“I don’t have the details worked out, but we’re going to L.A. together. We’ll find a good school for you out there. Not a boarding school, either. I want you around where I can keep my eye on you. We’ll hire a housekeeper both of us like so you’ll have somebody to keep you company when I have to travel. You’ll get to see April sometimes—I’m still working on that part. What do you think?”

“I think—I think it’s the best thing ever!”

“So do I.”

As he climbed in his car, he smiled to himself. Rock and roll might keep you young, but there was something to be said for finally growing up.

Chapter Twenty-four

Blue arrived at the farm an hour late. She’d traded in this afternoon’s yellow sundress for a plain white tank and a new pair of khaki shorts, both of which actually fit her. Dean hoped Jack and Riley would stay away like they were supposed to. “I don’t want to do this,” Blue said as she came into the foyer.

Dean resisted kissing her and closed the front door instead. “My advice is to get it over with fast. Go into the dining room ahead of me and turn on all the lights so I get the full miserable effect as soon as I walk in.”

He couldn’t coax even the shadow of a smile from her. It was strange to see Blue so undone.

“You’re right.” She and her new purple sandals strode past him into the dining room. He wanted to pitch those shoes into the trash and make her wear those ugly black biker boots. The dining room lights went on. “You’re going to hate them,” she said from inside.

“I think you’ve mentioned that before.” He smiled. “Maybe I should get drunk first.” He walked around the corner and into the dining room. His smile faded.

He’d been prepared for a lot of things, but not for what he saw. Blue had created a woodland glade of mist and fantasy. Straws of pale custard light peeked through the leaves of gossamer trees. A swing made of flowering vines swayed from a curving branch. Blooms never seen in nature grew in a bright carpet around a gypsy caravan perched by the side of a fantasy pond. He couldn’t think of one thing to say. Except the wrong thing. “Is that a fairy?”

“J—just a small one.” She gazed up at the tiny creature peering down at them from above the front window. Then she buried her face in her hands. “I know! It’s awful! I should never have done it, but my brush got away from me. I should have painted her out. And…the others, too.”

“There are more?”