so.”
“She’s the poet Anne Bishop’s daughter?”
“Oh, right.”
“Anyway, she went to school with us, and we’ve kept in touch over the years. I came here to visit the nonprofit farm she runs on the other side of the lake. She mentioned that she’d heard the local community college was looking for a writing instructor and, I don’t know, things started falling into place. I got the job, and then soon as I saw this place I fell in love with it.”
She popped the trunk and grabbed Isabel’s bags. The girl had her hands full of dog and purse, so Ginger smiled and said, “Let me show you where your room is.”
Izzy simply stared back, expressionless, then followed Ginger toward the front door. The girl was definitely depressed, Ginger decided, and she had every right to be, but it didn’t make the situation any easier.
Ginger had been nine when she’d lost her own parents, and she remembered the listless, strange year afterward as if it was a bad dream she couldn’t quite wake up from.
As she mused about how best to help the girl, Izzy let out a yelp from behind her.
“What is that? ” she screeched.
Ginger turned and followed the direction of the girl’s gaze to the ground, where a fat slug was making its way across the porch.
“Banana slug,” Ginger said. “They’re harmless.”
Izzy made a face. “They’re disgusting.”
“That, too.”
“Are there many of them?” she asked.
“Nope. I’ve never seen one here on the porch. It must have lost its way in the woods. Oh, by the way,” Ginger added, “there’s quite a lot of wild-life around here. We’ll have to keep a close eye on Lulu.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean, you know, with hawks and coyotes around…”
Oh God, had she ever picked a bad topic.
Izzy hugged the dog closer and continued to glare down at the slug as if it might make a sudden attack.
Ginger felt like pointing out that they were surrounded by icky, slimy, unpredictable nature and the girl had better get used to it, but she figured she wasn’t going to win any points with that kind of talk, so she kept her mouth shut.
Izzy deserved her sympathy, not her sarcasm. Besides, Ginger remembered exactly how awful it felt to be thirteen. She could only imagine how painful it would be to lose you mother at such a volatile age. Nine had been bad enough.
The girl had gone through hell, and Ginger vowed not to add any more grief to her life, no matter how crappy Izzy’s attitude got.
Once they were inside, she led Izzy down the hallway, giving a quick tour as they passed the living room on the right and the bathroom on the left. “Down the hall is the kitchen and dining room,” Ginger said. “And this will be your room.”
She turned on the light in the smaller guest bedroom. Its pale lilac walls gave the room a soothing feel that made Ginger consider painting her own room the same color. The guest room was furnished simply with an antique white wrought-iron bed, a weathered white dresser and a cheval mirror.
“You’ll share the hallway bath with Marcus. I’ve set aside some extra towels in the bathroom—the pink set is yours.”
The girl stared vacantly at the suitcases Ginger set down next to the dresser.
“I’m going to take Lulu out to do her business,” she said. “Is there a place to walk around here?”
“You could take the path through the woods to the lake.”
Izzy said nothing.
“Just go out the front door and around the house and you’ll see the path.” Ginger pointed east as she spoke. “It’s a short walk.”
The girl pulled a leash out of her purse and headed for the door, the dog still in her arms. Ginger followed her out to the living room, where she found Marcus studying photos on the fireplace mantel. There was a shot of Ginger’s parents, one of Ginger with her grandmother, and one of Granny Townsend when she was a young girl.
He started to say something to Izzy, but she was through the door before he could get
“She’s the poet Anne Bishop’s daughter?”
“Oh, right.”
“Anyway, she went to school with us, and we’ve kept in touch over the years. I came here to visit the nonprofit farm she runs on the other side of the lake. She mentioned that she’d heard the local community college was looking for a writing instructor and, I don’t know, things started falling into place. I got the job, and then soon as I saw this place I fell in love with it.”
She popped the trunk and grabbed Isabel’s bags. The girl had her hands full of dog and purse, so Ginger smiled and said, “Let me show you where your room is.”
Izzy simply stared back, expressionless, then followed Ginger toward the front door. The girl was definitely depressed, Ginger decided, and she had every right to be, but it didn’t make the situation any easier.
Ginger had been nine when she’d lost her own parents, and she remembered the listless, strange year afterward as if it was a bad dream she couldn’t quite wake up from.
As she mused about how best to help the girl, Izzy let out a yelp from behind her.
“What is that? ” she screeched.
Ginger turned and followed the direction of the girl’s gaze to the ground, where a fat slug was making its way across the porch.
“Banana slug,” Ginger said. “They’re harmless.”
Izzy made a face. “They’re disgusting.”
“That, too.”
“Are there many of them?” she asked.
“Nope. I’ve never seen one here on the porch. It must have lost its way in the woods. Oh, by the way,” Ginger added, “there’s quite a lot of wild-life around here. We’ll have to keep a close eye on Lulu.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean, you know, with hawks and coyotes around…”
Oh God, had she ever picked a bad topic.
Izzy hugged the dog closer and continued to glare down at the slug as if it might make a sudden attack.
Ginger felt like pointing out that they were surrounded by icky, slimy, unpredictable nature and the girl had better get used to it, but she figured she wasn’t going to win any points with that kind of talk, so she kept her mouth shut.
Izzy deserved her sympathy, not her sarcasm. Besides, Ginger remembered exactly how awful it felt to be thirteen. She could only imagine how painful it would be to lose you mother at such a volatile age. Nine had been bad enough.
The girl had gone through hell, and Ginger vowed not to add any more grief to her life, no matter how crappy Izzy’s attitude got.
Once they were inside, she led Izzy down the hallway, giving a quick tour as they passed the living room on the right and the bathroom on the left. “Down the hall is the kitchen and dining room,” Ginger said. “And this will be your room.”
She turned on the light in the smaller guest bedroom. Its pale lilac walls gave the room a soothing feel that made Ginger consider painting her own room the same color. The guest room was furnished simply with an antique white wrought-iron bed, a weathered white dresser and a cheval mirror.
“You’ll share the hallway bath with Marcus. I’ve set aside some extra towels in the bathroom—the pink set is yours.”
The girl stared vacantly at the suitcases Ginger set down next to the dresser.
“I’m going to take Lulu out to do her business,” she said. “Is there a place to walk around here?”
“You could take the path through the woods to the lake.”
Izzy said nothing.
“Just go out the front door and around the house and you’ll see the path.” Ginger pointed east as she spoke. “It’s a short walk.”
The girl pulled a leash out of her purse and headed for the door, the dog still in her arms. Ginger followed her out to the living room, where she found Marcus studying photos on the fireplace mantel. There was a shot of Ginger’s parents, one of Ginger with her grandmother, and one of Granny Townsend when she was a young girl.
He started to say something to Izzy, but she was through the door before he could get
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