Page 32 of Easton Island

“Ruben Renaud. You’re Naomi’s great-grandson.” Elizabeth turned to face the girl.

She shrank back at the formidable frown on the senior Easton’s face. “You must be Kendra.”

“How do you know my name?” the girl demanded.

“Definitely a Renaud,” Elizabeth sighed. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in this family.”

Ruben, realizing Elizabeth had figured out who they were, muttered under his breath and took off.

“Ruben!” Kendra ran after him.

Tristan’s eyes grew round as saucers. “You know them?”

“Not the children per se. Our family is familiar with the Renaud ilk.”

He rubbed his nose. “What does ilk mean?”

“Unpleasant people,” Morgan explained.

Brett placed a light hand on his son’s shoulder. “Don’t let them get you down. They mentioned your lucky arrowhead; the one Harlow gave you.”

“They saw it on my backpack and started making fun of it,” Tristan said. “I told them Harlow gave it to me. They said I was lying.”

“You told them Harlow Wynn gave it to you and they called you a liar?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yeah. And then Ruben told some of the older kids. They make fun of me, saying I’m lying and making it up.”

Morgan could feel the tips of her ears burn at how her nephew had innocently placed a target on his back. Not only did he have a mark against him because of who he was, but claiming to know a famous person, not to mention someone of Harlow Wynn’s caliber, was backfiring, making him even more unpopular. “We know you aren’t. The important thing is that you know the truth.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have said anything. I hope no one tries to steal it.” Tristan glumly climbed into the back seat and shut the door.

“I have half a mind to find out where those troublemakers live and chat with their parents,” Brett said.

“Do you think it would help?” Morgan asked.

“Not one iota,” Elizabeth said. “In fact, it might make things even worse.”

The parking lot had cleared by the time the Eastons left. Morgan hadn’t even shifted into drive when her grandmother and Burnie left them in the dust, flying out of the parking lot, barely stopping at the sign and barreling around the corner.

“She drives fast,” Tristan said.

“Yes, she does. Too fast,” Brett sighed. “We call that a lead foot.”

“One of these days she’s going to get a ticket for driving too fast,” Morgan said. “Or reckless driving. Maybe both.”

“A ticket should slow her roll,” her brother joked.

“Do you think so?”

Brett thought about it. “Nah. I think she’s going to drive fast until Burnie’s wheels fall off.”

By the time they arrived at the deli restaurant downtown, Elizabeth had already parked, exited, and gone inside. They found her seated in a corner booth.

“What took you so long?” she teased.

“We had to wait for the plume of dust to clear before I could see where I was going,” Morgan laughed. “Brett and I are making bets on how much longer it will be before you get a ticket.”

An unreadable look crossed Elizabeth’s face. It quickly vanished.