At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [113]
“That sounds like a job for the marketing director,” Lindsay said. “And given her ambition, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if we all weren’t drinking our wine at a White House dinner before too long.”
Cici allowed herself a smile of secret pride.
The screen door opened and Lori came out. “Did I hear my name?”
Lindsay looked at her. “Enology?”
And Bridget said, “Viticulture?”
“It’s the study of wine making,” Cici said. When they all turned to look at her, she shrugged. “I looked it up in the dictionary. You don’t have to have the Internet to get answers, you know.”
“But you do have to have Internet access to run a website,” Bridget said with a certain amount of determination, “which I’m going to need in order to sell my wine jams and gift baskets online.”
“Go, Aunt Bridget.” Lori grinned and plopped down on the steps with her back against the rail, drawing up her knees.
“Well,” agreed Cici reluctantly, “the satellite dish installer did say that if we cut down some trees we would have a pretty clear view of the southern sky. And a website would be helpful registering people for wedding weekends.”
“Welcome to the double zeroes, Mom.”
“Not to mention,” added Lindsay, and an odd note of shyness came into her voice as she glanced down at her glass, “drumming up interest in art shows.”
They all turned to her curiously, and she tried to minimize her words with a shrug. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I sent Derrick a photograph of that portrait I did . . .” Her eyes met Cici’s and Bridget’s meaningfully. “You know the one. I just wanted an opinion, you know. He’d already told me that the painting I did for Bridget of Rebel looked like it belonged on an L.L. Bean catalog cover, so I knew I could at least count on him to be honest.”
“I love the L.L. Bean catalog covers!”
Lindsay ignored Bridget’s outburst. “So anyway,” she said with a breath, “he called to say that he liked it . . . Well, actually, what he said was that this was what he expected from me . . .” No one could be sure whether the rosy glow on her cheeks was from the sunset, or repressed pleasure. “Gallery quality, I believe were his words, and if I could do a dozen more in that vein he’d like to do a show.”
There were squeals of delight and exclamations of excitement, and Lori got up and hugged her impulsively, and Lindsay, laughing, held up a hand in protest. “Well, it’s not like I’ve actually finished anything yet,” she said. “But I do have some ideas, and the best part is you know what Derrick charges people for the art in his gallery. With any luck, we might have that barn paid for sooner than we thought!”
The screen door banged again and Noah came out. He sat himself down in the space Lori had just vacated and regarded them all earnestly. “Who do I talk to about getting a learner’s permit?” he demanded.
Cici paused with her glass halfway to her lips. “Um, the Department of Motor Vehicles?”
“I mean in this family. That social worker, Miss Lincoln, she said you all are my legal guardians now until I’m eighteen and you make all the decisions about my welfare. So what I want to know is which one of you makes the decisions about driving?”
Lori rolled her eyes. “Just give me some notice and I’ll get off the road.”
“Noah, you don’t have a car,” Lindsay pointed out.
“I’ve got a motorcycle.”
“It doesn’t have insurance. Or gas.”
“I’ve got a job.”
Lindsay looked at Bridget. Bridget looked at Cici. Cici looked at the sunset.
Lindsay said, “You know, Noah, we usually keep the evenings to ourselves. As quiet time, you know. Maybe we can talk about this in the morning.”
Noah insisted, “But I’ve got to have transportation to get back and forth to work. And think how much time I could save you, running errands and hauling stuff and—”
Lindsay held up a quieting hand. “Later, Noah,” she said firmly. And then she added, “In the meantime, though, there might be some good news. I know you wanted to move to the folly.” As he drew a breath, she quelled it with,