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Annie felt a part of her die inside, but was careful not to let on how she felt. It was wearing, these hopeful parents who wanted you to tell them their kid was the next Charles Schulz or Ian Falconer, when in reality their work would never be displayed anywhere but on the fridge.

“Sure.”

“Or, if it wasn’t too much trouble, you could show her where you do your work.”

“I’m not set up here for that,” Annie said.

“Oh. Mr. Sproule wanted the studio all readied, so I assumed—”

“His expectations may be a little high.”

Charlie, who’d been holding back behind his mother, stepped out and asked, “What’s in the building in the backyard?”

Candace hadn’t taken much notice of him until now. “Who’s this young man?”

“This is Charlie. My son.”

“There’s a big lock on the door and I can’t get in,” he said. “I need it for an office.”

Candace laughed. “I hope it’s not a real estate office. I don’t want any competition.”

Charlie, thinking that adults said some of the dumbest things, did not have an answer for that. Candace said, “It’s probably just a shed with garden tools and a lawn mower, but you don’t have to worry about that because there’s a landscaping service that comes around every week.”

“Do you have the key?” Charlie asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Candace said. She turned her attention back to Annie. “So, if and when you set up your workspace, maybe I could come by with—”

“Uh-oh,” Annie said, touching the front pocket of her jeans, as though a muted phone had started vibrating on her upper thigh. She pulled out her cell, glanced at the blank screen, and said with feigned sincerity, “I’m so sorry, I really have to take this.” She pretended to swipe the screen, put the phone to her ear, and said, “Hey, hi. With you in a second.”

She flashed Candace an apologetic smile. “Thanks so much for everything,” she whispered. “I’ll call if I need anything.”

Candace waggled her fingers and headed for her Lincoln as Annie and Charlie walked back into the house. Once inside, with the door closed, Annie lowered the phone.

Charlie said, “You didn’t get a call.”

She put a finger to her lips. “That’ll be our secret.”

He went to the window next to the front door to watch the Lincoln drive back down to the road. “Somebody else is coming,” he said.

Annie took a look for herself.

An old man was glancing in both directions as he ventured across the road. He was coming from the house where the woman had rebuffed Annie the day before. Late seventies, maybe early eighties. Tall, thin, a few wisps of perfectly combed silver hair. Glasses. He was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans that, even from this distance, appeared to have a crease in them. He gave a nod to Candace as she reached the end of the driveway and took off.

In one hand, the necks held between his fingers, were two bottles of beer. In the other, one beer.

Annie went back out onto the porch, descended the three steps, and stood near her car as the man closed the distance between them.

“Good day,” he said, raising the bottles in his right hand. “Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time. I brought three. Wasn’t sure whether it was you and your husband or just you.”

“Me and my boy,” Annie said, and realized that Charlie was on the porch. “That’s Charlie.”

The man nodded. “Good to meet you, Charlie.” He grimaced and waved the bottles in the air. “I’d’ve brought a Mountain Dew or somethin’ had I known. Don’t think your mom’s gonna let you have one of these.” Then he eyed Annie. “And for all I know, you don’t care for beer. I’m always assuming, and we all know whatassumemeans. I’d say it if young Charlie wasn’t standing there.”

Annie smiled. “I’m Annie Blunt.”

She took the one beer from him and then extended a hand. She felt the cold droplets of beer sweat on his palm.

“I’m Daniel. Daniel Patten. And the beers here is a peace offering.”