Chapter Seventeen
Rosie
As much as she enjoyed these neighborhood parties, hosting one was such a pain in the butt. Rosie looked around her yard at
the devastation two hundred people had created. She had to be grateful her turn to host only came around every few years.
Her neighbors weren’t really a wild crowd. Everyone was respectful and kind and did their best to clean up after themselves.
But anytime a group of people gathered together to eat and talk and enjoy a summer evening together, some level of mess was
inevitable.
She was working on cleaning the area around the grill when she heard her granddaughter complain to her mother about something,
in a whine Rosie couldn’t make out.
Olive wasn’t a big whiner. She was likely exhausted from a busy day of helping them set up for the party and an evening spent
with new friends. Poor thing.
Rosie approached the two of them, who were collecting trash. “You don’t need to stay and help, Emma. I’ve got this. Why don’t
you take her to bed.”
Emma frowned. “That’s not fair. You did all the work throwing together the party. The least I can do is help you clean it
up. It’s too much for one person to do alone.”
Over the past decade, Rosie had become an expert at handling the world on her own. What other choice had she been given?
“I’ll be fine. Take her up to bed. If I’m still at it after she’s asleep—and if you have any remaining energy—you can come back down and help me.
It’s not necessary, though. I don’t plan to do much more than straighten up the yard for now so we don’t draw every raccoon in Oregon.
I’ll take care of the rest in the morning. ”
Though Emma looked as if she wanted to say more, Olive yawned. Emma sighed.
“Fine. Say good-night to your grandmother, then.”
“Night, Grandma.”
When Rosie bent down for a hug, Olive threw her arms around her neck. She hugged the little girl tightly, her heart full.
“What can I do to help?” As she made her way toward Rosie on her crutches, Sylvia looked almost as exhausted as Olive had.
“You can go to bed, too. Please, before you fall over. The last thing we need is another broken bone.”
Sylvia sighed. “I’m sorry. I feel mighty worthless these days.”
“Are you kidding? You kept the whole party going tonight. Every time I looked over, you had a crowd around you and everyone
was always laughing about something.”
She envied that about her mother. Sylvia could make conversation with anyone. She was always the life of the party.
“Leave the dishes for me to do in the morning,” her mother said. “I can’t do much but I can stand at the sink with my leg
on a chair and do the washing up.”
“Sure,” she said, though both of them knew most of the dishes would go through the dishwasher just fine.
“Let me help you to your place,” she said, setting down the bag of trash. “It’s dark and I don’t want you to stumble.”
Her mother must be tired, Rosie thought. For once, Sylvia did not argue, she simply started making her slow way to her cottage.
Rosie moved ahead of her, clearing from her path a few toys the children had left out.
At her mother’s door, she hugged her.
“It was a lovely party,” Sylvia said. “It’s always fun to get together with our neighbors.”
“I’m glad you had fun, Mom.”
Her mother might be frustrating sometimes, stubbornly insisting on doing her own thing, whether it was wise or not. But Rosie
was deeply grateful for Sylvia’s constant love and support.
Her mother had upended her own life after Gary died, moving in to help however she could. Rosie would never be able to repay
her, though she knew Sylvia would insist that was simply what mothers did.
That was what she wanted to do for Emma. Help her daughter in any way Emma would let her.
“Well, Dottie,” she said after she was alone in the yard again. “I guess it’s just you and me and the chickens.”
The dog snuffled, then jumped up on one of the padded lawn chairs, where she circled a few times before settling down to watch
Rosie work.
On one of her trips inside, Rosie grabbed her earbuds and set her phone to play the audiobook she had been listening to earlier
in the day. She was clearing away the rest of the food containers, keeping an eye on the storm clouds that had begun to gather,
when a deep male voice came out of the darkness, rising above the sound of her book.
“Do you need a hand?”
She yelped in surprise and whirled, spatula outstretched reflexively.
“Oh no. Please don’t scoop me with that thing,” Andrew Morgan said in an amused tone as he moved under the café lights.
He looked gorgeous, all lean and sculpted and . . . Andrew.
She set the spatula back in one of the bowls, feeling foolish, and pulled her earbuds out, returning them to the charging
case in the pocket of her sweater. “You scared the life out of me.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you heard me come back into the yard.”
