"Right," he said turning back.
I smiled to myself and considered the yellow dress again. It had a square collar with frilled sleeves and a gently billowing skirt. I imagined it might look nice on me. I did want to look nice for Adam, I thought.
"Finished," Cary declared.
I put the dress back and went to the desk. He had one mistake, but even I might have made it, I thought. "Not too bad," I said.
"I hope I can do it tomorrow."
"You will. Just remember the tricks," I told him.
"Thanks," he said standing. "I owe you one." He thought a moment. "Maybe I'll do what Grandpa suggested this weekend."
"What's that?"
"Take you sailing. Would you like that?"
I thought about Adam. What if he invited me to go motorboating again?
My hesitation jarred him. "Don't if you have better things to do." He turned for the door.
"No, it's just that I've never really gone sailing."
He looked back at me. "Whatever. If you want to, we'll do it."
"We'll go over the material again on the way to school," I told him.
He rolled his eyes. "Can't wait," he said and left.
A little while later I heard him go up to his attic hideaway. I didn't know for certain, of course, but I was willing to bet that he spent more time up there alone since Laura's death than he had when she was alive.
We all retreat to different attics when we're unhappy, I thought. I was still looking for mine.
Uncle Jacob had eaten his breakfast and left by the time May, Cary, and I went downstairs the next morning. I decided to wear Laura's yellow dress, and when Cary saw me in the hallway, he said I looked very nice.
"It's not going to rain, is it?" I asked him.
"No. It's going to be a nice day and a pretty nice night," he told me. I breathed relief and felt a tingle of the excitement of anticipation.
Downstairs, Aunt Sara was frenzied. Grandma Olivia had called last night and told her the dinner would be tomorrow night. Apparently, from the way she spoke, I understood that dinner at my
grandparents' house wasn't merely dinner, it was an elaborate affair. There would be someone else there, some highly respected member of the community. We would all have to be on our very best behavior, be well dressed, and be more polite than the Queen of England.
"Don't forget Grandpa wants to hear Melody play her fiddle," Cary teased. Aunt Sara gasped and gazed at me with abject terror in her eyes.
"Oh, I don't think he meant this particular dinner," she said in a voice just above a whisper.
"Sure he did," Cary continued, deliberately raising his own voice. "We all heard him, Ma."
Aunt Sara shook her head. "But Olivia didn't . ."
"It's all right. I don't want to bring my fiddle anyway," I said.
"Grandpa's going to be disappointed," Cary warned. "He might just send you back for it. Why don't you bring it along and leave it in the car, just in case," he pursued.
Aunt Sara shook her head again, this time more emphatically. "Jacob might be upset. I don't know if-"
"I'm not bringing it along, Aunt Sara. Stop worrying," I declared firmly. I gazed at Cary, whose green eyes sparkled with mischief.