Andie was doing her best to move beyond her past so she could work toward building a new future with her children here. She knew Louise’s question was offered in kindness, but she really didn’t want to talk about Rob Warren and the hell he had put her through.
“Everything’s great,” she said, pinning on a bright smile. “I’m really looking forward to Christmas in Haven Point. I can’t imagine a prettier place to spend the holiday. It’s perfect.”
“It really is, isn’t it?” Louise smiled softly. “The lake seems to change colors every day with the shifting winter light.”
“It must be fun to paint it this time of year.”
“It is.” Distracted, Louise looked down at her watercolors and Andie hoped she was thinking about taking her paints out to the water’s edge to try capturing that stunning blue.
Andie had taken to carrying her camera on her morning snowshoe walks along the river, catching birds flitting through winter-bare branches, the delicate filigree of ice along the riverbanks, the play of sunlight reflecting on the snow and filtering through the fringy pine boughs.
She had found peace here over the last few months, a calm she had needed desperately.
“I saw in the paper that our neighbor next door had an accident of some kind,” Louise said.
Now, there was someone who didn’t give her peace. Marshall Bailey. “Yes. He was struck by a hit-and-run driver a few days ago and ended up with a badly broken leg.”
“Oh, the poor man! Charlene must be having fits!”
“I don’t think Marshall wants his mother to know until she and Mike return from their honeymoon.”
Louise gave an approving nod. “Good decision. Why give her needless worry?”
“I agree.”
“So who’s watching over him?”
Andie raised her hand. “Well, I don’t know that I’d go as far as to say I’m watching over him. Wyn just asked me to check on him a few times a day. I’m heading there after I pick Will up from preschool.”
She felt too foolish to add that she wanted her son to come along as a buffer. “It would be helpful if you and Herm would keep an eye on things, too.”
“Oh, of course. We would be glad to do that. His mother is one of my dearest friends, though she pulled away a little after poor John had his accident.” She paused. “Do you think Marshall would enjoy some of my shortbread? I made plenty.”
“I’m sure he would. I can take it to him, if you’d like.”
“Thank you! Let me find a container.”
She bustled around the kitchen for a moment and ended up producing two tins printed with smiling families of snowmen.
“Here you go. A box for him and one for you and your children, if you’d care for it.”
“Oh, thank you! They will love it.”
These kind little gestures neighbors did for each other here always warmed her heart. She had enjoyed living in Portland. It was a beautiful, vibrant town filled with interesting people, restaurants, shops. But in all the years she had lived there after striking out on her own, it had never really felt as much like home as Haven Point, even though she and the children had been here less than six months.
She glanced at the whimsical owl clock on the wall. “I should go. Will is going to be done soon from preschool. I don’t know where the time went!”
“I’m so glad we had the chance to visit a little. You made me feel a little better.”
“I’m glad.” She hugged Louise, then slid her friend’s lovely collection of watercolors into the portfolio she had provided. “And thank you so much for these. I can’t wait to show them to my clients.”
“I do hope they like them,” Louise said again, her expression anxious.
“How could they not? They’re stunning. You really need to have a show, more than just the few you’ve given Kenzie to hang in the shop. You should think about talking to the owner of that new art gallery that just opened up downtown.”
“Me? Oh, I could never do that! I only paint for fun.”
“Think about it, my dear.” She slid her arms in the sleeves of her coat and headed for the front door. As she neared the stairs, she heard loud, discordant rock music coming from upstairs, then a crash followed by a string of crude vulgarities.
Louise’s cheeks turned pink. “That boy! I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry on my account, Louise. He’s a teenage boy going through a rough time right now. A little creative expression is only to be expected.”
She hugged her friend one more time, then walked out of her house with the portfolio under one arm and the tins of cookies nestled in the crook of the other.