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tails—and the less fancy brown ones, who were the girls, of course. Lou and I stared. I had never seen so many peacocks in my life.
    â€œHow many are there?” I asked.
    Miguel shrugged. “Nobody really knows. Eighty? A hundred? It’s not like they’ll line up so anyone can count ’em.”
    Gradually I got that animal feeling that there were eyes watching us, too. At a short distance from the truck, waiting in the turquoise-painted doorway of a low, dirt-colored building, stood a tall, white-haired figure in an emerald-green dress. She was holding something in her arms, I couldn’t see what.
    I felt glued to my seat. At that moment I never wanted to leave this truck, ever.
    Miguel took off his sunglasses so I could see his eyes. “Come on, Ella,” he said gently. “Come say hi to your grandmother. She’s excited to have you here for a visit.” He looked back toward the lady and gave her a reassuring wave. “But,” he added in a low voice, “you might not be able to tell that right at first.”
    I swallowed and hopped out, and got ready to meet Mrs. Violet Von Stern.

THREE

    MY G ran D m OTH er STOOD V er Y ST ra IGHT. SH e W as T a LL er than I had imagined, with jewels around her ears and neck so bright, she glittered. Her eyes were as blue as the necks of the peacocks, her mouth a lipsticked red. She had the air of a queen. She was smiling, sort of, as she watched me approach.
    She looked exactly like my dad—if Dad were an old lady with white hair and an emerald-colored dress. It was eerie. She was more Dad than dragon.
    â€œHello, Ella,” she said from the doorway.
    She didn’t seem to want to move, and I wasn’t sure what the procedure was here. Was I supposed to go hug her? Shake her hand? Curtsy?
    â€œWell! You’re dressed for ranch work, I see,” she said.
    My heart started to pound. Over blue jeans I had on my Bernie’s Burgers and Dogs T-shirt. Mom had brought it back from Chicago when she was there for an optometry conference, and I had worn it for good luck. Suddenly it seemed clear that Ishould have been in an outfit suitable for a concert, or promotion. At the very least, a nice shirt.
    â€œMy other clothes are all packed,” I stammered. “Sorry.”
No one told me there was a dress code! Don’t tell me I’m going to have to wear skirts all summer.
“I’m glad to see you—uh—Grandmother.”
    I felt like I was speaking a part in some out-of-date play. Who in the world calls their grandmother “Grandmother”? But “Grandma” didn’t seem to fit. Dad had suggested “Grandmother” to me on the phone, and judging from her nod, he got that right.
    â€œYou like to wear your hair cropped like that, do you?” she added, with a skeptical look at the hatchet job on top of my head. “Is that the fashion in Santa Rosa?”
    I shrug-nodded. In the cancer wards, it was. But I wasn’t about to go into an explanation of all that now.
    As I got closer, the object in my grandmother’s arms started yapping. It was a high, grating sound, and I almost jumped out of my flip-flops. I had no idea the furry thing in her arms was
alive
.
    â€œOh, don’t be ridiculous, Hildy,” she said, scratching what I could now see was the head of a tiny animal. “There’s no need to be jealous. This is Brunhilda. Named for the German warrior. Where’s yours?”
    â€œMy what?” I didn’t have a German warrior. Was I supposed to pack one of those, too? Why hadn’t someone sent me a list?
    â€œYour
dog
.” My grandmother’s voice dripped with impatience.
    â€œOh. He’s in the truck,” I said. “I think the peacocks—you know—scared him.”
    â€œThe birds? Piffle! They won’t hurt anyone. Why don’t you let him out? Introduce him.”
    This did seem like a good idea—like the knight