Page 91 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

“There’s glass everywhere!” Harry called out. “Give us a minute.” She gave Daphne a loaded look and mouthed, “Hurry!”

Daphne nodded, her hands trembling as she stuffed the pots and pans back onto the lazy Susan in the corner cabinet, metal clanging, lids flying, pot handles jamming themselves into every corner and crevice. After kicking the corner door closed, Daphne watched it bounce back open a couple of inches. She shoved it again, to no avail.

“Leave it,” Harry said. “Get that thing out of here. I can’t hold them much longer.”

“Harry? Is Daphne in there with you?” Calvin’s voice called out through the door.

Panic shot down Daphne’s spine.

“We’re cleaning up the glass that broke,” Harry said, and thrust her pointed finger at the side door. “Give us a minute. It’s like a crime scene in here.”

“Let me in,” Calvin said, and he didn’t sound like nice, kind Calvin Flint. He sounded like the Fernley County Sheriff. “Daphne? What’s going on?”

“Just trying to keep everyone safe!” Daphne said as she hurried to the side door, and Harry swept her cane through the broken glass so Calvin would hear the tinkling of the shards against each other.

Her arms were already aching with the weight of the pot, but Daphne was in too deep to turn around now. Calvin would open the door and see the pot. He’d know she’d lied to him.

After putting the pot on the edge of the counter, Daphne opened the door and held it with her hip, then grabbed the pot again and stepped outside. Through the window cut into the top half of the door, she exchanged a deep nod with Harry, then shuffled out of sight as quickly as she could.

She stood in a narrow walkway between the fence and the side of the house. The A-frame roof went all the way to the ground, cedar shingles releasing a pleasant scent in the space. Concrete pavers lined the walkway, with moss and weeds growing between them. Creeping flowers had begun to bud in spots between the moss, waiting for their moment to bloom. The side fence was warm timber, about six feet tall, with half-inch gaps between the vertical slats. To Daphne’s left was the side gate that led to the front yard, held closed by a hook latch. Near the other end of the walkway, leading to the backyard, a few terra-cotta pots sat gathering rainwater, accompanied by a rusty rake.

“Over here!” Ellie hissed.

Whirling in the direction of the voice, Daphne spotted her sister’s eyeball through a gap in the fence. Ellie lifted her arm and wiggled her fingers over the top.

“Toss it over,” Grandma Mabel directed. “We’re ready.”

Daphne glanced at the side gate, then back at the kitchen. She could hear Calvin’s deep voice, and there was no time to wrestle with the gate. She had to get rid of this thing. “Either catch this or stand clear,” she said, and lifted the pot lid over the fence. “It’s heavy.”

“Got it,” Ellie said, and the pot lid’s weight disappeared from Daphne’s hands.

“This is it! I remember this scratch. Oh, it’sgorgeous,” Grandma Mabel murmured, which was patently untrue. It was rough and old and probably worthless to anyone other than Grandma Mabel.

“This thing weighs a ton,” Daphne said, hauling the pot up to her shoulder before resting it on top of the fence. “Be careful.”

Grandma Mabel let out an excited squeal as Ellie’s hands wrapped around the pot’s handles. Daphne watched it disappear over the fence, then hurried back to the kitchen door.

“She’sfine,” she could hear Harry saying. “She just went out to toss the first bag of broken glass. Now, shoo! Get out of here before you cut yourself. We’ve got this under control.”

Daphne peeked around the edge of the window to see Harry closing the door on Calvin’s face. Nearly there. All she had to do was go back inside, clean up the mess they’d made, and pretend nothing had happened. Easy-peasy. She was almost home free.

A bright flame of excitement finally flared in the pit of Daphne’s stomach. She wanted to cackle and pump her fists. She’d done it!

“Daphne!” Grandma Mabel whispered, her fingers poking through between the fence slats.

“I’m here,” Daphne said, crossing the small space to stand in front of her grandmother.

“Thank you, honey. I never thought I’d get my mother’s pot back. Never thought I’d touch it again. I’m so proud of you, and I love you more than words can say.”

Eyes stinging, Daphne shoved her own fingers through the fence and gripped her grandmother’s hand. “I love you too, Grandma.”

“No one could have done this except for you,” she responded, emotion thick in her voice.

“I’m just glad you’ve got your pot back,” Daphne whispered. She peeked between the wooden slats to see the tears in her grandmother’s eyes.

It was only a half truth, because retrieving the pot wasn’t the only thing that made Daphne glad. Dizzy elation bubbled through Daphne as her grandmother’s eyes misted on the other side of the fence. Grandma Mabel had never looked at her like that before.

For the first time, Daphne was a true Davis. She was just like Ellie, her mother, and her grandmother. She belonged.

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