He was finishing the third brake pad when he heard Elizabeth pull up, rolling to a stop next to the old truck. He glanced over his shoulder just as she got out, realizing she'd been gone for hours.
"How's it going?" she asked.
"Just about done."
"Really?" She sounded amazed.
"It's just brake pads. It's not a big deal."
"I'm sure that's the same thing a surgeon would say. It's just an appendix."
"You want to learn?" Thibault asked, staring up at her figure silhouetted against the sky.
"How long does it take?"
"Not long." He shrugged. "Ten minutes?"
"Really?" she repeated. "Okay. Just let me get the groceries inside."
"Need help?"
"No, it's just a couple of bags."
He slipped the third wheel back on and finished tightening the lug nuts before moving to the final wheel. He loosened the nuts just as Elizabeth reached his side. When she squatted beside him, he could smell a hint of the coconut lotion she'd applied earlier that morning.
"First, you take the wheel off…he began, and methodically walked her through the process, making sure she understood each step. When he lowered the jack and started to collect the tools, she shook her head.
"That seemed almost too easy. I think even I could do it."
"Probably."
"Then why do they charge so much?"
"I don't know."
"I'm in the wrong line of work," she said, rising and gathering her hair into a loose ponytail. "But thank you for taking care of it. I've wanted those fixed for a while now."
"No problem."
"Are you hungry? I picked up some fresh turkey for sandwiches. And some pickles."
"That sounds delicious," he said.
They had lunch on the back porch, overlooking the garden. Elizabeth still seemed distracted, but they chatted a little about what it was like to grow up in a small southern town, where everyone knew everything about everybody else. Some of the stories were amusing, but Thibault admitted that he preferred a more anonymous existence. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked.
Afterward, Thibault went back to work while Elizabeth spent the afternoon cleaning the house. Unlike her grandfather, Thibault was able to pry open the office window that had been painted shut, though it turned out to be more difficult than fixing the brakes. Nor was it easy to open or close afterward, no matter how much sanding he did to smooth it. Then, he painted the trim.
After that, it was a normal workday. By the time he finished up his duties at the kennel, it was coming up on five, and though he could have easily left for the day, he didn't. Instead, he began work on the files again, wanting to get a head start on what he knew would be a long day tomorrow. He settled in for the next couple of hours, making what he thought was headway-who could tell, though?-and didn't hear Elizabeth approach. Instead, he noticed Zeus get to his feet and start toward the door.
"I'm surprised you're still here," she said from the doorway. "I saw the light on and thought you'd forgotten to turn it off."
"I wouldn't forget."
She pointed to the stacks of files on the desk. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you're doing that. Nana tried to talk me into organizing the files this summer, but I was extremely adept at put' ting her off."
"Lucky me," he drawled.
"No, lucky me. I almost feel guilty about it."
"I'd almost believe you, except for that smirk. Have you heard from Ben or Nana?"
"Both," she said. "Nana's great, Ben is miserable. Not that he said as much. I could hear it in his voice."
"I'm sorry," he said, meaning it.
She offered a tense shrug before reaching for the door handle. She rotated it in both directions, seemingly interested in the mechanism. Finally, she let out a sigh. "Do you want to help me make some ice cream?"
"Excuse me?" He set down the file he'd been labeling.
"I love homemade ice cream. There's nothing better when it's hot, but it's no fun to make if you can't share it with someone."
"I don't know if I've ever had homemade ice cream…"
"Then you don't know what you're missing. You in?"
Her childlike enthusiasm was contagious. "Yeah, okay," he agreed. "That sounds fun."
"Let me run to the store and get what we need. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Wouldn't it be easier just to buy some ice cream?"
Her eyes shone with delight. "But it's not the same. You'll see. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"
She was as good as her word. Thibault just had time to straighten up the desk and check on the dogs one last time before he heard her coming up the drive on her way back from the store. He met her as she was getting out of the car.
"Would you mind bringing in the bag of crushed ice?" she asked. "It's in the backseat."
He followed her into the kitchen with the bag of ice, and she motioned to the freezer as she set a quart of half-and-half on the counter.
"Can you get the ice-cream maker? It's in the pantry. Top shelf on the left."
Thibault emerged from the pantry with a crank-handled icecream maker that looked to be at least fifty years old. "Is this the one?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"Does it still work?" he wondered aloud.
"Perfectly. Amazing, isn't it? Nana got that as a gift for her wedding, but we still use it all the time. It makes delicious ice cream."
He brought it over to the counter and stood beside her. "What can I do?"
"If you agree to crank, I'll do the mixing."
"Fair enough," he said.
She dug out an electric mixer and a bowl, along with a measuring cup. From the spice cabinet, she chose sugar, flour, and vanilla extract. She added three cups of sugar and a cup of flour to the bowl and mixed it by hand, then put the bowl on the mixer. Next, she beat in three eggs, all the half-and-half, and three teaspoons of vanilla extract before turning on the mixer. Finally, she splashed in a bit of milk and poured the entire mixture into the cream can, put the can in the ice-cream maker, and surrounded it with crushed ice and rock salt.
"We're ready," she announced, handing it to him. She picked up the rest of the ice and the rock salt. "To the porch we go. You have to make it on the porch, or it isn't the same."
"Ah,"h e said.
She took a seat beside him on the porch steps, sitting fraction' ally closer than she had the day before. Wedging the can between his feet, Thibault began to rotate the crank, surprised at how easily it turned.
"Thanks for doing this," she said. "I really need the ice cream. It's been one of those days."
"Yeah?"
She turned toward him, a sly smile playing on her lips. "You're very good at that."
"What?"
"Saying, 'Yeah?' when someone makes a comment. It's just enough to make someone keep talking without being too personal or prying."
"Yeah?"
She giggled. "Yeah," she mimicked. "But most people would have said something like, 'What happened?' Or, 'Why?'"
"All right. What happened? Why was it one of those days?"
She gave a disgusted snort. "Oh, it's just that Ben was really grumpy this morning while he was packing, and I ended up snap-ping at him to hurry up because he was taking so long. His dad usually doesn't like it when he's late, but today? Well, today, it was as if he'd forgotten that Ben was even coming. I must have knocked on the door for a couple of minutes before he eventually opened it, and I could tell he'd just gotten out of bed. Had I known he was sleeping in, I wouldn't have been so hard on Ben, and I still feel guilty about it. And, of course, as I'm pulling away, see Ben already hauling out the garbage because dear old Dad was too lazy to do it. And then, of course, I spent the whole day cleaning, which wasn't so bad the first couple of hours. But by the end, I really needed ice cream."