Picture This by Jayne Denker

“Oh, Mom !”
    Niall wondered what was going on, but Celia’s father was pinning him with an expectant look, so he answered, “Ray Dubois asked me if I would—”
    â€œ Ray , huh?” The older man’s face remained impassive, but his tone clearly communicated his disapproval. “What’s he got you doing?”
    â€œI’m not at liberty to say much, just yet. Sorry.”
    Alan barked a laugh. “Top secret, eh? Typical Ray. That guy was a pain in the ass in high school forty-five years ago, pain in the ass now. So good friggin’ luck.”
    Niall wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’ll . . . do my best?” There was a bit of silence—uncomfortable silence, as opposed to their uncomfortable conversation—so Niall decided now was the time to say his good-byes. “Well, sir, I’d better get going, find a place to stay.”
    Celia and her mother came back into the room, Wendy Marshall tangled up in some colorful knitting, looking for all the world like she’d been mummified with Doctor Who’s scarf. Celia came up behind her, plucking at her mother’s striped bindings as she tried to figure out how to get her out of it.
    She glanced up from untangling her mother to explain. “Mom’s taken up yarn bombing. She just hasn’t figured out that yarn bombs go on inanimate objects, not herself.”
    â€œIt was a slight mishap,” Wendy said over her shoulder to her daughter. “Just get me out of this in time for me to meet the girls. We’re bombing the cannon outside the town hall tonight.” To Niall, she said, “You should stay here. We’ve got plenty of room. Please. We insist.”
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alan fidget in his chair, and he suspected the older man wouldn’t really join in on the insisting if anyone asked him. Plus, when he looked back at Celia, she was staring at him, wide-eyed, silently pleading with him to turn her mother down. He thought about accepting the invitation just to mess with her head, but he wasn’t any more interested in staying under her parents’ roof than her father was in having him there.
    So instead, he said, “Thanks for the generous offer, but I couldn’t, really. I’d be coming and going at all hours, and it just wouldn’t be fair to you.”
    â€œYou know what place you want to try—” Alan started, but Niall pulled his phone from his pocket.
    â€œNo worries. I’ve got it covered.”
    Niall tapped a few icons to start searching for hotels in the area, but nothing happened. He held it higher, pointed it out the screen toward the yard, but he couldn’t seem to get any reception.
    â€œNo signal here. Mountain blocks the cell tower,” Celia’s father grunted. “And a good thing too. Damned blight on the landscape. Just like those damned wind farms.”
    â€œThe wind farms on the way into town?”
    â€œYeah, we lost that battle. Not gonna happen again with cell towers. Keeping those numbers down for sure.”
    â€œBut don’t you think cell towers are, you know, essential these days?”
    â€œNot in my backyard.”
    â€œDisguised ones? In California, there are a bunch that look like palm trees—”
    â€œAre you tetched in the head, son? There aren’t any palm trees for thousands of miles.”
    â€œWell, no. I mean, they can make them look like all kinds of trees. Church spires, too.”
    â€œWe’ve got enough of those already.”
    Apparently Alan Marshall hated wind farms, cell towers, and church spires. Maybe he just didn’t like tall things. Which would be bad news for Niall, being over six feet and all.
    â€œHow about Casey’s place?” Wendy suggested.
    â€œMom! No!”
    Niall turned to Celia, surprised that she was so adamantly against it, whatever it was. “What are we talking, here? Renting some floor space in the