“ALL I’M SAYING, Tuesday, is that you’ve built a brand with your framing shop. Why switch to a gallery? Art makes way less money than service providers, which you are now.” GJ, bless his heart, just didn’t seem capable of seeing this in any other way.

“Because this is more than about my bottom line financially. I can make a profit on art, too, you know. I’ll still be framing. I already do most of the stuff I’ll be doing when I call it Easton Galleries.”

Things got very still for a moment. Her father nodded.

GJ groaned. “That’s even worse. What if people think you’re an entirely different business and you have to start over?”

“It’s more than a change in business name, GJ.” GJ’s wife, Alana, sent him a warning look.

“You’re too old to be flitting around with this art stuff.”

“Do you know I sold not just one piece priced at over a thousand dollars this last month, but three? Two boutique clothing stores are carrying my stuff. I sold more in a few hours today in Portland than I could have all season long in Hood River. I don’t need to make a million dollars. I need to finally admit what I do is art. And I am.”

Suddenly Ezra was there, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “We talking about how gorgeous your jewelry is and how fantastic it is that you’re starting your gallery?” He sent her brother an easy smile but he was backing her up. But after the day she’d had, it brought tears to the back of her throat.

“I was just cautioning her to keep her eye on what’s stable and to stop getting sidetracked by pipe dreams.”

“When did you get so jaded, GJ?” Natalie asked.

“It’s not jaded to want my sister comfortable. She doesn’t have a head for business. It’s why she went to Evergreen instead of the UW. You go to a place with no letter grades and you can’t tell me anyone will take that seriously.”

“Yes, do let’s talk about that because someone might be confused and think you hold my degree with any measure of respect.”

GJ lifted one shoulder. “You make your own choices, Tuesday. You can’t get mad when people make commonly held judgments about you because of them.”

Tuesday rolled her eyes. “You know, I’m thirty-four years old. I have my own business. I can pay my debts. I don’t need to give one tiny little fart in the wind what you or some dude down at the shoe store thinks about where I went to college. Get over it, GJ. I run a business. I do so have a head for it.”

“Tuesday, did you tell Ezra about our little band?” her mother interrupted, and it took every bit of her willpower not to run for the door.

“I did. I also let him know you’d understand that he’d be really tired.”

“And then I said, I’d love to jam with you. She said you were really into Alabama Shakes.”

* * *

WHICH IS HOW they ended up heading out to the garage. On the way they hit the picture hall. The walls lining the path from the house out to the garage was full of pictures. Wedding pictures of Diana and Greg along with newer shots from GJ’s, April’s and Shawn’s weddings.

Grade-school pictures of all six kids and seven grandkids.

Ezra paused at one of her and April sitting on the Easter Bunny’s lap, but April had been stone-cold freaked by the costume and her face was contorted into a howl of terror.

“My favorite picture of April,” Tuesday joked to Ezra. She pointed to one of her mother twenty-five years prior. “This is her first shop-steward training here and these three next to it are times she’s won Shop Steward of the Year for her union. Those are of my dad and his brother. They lived in Amsterdam for a year back in the day.”

Ezra peered at the shot of her dad and uncle. “Your uncle’s hair is like four feet wide.”

“I know! He’s bald now so when they come to visit my dad takes this one down so he won’t feel bad.”

They passed through her dad’s domain, where he could watch television as loud as he liked and no one cared, to where the instruments were kept.

Ezra spoke as they all stopped. “I don’t have my guitar with me. Tuesday forgot to mention this until we’d already got halfway here.”

Shawn shoved a guitar at Ezra. “You can use mine.” He sent Tuesday a look that said he knew exactly what he was doing. Ugh, brothers.

“Tuesday, get moving.” Her mother pointed at the drums. “Since Paddy is also here I’ll let him play guitar so I can focus on vocals.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Paddy handed Diana one of her seemingly endless collection of shakers and other things that made noise. “I’ll trade you.”

“Perfect.” Di smiled Nat’s way. “Their mother did a good job teaching them manners.”

Nat nodded. “She did. There are two more—they’re equally polite.”

Tuesday got behind the drums and sat on a stool she’d had since she was fourteen or so and gave a few practice runs. That’s when she looked up to find Ezra watching her.

Even in her parents’ garage, jamming to make her mom happy, he was a rock star. It was like something happened to him when he slung a guitar on.

Paddy winked her way, grinning and already having a good time.

Di got herself behind her mic. “Let’s hope the neighbors don’t call the cops.” She nearly giggled and Tuesday was so glad Ezra was there.

“It’s not rock and roll if they don’t,” Ezra said seriously and then grinned at Di, who liked that attention a whole lot.