pictures were on display, neatly framed.
“Okay, young-ger. How old were you here?” Iris pointed to a picture of Lily wearing a dress. A rare image for those days.
“About fifteen.”
“I hope I look this good when I’m …” Iris rested her hand on top of a small album. Lily recognized the flowered cover. “Are there any of my father?”
“I don’t know what’s still here, sweetie.” She knew she’d bought that album herself, but she couldn’t remember what she’d put in it.
Iris tapped her fingers on the cover. “You’re gonna let me find out for myself?”
“It’s your room. I didn’t take much with me when I moved out, so it’ll be fun to see what you dig up.”
Fun? Maybe that was pushing it. But oddly enough, the word wasn’t hard to say. It could be fun. The girl in the pictures looked surprisingly happy.
Iris turned to one of two sets of wall shelves her father had put up—grudgingly, as Lily remembered—for her books and other treasures. He’d complained about putting holes in the wall. “What’s all this about?” Iris asked.
“I was in 4-H. State fair competitions, mostly. Different kinds of …” Iris picked up a small silver horse. A big blue ribbon was looped around the base. “That’s for Western Pleasure.”
“‘Grand champion,’” Iris read aloud from the ribbon. She examined more ribbons, all dusty, mostly faded, but the recognition stamped in gold still shown. “First place. Second place. First place.” Grinning broadly, she looked up at her mother. “You got first place in rabbits?”
Lily couldn’t help smiling. “I raised rabbits one summer. Hoppsie and Poppsie.”
“For pets?”
“Well, that’s just it. There’s an auction at the end of the show, and you never know what the buyer will do with your prize animal. Maybe use it for breeding. Maybe for eating.”
“Really?” No more grin.
No “duh.”
“I raised a shoat the next year. You know, a little pig. Grew to be a big pig.” There was probably a picture around somewhere. Lily had half a mind to go looking for it. That was the half that made her smile. “Made a good profit on that guy.”
“What was his name?”
“I learned my lesson about naming 4-H projects. I called him Pig. Grandpa called him Bacon. Said that was a 4-H project he could really sink his teeth into. Threatened to bid on him.”
“Did he?”
“I didn’t stay around for the auction that year. I learned lots of good lessons in 4-H.” She was still smiling as she watched Iris reach for a black case on one of the other shelves. “That’s my clarinet. I was in band. When we get you enrolled in school, you can—”
Iris opened the case and lifted the instrument from its blue nest. “I’m not gonna join any Lowdown school band, Mom.”
“You’ll be going to Hilo Consolidated. Two districts merged—High Water and Lowdown. Let me see that.” Lily welcomed the familiar weight of the instrument. “You’ll be a Hilo Hawk. You soar high up.” She put the mouthpiece to her lips and actually got the thing to tweedle. “You dive low down.” Yes, she remembered how to sound a low note. The sound made her laugh. “It’s poetry in motion.”
“You never told me you could play the clarinet.”
“It’s not my best talent. I’m more of a …” Lily put the instrument back in the case. She was feeling a little cocky now. “Your mama’s not a playuh.”
“Then why do I have to be?”
“You don’t.” Lily sat down on the single bed. “If I could’ve kept one piece of furniture, it would have been the piano. You’re getting to be so good.” With a forefinger she traced a rose on the coverlet. “We used to have one here, but I’m sure your grandfather got rid of it. He’s not a music lover.”
“Why haven’t I seen any pictures of you as a kid until now, Mom?” Iris had taken one of the yearbooks down from the bookshelf. “I was starting to think there aren’t any. Like maybe cell phones didn’t have cameras back in your day.”
“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t have a cell phone until, I don’t know, after you were born.”
“But you did have cameras, right?”
“Your grandfather wasn’t much of a photographer.”
“Well, somebody took pictures of you, and you didn’t even take any of them with you when you left home.” Iris scanned the room. “And here they are, like some kind of ode to Lily Reardon.”
“An ode is a—”
“Poem, I know. And this all seems very poetic—your father keeping this room the way you left it. Are you surprised?”
Lily shook her head and shrugged, one gesture cancelling the other out. Surprised? Maybe a little. Did it mean anything? “I guess he had no use for the room. No need to clear it out.”
But you didn’t frame the pictures, Lily. Who do you suppose did?
“You sure you don’t want to keep your room?” Iris asked. “I can use the guest room.”
“You just want the double bed.” Lily smiled affectionately. “And it’s the spare room. For spare people.”
“Who would be guests. Seems like he’d let Jack use the extra room.”
Lily shrugged. “Jack isn’t a guest. He’s an employee, and he has his own place.”
“Yeah, but it’s a horse trailer.”
“Which is clearly what works for him.”
Iris spread her arms dramatically. “Omigod, he is such a hottie.”
“Iris!” Good Lord, where has my child gone?
“Just sayin’. It doesn’t hurt to look, does it?”
“It’s just that your last hottie was a baby-faced singer with a moppet haircut.”
“He spikes his hair now.”
“Cowboys don’t spike their hair.”
“I’m not looking at hair anymore. I’ve moved on. Speaking of which …” Iris glanced toward the open door. “Hey, Grandpa, is it okay if I change the posters?”
“That’s up to you and your mom.” Mike braced his forearm against the door frame. “We’ve got some supper out here, girls. Care to join us?”
“Dad, you don’t have to—”
