The Chicken Sisters(108)

How she liked to work. Amanda looked from one face to another, all smiling at her. Andy, too. She felt a huge rush of joy. Her work. And to have them set up a place for her to do it—she could have hugged them all. Instead, she turned to the blank sign in what she hoped was a professional way, although she knew she was beaming. “What do you want on it? ‘Mimi’s’?” They had never talked about that. How would Nancy feel, if the Frannie’s name got washed away? She wasn’t even sure how she felt. Amanda knew what it was like, being the youngest. Frannie should get her due. She hesitated over the Sharpies, looking at Mae, who grinned.

“Of course not,” she said. “New start, new name.” She pointed to the sign. “Introducing ‘The Chicken Sisters.’”

Amanda swung around to face her sister. “Mae—that’s perfect.”

And Mae knew it, too. “The Chicken Sisters, established 1886. Because Mimi’s started it, and Frannie’s kept it going.” She was beaming. “We worked it all out. While you were snoring.”

Amanda ignored that. The Chicken Sisters. She loved it, and she grabbed hold of Mae’s hand and squeezed. Mae squeezed back, hard. “I know, I know,” she said. “But business! Can you do it?”

Of course she could do it. She pulled her hand away, still smiling. Fine. Hugs later, if that was the way Mae wanted it. She picked up the pad. The lettering was easy, but what were they—Chicken Frannie and Chicken Mimi—what were they doing? High fiving? That would be hard at this level of detail. Wings around each other, maybe. She sat down on the ground, staring down at the blank page, and looked up to find them all watching her. She waved them away. “You can’t stand here,” she said. “I have to think about it. Go.”

Mae and Kenneth did, but Andy lingered, and when she looked up he had his back to her, contemplating the blank sign. “I was hoping to see you draw it,” he said. “I’ve always wished I could draw.”

“Everybody says that,” said Amanda. It was easier to talk to him while looking down at her pencil, and so she sketched in a beak pointing jubilantly into the air. “You probably could. Even with some talent, you still have to learn. I think anybody could learn at least enough to draw a little.”

Andy, too, seemed to find it easier to talk while looking at something else. Either that or he was really interested in the way paint covered wood grain. “Maybe you could teach me.”

“Oh,” said Amanda quickly, “I’m crap at—” Just in time, she looked up and saw that Andy was fidgeting nervously, tapping his fingers against his leg, and caught herself. That was not the right answer. Because that was not really the question. “I mean, maybe,” she said. “Or we could sit together and you could just try. For fun. Sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Andy said, then: “Amanda, I’m sorry about the recipe thing. I should have known you wouldn’t do that. But I haven’t always been a very good judge of people. I’m sorry.”

Amanda put down her pencil and met his eyes. He didn’t look confident or cocky at all, just like someone who really was sorry. Who wanted another chance. “Yeah,” she said. “I get that. Let’s just start over, okay? Plus, if that hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t all be here. So I can’t exactly be mad.”

“I’m just a tool of fate,” he said. “But I wish it hadn’t complicated things.”

Amanda shrugged. She wasn’t ready to do this now, wasn’t sure if she wanted there to be anything to complicate. She had a fresh surface, good tools, chickens to draw, and she wanted to focus on that. “It’s okay,” she said. Then, as nicely as she could, “I’m going to concentrate on this now, if that’s okay.”

He hung there, shifting his weight from side to side, until she stopped, put down her pencil, and held out her hand to him. “Everything’s always complicated,” she offered, and he took her hand, and it was the same feeling as when he had touched the back of her neck, running all the way through her. She didn’t know that she wanted that feeling, but it was there. He squeezed a little, then let go, and with a little boost of confidence, she waved him away. “Go on,” she said. “I’m working.”



* * *



×


A few short hours later, they were all gathered outside the front door of the Inn—Amanda, Andy, Mae and Jay, Gus and Frankie, Nancy, Barbara, even Aida. Jessa had Madison by one hand and Ryder on her hip, Madison wildly blowing kisses at them all. Kenneth ushered them grandly in, while Patrick stood just inside, soundlessly clapping. They all faced each other for a minute with a sense of suppressed laughter.

“Shhh,” Mae said, as Andy let out what could best be called a giggle.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t help it.”

“Come on,” said Mae. “Before she sees we’re all together.”

Mae turned and grabbed Amanda’s hand, letting Jay fade to the back, and the two of them, with Nancy and Barbara close behind, strode right into the dining room. Mae’s feet were loud on the Inn’s old wooden floors, and Amanda looked down and saw that she was wearing a pair of gorgeously embroidered cowboy boots.

Sabrina leapt up when they came in and rushed toward them—they were late; she must have been waiting—then stopped short, staring at them. Then, just as Mae had hoped, Sabrina gestured to a camera, which swung toward them.