She shook her head, holding up her earbud case. “I didn’t hear anything. Earbuds.”
“Good music?”
“An audiobook. It’s the latest from one of my favorite authors. A mystery.”
“So mystery novels are your jam?”
She winced, reminded again of their conversation earlier in the kitchen. She was still mortified that he had overheard her
talking smack about his books.
“Yes. I love just about everything. Mysteries, romance, historical fiction. Sometimes even nonfiction if it’s a subject that
interests me.”
“Just not fantasy.”
She sighed. “I still can’t believe you heard that. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. I’m not fragile, I promise.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m giving your books another try. I’ve downloaded a couple of them on audio.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to, especially since my friends invited you to talk to our book club.”
He shifted, looking uncomfortable in the low light. “I’m still not sure about that. It’s awkward enough for me to be the new guy in town. Having to talk about my books at the same time might be excruciating.”
“Don’t feel obligated. The Sea Witches will understand if you can’t make it.” She paused. “Is that why you came back? To tell
me you had changed your mind about the book club?”
“No, actually. Finn lost a LEGO minifig somewhere in your yard.”
“Oh no!”
“I told him not to bring it here for the party. I warned him he would lose it if he did, but apparently he didn’t listen and
slipped it into his pocket anyway. And, surprise, surprise. He lost it.”
“Poor kid. He must be so upset.”
“He’s devastated. The kids are staying at my mom’s tonight, so I told him I would stop back here and see if I could find it.
If not, maybe we can come back and look tomorrow. I don’t have very high expectations of finding a little minifig in a big
yard, but we have to try.”
“Of course you do.” It touched her to know he would make the effort against seemingly impossible odds.
He was a good father, she thought. For some reason, she found that even more attractive than his obvious physical appeal.
“I’ll help you,” she said. Yes, she had a million things to do, but wouldn’t rest easy unless she did all she could to reunite
a boy with a favorite toy. “I’ve got a couple of good flashlights inside. I’ll grab them.”
“You really don’t have to do this.”
“I know I don’t. But I want to.”
After grabbing the lights from the utility drawer in her mudroom, she returned outside to find him looking around the tent
sandbox area.
“Where do you think he was playing most?”
“Every time I saw him, he was somewhere else in the yard. They played tag, cornhole, everything. It could be anywhere.”
Her yard had never seemed so big, but they set off, both shining their flashlights on the ground. A cool breeze whispered
through the trees, carrying the salty tang of the ocean and the promise of rain. Leaves rustled overhead, punctuated by the
distant crash of waves against the shore. The beam of their flashlights cut through the growing darkness, dancing over the
grass in erratic patterns as they searched.
The temperature had dropped noticeably, and Rosie hugged her arms around herself, chilled despite her sweater.
In the distance, clouds gathered on the horizon, their dark silhouettes barely visible against the night sky. The air felt
charged with anticipation, as if the very atmosphere was holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break.
“This is a big waste of time,” Andrew said, his tone apologetic. “If we don’t find it, Finn will survive. He can save up to
buy another set that has the same minifig. Maybe it will be a good object lesson. Listen to your dad.”
She laughed. “I hope it works. I spent a long time trying to get my daughter to listen to me, to no avail.”
“Finn is only seven. I’d like to think I still have a little cred with him at this age.”
“What about the swing set?” she asked, after they had been looking for a while. “I believe I saw him playing there a few times.
Maybe it fell out of his pocket while he was swinging.”
Andrew gave her an appreciative look that made her glow. “You might be onto something there.”
The two of them walked over to the swings and she aimed her flashlight beam at the area around the poles of the swing set
that Gary had built for Emma when she was about eight.
At that age, she had probably been too old for a swing set and would outgrow it soon anyway but Gary hadn’t cared.
Someday we can share this with our grandkids, he had said.
It made her sad to think that her late husband never had the chance to meet Olive, with her funny personality and her bossy
little brain.
“I’m not seeing anything. What about you?”
Andrew scanned the area. “No, nothing.” He sighed. “He has a zillion minifigs. I don’t know what stands out about this one
so much. I guess he loves that particular Darth Vader.”
“When are they going to make LEGO sets of your characters?”
“They’re talking about it,” he admitted. “They made action figures and other merch after the movie came out but a LEGO set
would be mind-blowing.”