Once her rabbits were calm, Dymphna turned her attention to the transfixed little group standing in the yard. She smiled serenely at them and then waved to Lizzy. Lizzy stopped howling, and with a gentle sniffle, waved back. Piquant was still yapping up a storm. Dymphna, still smiling, walked toward the struggling, outraged dog. Without saying a word, Dymphna stood in front of Virginia and slowly put her hands out. She clearly wanted to hold Piquant.
Suzanna looked at Erinn, who was standing by the steps to the back porch, guarding her casserole, but clearly as transfixed as the rest of her family.
“He’s not really a very friendly dog,” Virginia tried to whisper to Dymphna over the barking.
Why is she whispering?
Since Dymphna just stood there with her hands out, Virginia caved in to good manners and handed the dog to her. Suzanna and Piquant were equally surprised by this turn of events. Piquant had made it very clear to everyone at the Bun, the Nook, and the apartment that while he would sporadically accept a pat from people, he was only to be held by Virginia and only to have his ears pulled by Lizzy. Suzanna watched, fascinated, as Piquant reared back in Dymphna’s arms and bared his teeth. In Eric’s arms, the sight of Piquant trying to look ferocious with his little mean face and snickery growl would have bordered on hilarious. The tiny dog would not have seemed menacing in the least. But this woman was so small, Piquant actually seemed like a reasonably sized threat. Dymphna walked up and down the yard with the dog, stroking his head. By now, Lizzy was quiet in her mother’s arms and the yard was completely still. Suzanna could not make out any murmurings coming from Dymphna, but Piquant had stopped growling at her. Instead, he lay against her shoulder. Suzanna got a glimpse of him through Dymphna’s hair. He was awake, but calmer than she had ever seen him. Dymphna walked the dog up to the rabbit hutches, turning her body sideways, so Piquant could see each rabbit in turn without having to adjust his position on her shoulder.
Dymphna walked back to Virginia, and without speaking, returned Piquant to her. He had the same look Suzanna knew she wore after a trip to a spa—totally relaxed. Dymphna stood back and folded her hands in front of her.
Suzanna realized no one in the yard had spoken in at least ten minutes. She wondered if she should be the one to break this mystical silence, when the back door to the house banged open.
An equally tiny woman, this one with reddish-and-blond-striped curls, strode purposefully to the end of the back porch. Suzanna could feel the energy in the yard change instantly—and she wasn’t much a believer in that sort of thing—as the woman on the porch, who must, by the process of elimination and temperament, be Blu, scanned the group in the yard. Blu must have decided that the little band of women was of no interest, because she turned to Erinn at the bottom of the steps.
“I broke a nail,” Blu said.
“You have nine others,” Erinn said.
“What am I going to do?” Blu demanded, holding the offending digit out for inspection.
“I’d offer you one of mine,” Erinn said, lifting the casserole for Blu to see, “but I’m using them.”
Even from halfway across the yard, Suzanna could see Blu roll her eyes and head back into the house, slamming the door behind her. Suzanna absently kissed Lizzy’s head and thought, That awful woman is somebody’s daughter. Dear God, please let me keep my eye on this parenting thing.
Erinn, still clutching the casserole, started up the stairs. She turned back to her family and Dymphna.
“Welcome to the House of Blu,” Erinn said. “I see you guys have met Dymphna.”
Suzanna, balancing Lizzy, and Erinn, balancing the casserole, climbed the steps, but stood on the porch. No one seemed particularly eager to go into the house.
“I guess that was Blu,” Suzanna said.
Erinn nodded.
“I’m really glad Mother brought Mac,” Erinn said. “It’s hellish here.”
“I bet you just want to punch whoever said, ‘There’s no place like home’ right about now,” Suzanna said, always happy to share a sisterly moment with her older sibling.
“Do you mean John Howard Payne?” Erinn asked.
“Pardon?”
“John Howard Payne. In 1823, he wrote, ‘Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.’ Is that who you mean? Or are you thinking about The Wizard of Oz? In that case, it would be L. Frank Baum.”
Suzanna was used to sisterly moments being short-lived. The sisters waited for their mother—and the blissed-out Piquant—to join them on the porch before braving the House of Blu. Dymphna was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Dymphna?” Suzanna asked.
