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A tall man comes around the corner, surprise widening his eyes when he sees us, but his expression quickly changes to anger when he sees Peanut Butter. “No! Rosalia! You’re killing her!” he yells sharply.
Who’s Rosalia?
The man waves wild hands, trying to shoo the confused pooch away from the bushes. “Git!”
“Peanut Butter, come here. Get away from the mean man!” Grace cries, running toward them to throw herself between the dog and the man, holding her arms out protectively. “Don’t you be a meanie!”
Gathering Grace and Peanut Butter and shoving them behind his back, Carter tells the man, “Excuse us, so sorry.”
His attempt to diffuse the situation is in vain, though, because the man has given his full attention to the rose bush, which he’s caressing tenderly with gnarled hands and sweet-talking. “Oh, Rosalia. What has that monster done to you? I’ll get you some fresh water to drink, would you like that?”
Oh-kay, I guess the bush is Rosalia?
“What’s all this racket out here?” a woman says from the porch. “Bernard? Are you okay?”
She’s older, wearing a loose-fitting bronze pantsuit, kitten heels, and a worried look as she scans the yard, her silver bob swinging back and forth with the movement.
“That dog tried to kill Rosalia.” The man points an accusing finger at Peanut Butter, snarling his lip.
“It was a long drive, so he really had to go,” I explain apologetically.
“No big deal. The poor baby had to piddle.” She’s telling Bernard, but Peanut Butter has climbed the steps and is sitting politely at the woman’s feet as though he recognizes a kind spirit. She reaches down to pet his head and he leans into her touch. “My bladder’s the size of a walnut too.”
Standing back up, she greets the rest of us. “You must be Carter. Thanks for coming all the way out here. I hope it wasn’t a trouble, other than the peeing.” She laughs at her own joke, petting Peanut Butter again.
Carter takes a few steps up to the porch and offers his hand. “Happy to come out anytime, Mrs. Cartwright.” He pauses, drops his chin, and then smiles. “I mean, Elena.”
Ooh, he’s good. That was a pure act of fertilizer-grade manure with the name misspeak, playfully coy while also being old-fashioned polite. He’s shoveling it both ways.
“And you must be Luna, Carter’s lovely wife. You should hear him talk about your artwork. They say what a man says when you can’t hear him is as close to the truth as you’ll ever get. If that’s the case, he’s quite smitten with you, dear.” She winks at me theatrically, and I freeze.
When Carter glances back at me, there’s a slight blush coloring his cheeks. It’s kinda adorable, and then I remember that whatever he told Elena was fake as hell. I play my part, though, stage whispering as I tease, “You should hear what he says when we’re alone.”
Elena laughs, thinking I’m being cheeky, but my true target is Carter and the things he’s said that weren’t so kind. If he can shovel two ways, then so can I.
“I’m Miss Grace Marie Harrington, eight years old, third grade. And that’s my Uncle Kyle’s dog, Peanut Butter,” Grace offers with a ladylike curtsy. She sounds like she’s introduced herself on countless Miss America pageant stages until she adds, “But we call him Nutbuster.”
Carter chokes. “Oh, Gracie, Elena doesn’t want to hear that.”
But Elena’s chuckling and petting the nut-busting dog again, not offended in the slightest. Instead, she curtsies back to Grace, holding out the leg of her pants. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Harrington. Now, how about you call me Elena and I call you Grace, and we can go inside where it’s cool, m’kay?”
“Okay, Elena,” Grace parrots.
“Oh, Bernard . . .” Elena says to the man who’s still scowling at Peanut Butter, “Would you mind taking this sweet, good boy over to the barn? I bet he’d love to play in the hay and have an oat cookie or two. If that’s okay?”
That last bit was directed to Carter, who nods to Bernard gratefully and then adds, “I really do apologize. We had a bit of a family emergency, and I—”
He holds his hands out wide, gesturing to Grace and Peanut Butter. But this is Elena’s show, and she waves it off. “Nonsense, the more, the merrier!”
“Yeah, Uncle CJ, me and Elena are cool.” Completely comfortable having crashed Carter’s meeting, Grace takes Elena’s hand and they walk into the house together like insta-besties.
Bernard pats his leg, content with his orders. “Wanna cookie, boy?”
That’s all it takes for Peanut Butter to trot off after him, leaving just me and Carter behind. He looks back and forth between Peanut Butter and Grace, though, concern on his face for his two charges. It’s actually admirable.
And a bit adorable.
“We got this,” I tell him gently as I hold my hand out. He takes it, and together, we walk inside. The house is impressive, with soaring ceilings, marble floors, intricate moldings, and antiques. But beyond the air of fanciness, what draws my attention is the art on every single wall.
