learn about other jobs. Fishing boats, barista like Gretel, police officer like Maya.”
“Doctor like Bethany?”
“Absolutely. Or a lawyer like me.”
S.G. shrugged and wrinkled her nose, making Kate laugh.
“I saw that face. I’ll remember that if you ever need a lawyer.”
She rose to her feet and took a deep breath of the pure air, which was saturated with the rich scent of spring soil and a tinge of isopropyl alcohol.
“Hey, kid, since you’re already skipping school, would you like another job for the day?”
“What job?”
“I could use a hand moving my stuff into my new house.”
S.G. frowned in confusion. “You don’t have hands?”
“It’s a phrase. It means to help someone.”
Since S.G. had been raised in the wilderness, her vocabulary and understanding of the world could be very sketchy. She knew everything about hunting and nothing about math, for instance. The trapper, who’d turned out to be a criminal on the run, hadn’t bothered to give her an education, so now she was making up for lost time. She was being fostered by Denaina, who owned the property next door, which was how Emma first came to know her.
Kate had clicked with S.G. right away; she’d always connected to teenagers and their troubles. She’d even spent some time helping her with her schoolwork. S.G. was learning fast, but every once in a while a gap in her education would surface—and it could be something completely unexpected. Like the phrase “give me a hand.”
“You want my help moving? Why are you moving?”
“So Emma and I don’t kill each other before the peony harvest. That’s a bad joke, by the way.” S.G. didn’t always get sarcasm. “I’ll pay you the same as you’re getting here and I’ll even throw in lunch.”
“Okay.” S.G. shrugged and stood up, wiping her hands on her overalls. “Cheeseburgers?”
“Cheeseburgers. Sure.”
“Do you want to go now?”
“I still have some packing to do. I should be ready by lunchtime. Thanks, kid.”
On her way back to the farmhouse, she stopped to admire Emma’s newest plot. She’d planted it three autumns ago, and this would be its first year to produce sellable blooms. Even though Kate had seen photos of their enormous brilliant pink blossoms, she couldn’t wait to see one—and smell their intoxicating rose-like fragrance—for herself.
With a laugh at her own excitement—what self-respecting cynical lawyer would get so carried away over a Mon Jules Elie—she hurried back to the farmhouse.
Chapter Seven
Emma had thrown open the door to the barnlike structure next to the house. It was more of a warehouse than a barn, since she didn’t keep farm animals.
“I got all the furniture you could ever want in here,” she called to Kate. “Things I’ve been collecting here and there. You can take what you need.”
“Seriously?” Kate joined her and gazed into the crammed space. “That’s amazing. You could probably furnish ten houses with all that. Is there a brand-new mattress in there, by chance?”
“Couple of them.”
That was just one of the reasons Kate loved her grandmother. She knew how to offer the right kind of support at the exact moment it was needed.
Kate slung an arm over her grandmother’s shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. “You’re the best, Emma.” She dropped a kiss on her gray-streaked black hair. “Where would I be without you?”
“Women’s Correctional Institute?”
“Very likely. I’ll go through this stuff later. I’m going to keep it simple for this first trip. Boxes and suitcases.”
After she’d loaded Emma’s pickup, she called out to S.G.. The girl came dashing up the slope from the peony field, shooing away geese as she ran. Kate tried to imagine another teenage girl who would work nonstop from morning to lunch without a single break or complaint, and failed. One more bit of proof that S.G. was no ordinary girl.
“Can I try driving?” she asked as soon as she’d hopped in the passenger seat.
Okay, maybe she had some normal teenage tendencies.
“Some other time. My load’s a little too precarious.”
As she pulled out of the turnaround, she sent nervous glances in the rearview mirror toward the pile of boxes in the bed of the truck. She’d run a strap over the load, but something told her she hadn’t done it right. The boxes were already shifting around and they hadn’t even hit the muddy part yet.
“Should have let me do it,” said S.G. matter-of-factly. “I’m good with loads.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Kate murmured. “You’re a true Alaska chick.”
“I’m a chicken?”
“It means girl. Sorry. Actually, forget I said that. You don’t need to know all the