“She went back to the guesthouse,” Virginia said. “I asked her if she’d like to come in for some macaroni and cheese, but she said she was drying rose petals.”
Of course she is!
The Wolf women turned and stood staring at the door into the kitchen. Suzanna felt sorry for her sister. Erinn’s home had always been a source of comfort to her, no matter how the world batted her around. Now, Erinn looked as if she were bracing herself to go in.
“Mac, anyone?” Erinn said with a forced smile and went inside.
Suzanna stood for a moment with her mother. Suzanna looked at the dog, snoozing serenely on her mother’s shoulder.
“Is he OK?” Suzanna asked. “What did Dymphna say to him?”
Virginia peeked into the kitchen. Whatever she was going to say to Suzanna, she obviously didn’t want Erinn to hear. Suzanna followed her gaze and saw Erinn putting the casserole into the oven. Suzanna leaned in so she could hear her mother.
“I asked her, and she said she didn’t say anything,” Virginia said. “She said . . .”
“What?” Suzanna asked. “She said what?”
“She said,” Virginia whispered, “she said words have no power.”
Mother and daughter stared at each other. Their eyes drifted through the door to Erinn, who was setting the table.
“Don’t tell Erinn,” Suzanna and Virginia said at the same time.
CHAPTER 12
VIRGINIA
Virginia was surprised by how quickly she got into the swing of life in Venice. She was able to buckle Lizzy into her Baby Jogger stroller (although, as Erinn pointed out, this was completely misnamed since clearly the baby wasn’t jogging) and Piquant into his harness and could head out the door in a matter of minutes. She loved walking out and seeing the beach and the glistening ocean as soon as she was on the porch. And Venice was such a little neighborhood! As she started down the Beach Walk, Donell, the sage salesman who put out his potpourri rain or shine, an enormous man in a beret and flowing caftan, waved to her with one hand. With the other he cradled a phone to his ear. He hung up quickly as she went by and shouted out to her.
“Hey, Mama Bear! Oh, I mean Mama Wolf!”
He let out a smoker’s laugh, part hack and part guffaw. Virginia smiled at him.
“The booth smells lovely, as always,” she said.
He reached out with a bunch of sage tied with raffia.
“For you, sweet lady. A gift.”
Virginia took the sage and smelled it.
“Thank you, Donell.”
“Where are you goin’ this mornin’?” he asked. “Just grabbin’ some sunshine?”
“No,” Virginia said, tucking the sage into one of the many pockets in the Baby Jogger, possibly never to be seen again. “I’m going to Mr. Clancy’s Courtyard.”
“Oh, not that damn tree again! Your son-in-law is just a pain in my ass about that tree.”
“Eric? He’s just trying to help.”
“I just don’t want any trouble. I have enough trouble selling sage without some sort of coup goin’ down.”
“I would imagine a coup would only help business, Donell,” Virginia said. “If people feel strongly that the tree has intrinsic value, they’ll come see it. And even if they don’t care at all, they’ll still come see it just because of all the hubbub. It’s win-win for you.”
God, I sound every inch the retired professor.
“Yeah,” said Donell, “well, maybe they’ll declare me a national treasure—I’m the only three-hundred-and-fifty-pound Hawaiian in the area. Now that would really help my business.”
“Maybe you’ll be next,” Virginia said. Then she added, “If it makes you feel any better, it’s a local designation . . . not national.”
She headed down the Beach Walk until she was standing in front of Mr. Clancy’s Courtyard, half a block and a world away from the Bun. While her daughter’s tearoom had a look that would have been more compatible with the buildings on the Eastern Seaboard, with its wide porch and whitewashed façade, Mr. Clancy’s was a cluster of individual brick cottages lining an L-shaped cement courtyard. An archway curved over the courtyard, joining the two buildings in the front. She didn’t like walking under the archway, which was also made of brick. Curved brick in earthquake-prone California? Not the best idea on the books, in Virginia’s mind.
