man is brilliant, but he’s such aterriblecook. Guinevere and I take pity on him a few nights each week and invite him over to eat with us.”
“I see,” she said, arching her brow.
“Knock, knock,” Piper called from the mudroom.
A warm sensation radiated through Kiersten’s chest. She loved that her neighbors felt they could enter her home with a verbal knock from the inside, rather than a physical knock from the outside.
Homeschooling was going better too. The carrot of daily screen time and the coming of Valentina had made all the difference in the world. Piper wondered how they had functioned without her. It felt like they were slowly finding their rhythm.
“Did you see the camera crew?” Piper asked, a little breathless.
“What camera crew?” Rosamund asked.
“I think Aspen is filming ... or taping ... or whatever they call it. Come look.”
They filed onto the front porch to witness the transformation taking place on Beaverbrook Lane.
Musicians set up microphones and speakers, while Garrett, Brendan, and Miles set up a semi-circle of hay bales in front of a stage to create seats under the supervision of Aspen’s husband, Trey.
He wore waterproof zip-leg hiking pants and a Patagonia half zip. He looked like he’d just stepped out of an REI ad.
And in the midst of it all strode Aspen, blond curls cascading down her back, resplendent in cowboy boots and a chunky oatmeal-colored sweater.
