At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [77]
That was when Emmy shyly volunteered that she had done some mural work and would be honored to design something for their tasting room, if they liked. His mother liked that idea immediately and there was a great deal of discussion about the project, and in the process it was agreed that in addition to the winery, she should also paint a mural here in the living room where everyone could see and enjoy it, and that rather than the traditional vineyard scene Emmy should render two views of the scenic meadow, winter and spring, and that the two bookshelf alcoves that flanked the fireplace would be the perfect place for them.
Andrew did not care what she painted or where she painted it. The project would take weeks. She was staying.
15
Changes
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lindsay said, “of course I haven’t thought it through.” Her voice was high and tight and her hands gripped the steering wheel as though if she relaxed them the car might leave the road of its own accord and sail into the sky. Given her speed and the erratic nature of her driving, that was not, in fact, entirely out of the question. “If I thought about it for even one minute I’d realize how crazy it is.”
Bridget, in the backseat, squeezed her eyes closed as Lindsay swerved around a tractor that was chugging along the shoulder with a bale of hay. Cici twisted in the passenger seat and waved apologetically at the tractor driver.
“I mean, here I am, a fifty-year-old woman who’s never had children of her own, with no visible means of support, living in a broken-down house with two other women and a twenty-year-old girl, none of whom has a job—”
“Hey.”
“Well, she’s right,” Bridget pointed out.
“Not to mention a dog, a deer, a flock of sheep—”
“And two dozen chickens,” added Bridget. Then, in alarm, “Do you see that stop sign?”
The force of the brakes locked all three seat belts, but Lindsay went on, oblivious. “I mean, it’s crazy, right? What makes me think they’ll even consider letting me adopt a teenage boy? A teenage boy, of all things!”
“The pickup has the right of way,” Cici broke in.
Lindsay waited until the truck completed its turn, and then accelerated through the intersection. “But it’s just like when we bought the house. We didn’t think about that, did we?”
She looked over her shoulder to Bridget for confirmation, as Cici instinctively reached for the wheel. “No! No we didn’t!”
Lindsay’s eyes returned to the road. “We just”—she searched for the word—“ felt it. And everyone thought we were crazy for doing that, too. But look how that turned out. We were right and everyone else was wrong. Weren’t they?” As she spoke, she turned the steering wheel too sharply, and the car’s left tires skittered on the shoulder before she regained the pavement.
“Stop the car.”
“What?”
“Stop the car,” Cici repeated, with force.
Lindsay pulled over to the side of the road and got out, a bit sheepishly, as the two women traded places.
And as Cici pulled carefully back onto the road, Lindsay pressed her head into the headrest. “I am crazy,” she groaned. “What am I doing?”
Bridget leaned forward to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Right now,” she said, “you’re just going to talk to Carrie about adopting a great kid who would be the luckiest boy in the world to have you as his mom.”
Lindsay reached up and squeezed her fingers. “Thanks for coming with me, both of you.”
“This is probably the most important thing you’ve ever done. Like we’d let you do it alone?”
“Besides,” added Bridget, “he’s our Noah, too.”
“But you’re supposed to be building a chicken coop.”
“Believe me,” Cici said, “I’d rather be here.”
Lindsay cleared her throat. “Listen, I know this isn’t fair to either of you. I mean, it affects your lives, too. When we moved in together, it was to enjoy our