eighteen LiamMy foot hits Leni’s from under the kitchen table. She looks up to me with a mouth full of mashed potatoes and grins as she taps my foot back.
“Everything is delicious, Mary,” my dad says to Mrs. Turner.
“Yes, just wonderful,” my mom says.
“Thank you. My pleasure.” Mrs. Turner places butter on her roll, a content smile across her face.
“So, Leni, I just love the painting of this farm that you did for Liam. It’s stunning. Would you be willing to do one of our farm? I’d love to hang it over the mantel,” my mom says to Leni.
“Of course. I’d love to. Any excuse to paint,” Leni answers.
“We would pay you, of course. Just let me know how much,” my mom says.
“Oh, no.” Leni waves her hand through the air. “No payment is necessary. It’s good practice, and I love doing it.”
These