She bumped the Jogger up the three cement stairs and entered the courtyard. There stood The Tree. She was hoping that in time The Tree would grow on her. But no. The twisted trunk and shabby branches looked just as ugly as on the day she first saw it. It was so large, customers heading into the various shops had to climb around it. And it completely obscured the shops in the back, including that sweet Rio’s dance studio. She felt a better solution might be to uproot the tree and send it to Montana or some such state where it would have room to spread out. It was obviously trying to take up more than its allotted space. But if some of the merchants felt compelled to save it, she’d do what she could to help out. Unofficially, of course.
Christopher and Bernard’s art gallery was one of the first shops in the courtyard. Christopher came out, carrying a large easel.
He set up the easel among his other offerings: woodwork, beadwork, stained glass; you name it, if it was art, Christopher or his uncle dabbled in it.
“Hey, Virginia!” he said, putting a large painting on the easel and facing it toward the sidewalk. He leaned over and waved at Lizzy. “Hi, Lizzy.”
Virginia was quietly happy that everyone already seemed to know her—and even appeared to think of Lizzy and herself as a unit.
Virginia studied the picture. It was a familiar subject for the local artists: the Santa Monica Pier as seen from Muscle Beach. But Christopher had added an interesting perspective. Most of the painting was soft and impressionistic, but the pier, which was in sharp focus, was seen through the long green fingers of a palm frond.
“You have such an eye, Christopher,” she said.
“Yeah, but he needs to think commercial,” said his uncle, who came out of the shop carrying one of his offerings, a photograph of sorts, since it had been Photoshopped within an inch of its life, of a clown wearing a Venice Beach T-shirt with a hot dog stand in the background.
“Well,” Virginia said, scanning their hodgepodge of offerings, “it looks like, between the two of you, you have something for everybody.”
Christopher bent over to pat Piquant, who growled, which delighted Lizzy. Christopher ruffled Lizzy’s hair.
“OK, I’ll pat your head instead,” he said.
Virginia was used to Piquant’s petulant personality and had ceased to be embarrassed by him. Her sheepish days in New York seemed like years ago.
Although all the merchants in the courtyard had shops, their bread-and-butter sales came from setting up outside on the Beach Walk. One by one the shopkeepers started setting up their wares. Virginia saw a man stick his head out of a corner shop.
“Good morning, Mr. Clancy,” Christopher said tonelessly.
So this is the evil landlord!
Virginia watched him out of the corner of her eye as he pulled his merchandise onto the sidewalk. Mr. Clancy had long, thick, gray hair and a toned physique for a man of any age, let alone one who must be hovering around seventy. Virginia noticed his artistic, graceful hands. He sold what appeared to be hand-dyed T-shirts, gypsy skirts, and scarves. Not what one would expect from the resident Snidely Whiplash.
Virginia had no idea how any of these people ever made enough money to keep body and soul together. But they all did, especially, she thought, their souls.
She picked Lizzy up out of the Jogger and let her look at all the fabulous offerings. When Suzanna had first announced that she was pregnant, Virginia had had to stifle the urge to say that perhaps Venice Beach was not the greatest area in the country to raise a child. But she was glad she hadn’t said anything. Lizzy was not having a conventional baby-hood, but it was sure damned interesting.
Virginia was startled as Suzanna stepped briskly into the courtyard, walking her bike.
“Hi, Mom,” she said.
“Hi, dear. I thought I’d take Lizzy out, give you some time to yourself.”
“That’s great!” Suzanna said, looking around the courtyard. “I just thought I’d get a little bike ride in.”
Virginia thought she seemed distracted.
“Well, you go right ahead. I’m just going to talk to the guys about something and then Lizzy and I will meet you at home after your ride.”
Suddenly, from under the brick archway, Rio appeared with two young adults in tow, a sullen-looking boy and a goth girl. He nodded to his fellow shopkeepers and the Wolfs. To Suzanna’s surprise, Virginia stopped the little group.
“Hello, Rio,” Virginia said. “Who are your friends?”
Rio and the teenagers stopped in their tracks. Virginia could hear a rush of air escape Suzanna. Virginia knew her daughter was probably embarrassed that Virginia was butting in, but all her years around young adults, especially hostile young adults, had taught her that kids like these were going to need more than dance lessons to make it in this world. They were also going to need manners—and as far as she was concerned, they could start learning them right now.
