“Tell me about it,” she said, hoping her brightness didn’t sound fake.
“Oh, the very first day, we went to the oldest botanical gardens in the world in Amsterdam. I loved it, but of course, Martha complained about walking so much. I don’t know why she’d take a tour and not walk.”
“But it’s pretty there?”
“Gorgeous. We did a canal tour the second night and then we spent a whole day at the Keukenhof—castle, gardens, the whole thing.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Crista said vaguely, perching on the end of the bed, aware of her heart rate kicking up with every passing second.
How could she tell her mother where she was? And why? And?—
“I always knew it would be glorious to see the floral blooms in Europe in the spring, but it’s outdoing even my expectations. Which were high.”
Crista smiled tightly, plucking at a thread on the comforter. “Aren’t they always?” she teased lightly, hoping to keep the conversation easy.
“Yes, well, despite the fact that my phone is mostly useless unless I’m connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi, and even that is spotty, I’m having the most wonderful time,” Maggie continued. “You would die if you saw the tulips in Keukenhof. The colors! The sheer expanse of it all! I swear I could spend weeks wandering these gardens and still not see every last bloom.”
“I’m so glad to hear that, Mama. I knew it would be a beautiful trip,” Crista said, gripping the phone just a little tighter. If she could just keep her mother talking about the trip, maybe they wouldn’t have to talk about?—
“But I had to call and follow up on our upsetting conversation on the way to the airport,” Maggie interjected, her voice shifting slightly. “Did you talk to Eli and Vivien? Do they still want to keep the house that would have you all secure for your futures? And, good heavens, did they have any more contact with…them?”
Well…one ofthemwas downstairs this very minute teaching Nolie how to read and write. And brainstorm.
Crista tensed, fisting the comforter, her palms damp. How could she tell her?
“Uh, yeah, well… I did talk to them,” she said carefully. “In person, actually.”
“You went down? Like I suggested?”
That was a suggestion? Please. Maggie Lawson didn’t know the meaning of the wordsuggestion.
“Mm-hmm, yes,” Crista said.
“And told them to stay away from the Wylies, I hope,” her mother said, her voice sharp enough to slice glass.
Crista swallowed, her pulse hammering. From downstairs, she could still hear the faint sounds of Nolie’s laughter—the light, free, musical bubble that she hadn’t heard in weeks.
“Yes, that’s…what I told them,” she said, forcing the words out. “I told them you said that.” Not a lie. Not even a tiny white lie.
Maggie exhaled approvingly. “Good. And I do hope they have the financial common sense to recognize that house was meant to be sold, not turned into some ridiculous shrine to a childhood that ended decades ago.”
Crista stayed silent, practically chewing a hole on the inside of her cheek, silent for three, four, five rapid heartbeats and a few loud barks from a very worked up Yorkie.
“Crista? Are you okay?” Maggie’s voice softened, but it wasn’t concern—Crista knew that tone. It was suspicion.
“Yes, I’m fine, just in the middle of it with…Nolie. Trying a new tutor.” That was the truth. Sort of.
“Oh, please, all that tutoring,” Maggie scoffed. “There is nothing wrong with that child that a little Grandma time won’t fix. Is that Pittypat I hear? How’s my baby?”
“She’s fine. She’s…walking a lot.” Again, not a lie. Except she was walking on sand, not sidewalk.
“I knew Nolie would take care of her,” Maggie said. “She’s bright as can be.”
“That’s exactly what her new tutor just said. Said she’s a…breath of fresh air.” She closed her eyes and remembered Tessa’s expression when she talked about Nolie.
“I’m telling you she doesn’t need a special tutor,” her mother said.
Crista pressed her fingers against her temple, silent. There was no point arguing with her mother.
