“Uh … Molly? The view’s pretty interesting from the back, too. And we’ve got company coming.”

Sure enough, the Pearsons were approaching in the distance. They were barely visible behind beach chairs, tote bags, and a cooler.

Molly wasn’t going to rely on Kevin’s cooperation to get back to the cottage, so she headed toward the woods, holding the T-shirt away from her body in the front and back, while she stretched it to make it longer.

“If anybody throws you a fish,” he called after her, “it’s because you’re waddling like a penguin.”

“If anybody asks you to bray, it’s because you’re acting like an—”

“Save your sweet talk for later, Daphne. The garbage guys just drove up with the new Dumpster.”

“Shut the lid after you climb in.” She picked up her waddle and somehow managed to reach the cottage without further mishap. Once inside, she pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and laughed.

But Kevin wasn’t laughing. As he stood on the Common gazing in the direction of the cottage, he knew he couldn’t keep going on like this. It was ironic. He was a married man, but he wasn’t taking advantage of the principal advantage marriage offered.

The question was, what did he intend to do about it?

Chapter 15

15

Daphne sprayed her favorite perfume, Eau de Strawberry Shortcake, in a big squirty puff around her head. Then she fluffed her ears, straightened her whiskers, and put on her brand-new tiara.

—Daphne Plants a Pumpkin Patch

After her dip in the lake, Molly showered and changed, then found herself walking out to the porch and gazing toward the table where she’d left the sack of art supplies she’d bought in town that morning. It was long past time to start work on the drawings.

Instead of settling at the table, however, she sat on the glider and picked up the pad she’d used yesterday to sketch Daphne diving off the cliff. She gazed off into the distance. Finally she began to write.

“Mrs. Mallard is building a summer camp on the other side of Nightingale Woods,” Daphne announced one afternoon to Benny, Melissa, Celia the Hen, and Benny’s pal Corky the Raccoon. “And we all get to go!”

“I don’t like summer camp,” Benny grumbled.

“Can I wear my movie star sunglasses?” Melissa asked.

“What if it rains?” Celia clucked.

By the time Molly set aside the notepad, she’d written the beginning of Daphne Goes to Summer Camp. Never mind that she’d barely covered two pages, and never mind that her brain might dry up at any minute or that her publisher wouldn’t buy this book until she did what they wanted to Daphne Takes a Tumble. At least she’d written, and for now she was happy.