The real estate agent was getting impatient. Ellis lifted her eyebrows at Max to ask what she thought.

Max took her notepad and pencil out of her pocket. I like it, she wrote. Really cool Old Florida style. Roof and barn in pretty good shape.

Ellis nodded.

But needs LOTS of work, Max wrote.

Ellis took the pencil and paper and wrote, I know. But I can barely afford it as is. And I love the acreage that goes with it. Is the house fixable?

Max looked thoughtfully at the house, then wrote, Would be sad if it was torn down. It is beautiful.

Ellis agreed, but she needed more advice than that. She let the question remain in her eyes.

Max looked around at the mossy live oaks and palms, the two huge swamp chestnut oaks rising up from behind the house. She took a few steps toward the porch, her gaze distant, as if she were seeing what the house could become. She wrote, It can be fixed. But will take a long time.

Ellis took the paper and wrote, Any chance you’d want to work on it? I’d pay the going rate.

A sudden brightness appeared in Max’s eyes. She liked the idea.

And after that—maybe help with the native plant nursery I want to open here?

Max’s eyes lit up even brighter. She’d been despondent since Ruth and Anne had decided to sell Southern Roots. The nursery and Ruth and Anne were like her home and family.

Ellis flipped to another page in her notepad. Wild Wood Natives, created by Ellis Abbey and Maxine Kidd.

Max frowned, grabbed the pencil, and drew a big X over the words.

Ellis felt awful. She’d presumed too much.

Max flipped to the next page in the notebook. Don’t let the agent see how eager you are! I hope you haven’t told her these plans?

Ellis shook her head.

Good. Keep quiet. Say I said it’s worth 80K less than they’re asking.

Ellis took the pencil. 80K! It’s already been reduced.

Max shook her head and tapped her finger on her words.

Ellis wrote, If I buy, are you interested?

Max stared at the old house, a little smile on her lips, and that was answer enough.

6

Ellis lightly touched Max’s boot to let her know dinner was ready. Max withdrew from under the sink and eagerly took the sandwich Ellis handed to her. They ate seated cross-legged on the sandy floor planks. When she finished, Max leaned her head toward the sink and nodded to indicate that she was almost done.

“Wow, running water in the kitchen,” Ellis said. “That will be luxurious.”

Max smiled.

Ellis had learned she could lip-read many words, or at least understand the gist of much of what she said. Ellis nodded to the front door, code for quitting time. Max shook her head and held up a finger to say, One more minute. They both still had jobs at Southern Roots but tried to cram as much renovation as possible into their evenings and days off.

Ellis walked to the front porch to watch the sunset through the trees. Max had fixed the porch boards when Ellis took over the house two weeks earlier. Ellis sat in one of two rocking chairs Dani and Brad had given her as a housewarming gift.

Above her, one of the pair of barred owls called, “Whoo-a!” Its mate returned a call from down the hill. Ellis had a feeling they had nested in a sizable hollow in one of the chestnut oaks behind the house, close to the screened porch. Ellis had laid her queen mattress on the floor out there. She liked to listen to the owls, tree frogs, and katydids as she fell asleep.

She wondered where Quercus was. Usually he sat on the porch with her in the evening.

Ellis had adopted Quercus from animal control. She told the woman at the shelter to take her to a big dog that had been there for a long time. As soon as Ellis set eyes on the Newfoundland mix, she knew he was the one. Few people wanted a dog that size, and at age four or more, he’d already lived out half the expected years for a large breed.

Quercus was barking at something up by the road. Maybe the lady with the horse who occasionally trotted by.

Ellis stood when the dog’s barking got closer and more intense. Someone was on her property. The usual panic crushed down on her. It always felt the same. Her chest was tight, and she could swear the scar from the stab wound ached.

She reminded herself that Max was there, and she carried a gun in her truck. Ellis jogged up the hill to see what was going on. When she was halfway to the fence, Quercus quit barking. A few more steps and Ellis saw the dog. He was standing over a man lying on his back on the ground. Quercus appeared to be licking the man’s face.

“Quercus!” Ellis called.

The dog looked at her for a few seconds, wagging his fluffy tail, then returned his attention to the man.

Ellis approached slowly. “This is private property,” she called to the man.

“I could use some help here, Ellis,” the man said. “I’m drowning.”

“Keith?”

“Yes, Keith. Soon to be ex-Keith . . .”

Ellis hurried over. “Quercus, come!” she said, pulling on the dog’s collar.

“Quercus. Good name,” Keith said from beneath the dog. “I feel like there’s an oak tree on my chest.”

Ellis lifted the dog off him, and Keith got to his feet. But as soon as she let go of the dog’s collar, Quercus nearly knocked him over again.

“No! No!” Ellis said.

“Quercus, sit!” Keith said in a firm voice.