The boy stared at his feet and the girl glowered out from behind blunt black bangs. She was chewing gum with her mouth open, which Virginia might mention later, but she knew to tread lightly. After all, Rio hadn’t asked her to lend a hand.
“Hello, Virginia,” Rio said. “These are my students, Miles and Winnie.”
Neither of the students responded. Virginia passed the handles of the Baby Jogger to Suzanna and stood in front of the students.
“Hello, I’m Virginia.” She offered her hand to the boy, who wore baggy jeans, a white T-shirt, and gauge earrings. He had no choice but to take her hand and look at her. “You must be Miles?”
“I guess,” the boy said in a frosty baritone. He did not crack a smile.
“I like your tattoos,” Virginia said, nodding at the flight of exotic birds that flew up his left arm. “I don’t know all the birds, but I think I recognize a Chinese pheasant and a lorikeet.”
“Awesome,” Miles said, forgetting his Mr. Cool composure for a moment and pointing to a blue bird with a long red beak. “This kingfisher is my favorite.”
“He’s lovely,” Virginia said.
“One day, I want to get a full peacock on my back,” Miles said.
“So he can be a walking ad for NBC,” the goth girl, who must be Winnie, said.
Virginia found it interesting that Miles didn’t take offense.
“That’s my twin sister.” Miles nudged his head toward Winnie. “She’s just jealous that I’m going to kick her ass at Zumba.”
Winnie smiled at her brother, but returned to her scowl when she looked at Virginia. Virginia decided not to press her luck. One out of two petulant teenagers giving her the time of day was a start.
Rio herded the students toward the back of the courtyard, disappearing behind the tree.
“How is his dance studio doing?” Virginia asked Christopher.
“OK, I guess,” Christopher said. “He keeps to himself, mostly.”
“He’s not keeping to himself,” Mr. Clancy said. “You can’t see him, because the tree covers his studio like a black cape.”
Christop
her and Bernard ignored Mr. Clancy.
“He runs the place on donations so it can’t be easy. Bernard and I feed him whenever we can,” Christopher said.
“That’s so sweet of you,” Suzanna said.
“I feed him, too,” said Mr. Clancy. “And I give him a break on his rent.”
Virginia looked right at Mr. Clancy.
“I guess he has his hands full saving those kids,” she said. “He’s probably not keeping score.”
“You know, we can always help with food,” Suzanna said. “We could feed him at the tea shop. Or bring over some biscuits or whatever.. . .”
“Bless your heart, Suzanna!” Virginia said.
Was she missing something? Her daughter sounded out of breath and her cheeks were pink.
Suzanna seemed miles away, looking after Rio. Virginia remembered when Suzanna had taken dance lessons and wondered if she missed them. She noticed that Suzanna still hadn’t seemed to catch her breath. She knew that exercise went out the window when you were a new mother.
“Suzanna?” Virginia asked. “You’d better get going if you want a good bike ride before work.”
Suzanna blinked a few times and then pedaled away. Lizzy waved happily as her mother disappeared down the bike path, which thrilled Virginia (even though she would never admit it). Virginia waited until Mr. Clancy went back into his shop.
“I actually came down here for a reason,” Virginia said.
Years of teaching at a university had honed Virginia’s skills at getting people’s attention without yelling. As if on cue, Bernard and Christopher stopped what they were doing and looked at her.
“We need to take a little field trip. Do some research. You guys up for a field trip to Santa Monica later today?”
“Sure,” Bernard said. “I’ll get Donell to keep an eye on the place.”
“Just don’t tell him it’s about the tree,” Virginia suggested.
She wheeled Lizzy back to the Bun and turned into the Book Nook, where Eric was deep in conversation with a quintessential California girl in tight jeans. The pair was standing over a stack of what appeared to be heavily bound comic books. The girl looked vaguely familiar, but then again, these types of overly processed girls all looked alike to Virginia with their Angelina Jolie lips and Julia Roberts noses. It wasn’t until she heard the woman speak that Virginia realized it was Blu Knight, the starlet who was making Erinn’s life miserable. Lizzy started fussing and Virginia rocked the Jogger back and forth so she could hear the conversation without being noticed.
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