Chapter 9 - The Saturday Picnic
Spring in New England doesn't arrive all at once; it sneaks in between two cold snaps, usually on a Saturday when the wind off the harbor drops just enough to let the sun hit the granite steps of the Public Garden.
We were sitting by the edge of the pond—Sophie, Everett, Silas, Dean, and I—eating vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles out of cardboard cups while the mallards paddled through the half-melted ice near the fountain.
Sophie was wearing a bright yellow coat I’d bought her at a small boutique on Newbury Street—not because it looked like a ballerina’s costume, but because it had huge pockets for collecting smooth grey pebbles from the gravel paths.
“Mommy?” she asked, licking a drop of melted ice cream off her thumb.
“Yes, baby?”
“Are we ever going back to the big house in Connecticut?”
I looked across the pond toward the golden dome of the State House gleaming in the afternoon sun.
“No, Sophie,” I said, pulling her yellow hood up against the crisp spring breeze. “We’re never going back there.”
“Good,” she said, satisfied, and went back to feeding her waffle cone to a very aggressive pigeon that had landed near her sneakers.
Everett watched her for a moment, then turned to me, his grey eyes catching the light off the water.
“You know, Maddie, the board is meeting on Friday to vote on the new senior partnership structure. Your name is at the top of the list for the North American division.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“Tell Silas to clear my calendar for Thursday afternoon,” I said, standing up and brushing a speck of chocolate off my wool trousers. “I have to help Sophie pick out a new bicycle, and unlike your board meetings, that actually requires my full attention.”
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Everett smiled—that slow, rare smile that meant he knew I was finally, permanently back where I belonged.
“I’ll have Dean send the paperwork to the house,” he said. “Take all the time you need.”
