Winnie laughed, and her face looked bright. “Why not? Did you think I was going to use it again? Now, if it’s the matter that you don’t really like it...of course we’ll alter it. I don’t care what you do to it, but if it can work for you in any incarnation, it’s yours. Before you decide, look at it. I’ll have it sent.” She looked around. “This is a nice little house, Grace,” she said.

“We have the downstairs,” Grace said. “It’s large enough for me, Troy and a baby. And the top floor—two bedrooms and a small bath—perfect for Mikhail.”

“Excellent,” he said. “I might stay day or two.”

“Maybe we should get the luggage inside and then toast the new house,” Troy suggested.

“Excellent,” Mikhail said.

“Troy, darling,” Winnie said. “Before you do all that, is there a chair on that deck out there that could accommodate me? If it’s warm enough, of course. Could you take me out there first?”

“Of course,” he said. “Gracie, can you pull the cover off that chaise?”

“Absolutely,” she said. Then she added, “Troy, darling.”

Troy scooped Winnie up in his arms and carried her to the deck, gently placing her on the chaise.

“My daughter was definitely thinking of me when she let herself love you,” Winnie said. “I think I’ll be very happy while you’re around.”

Troy winked at Grace.

Flirt! Grace mouthed back.

“And my phone,” Winnie demanded. “Who has my phone?”

Mikhail took it out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Virginia still works for me, doesn’t she? Because I have things for her to do.”

“You know she still works for you, Mama.”

The luggage was brought in, unpacking was accomplished, drinks and tapas were served. The sun was beginning to set, making the beach and the deck bright. Troy put out the awning to provide a little shade. Winnie tried the soup Grace had on hand but though she claimed it was delicious, her trembling made it a messy dish. Grace made her a new plate—very small portions of roasted chicken, scalloped potatoes, steamed asparagus—just a few bites of each. The others loaded up their plates and enjoyed chocolate cheesecake from Carrie’s deli. Troy, Grace and Mikhail carried their plates to the table outside while Winnie balanced a tray on her lap and enjoyed the sound of the waves and the sinking of the sun. Troy showed her the corner where an outdoor hearth would be built and described the activity on the beach in the summer and fall. He explained all the neighbors and his job three doors down at Cooper’s beach bar.

“I’ve asked Virginia to send my dress,” Winnie said. “You can do anything you want to it—it’s yours. Rip it up or store it away and forget about it, I don’t care. And I asked Virginia to make arrangements to reserve that condo in Bandon for your family. It’s the least I can do—I’ve contributed nothing to my only daughter’s wedding. Shall I send a jet for them?”

“Oh, Jesus, no!” Troy said in a panic. Then more calmly he took Winnie’s hand in both of his and said, “Winnie, best not to flash too much around here. People won’t know how to act. My family in particular—they aren’t used to a lot of material wealth. It might make them nervous. It might make them not themselves.”

“Is the condo all right?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

“It’s not necessary,” he said. “Thank you. But we have room for them in town. My parents and brother will be fine in Grace’s loft and my sister and her family will be very comfortable in my apartment. They’ll be close to the beach and this house. But I promise I won’t let them overrun you or tire you out.”

“I’m such a burden,” Winnie said. “I hate being a burden!”

“You’re no trouble at all, Winnie. I don’t want you to worry. It’s a real pleasure having you here. We’re living in your house, after all.”

Winnie turned her eyes to Grace. She smiled. “I think you did all right for yourself here, Grace. This boy is just what we need.”

It was still early when Winnie was settled in bed. Since there was no staff or nursing help, she had her cell phone handy and could call Grace’s cell phone if she needed water, or to get up to use the facilities, anything that required assistance. Winnie thanked Troy a hundred times. And Mikhail retired to a room that boasted a very fine flat-screen with a satellite connection and access to all sorts of entertainment.

The house fell quiet before nine and Grace crawled into bed, content that she’d done a good job. She placed her cell phone beside the bed so she could hear if her mother called. Then her fiancé crawled in beside her. Naked.

“Winnie thinks you’re a nice boy,” Grace said, laughter in her voice.

He pulled her close. “That’s good. Let her think that. That will make life easier on you than if she knows the truth.”

“That you’re just a dirty bad boy?”

“Excellent,” he said, affecting a Russian accent. “We toast that!”

* * *

Matt’s curiosity was piqued. He’d never heard the name Mick Cantrell, but that didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t into music to that degree. Now, if you asked him the name of the head of the Arizona State University Research Farm, he had that. Or even the name of the PhD in Australia studying and publishing on biological farming. And of course he probably knew every Oregon botany PhD publishing in the state. And he was up to speed on environmental policy, growing sustainable food in the US and many other subjects.

He was not up-to-date on rock stars.

He researched Mick Cantrell and found a website and many hits on Google. It appeared he was a minor star. He had a lot of pictures posted on his website and Facebook page, a few showing him on stage with a huge audience, but on his events schedule there weren’t too many listings. His bio made him sound like Bruce Springsteen—he played to thousands, had several CDs, wrote songs for major stars... Matt had heard of the stars but not the songs. But what had Ginger said? He did sell some songs but they never made the charts.

It appeared his gigs were mostly around the Pacific Northwest and he happened to be playing in a Portland nightclub in a week. On a Saturday night.

“What are you up to this weekend?” Matt asked Ginger during one of their phone conversations.