Chapter Thirteen
Knowing the futility, Sonya didn’t argue with Cleo about the barbecue menu. She didn’t bother to debate or even question. Obviously, the impromptu sort of gathering she’d imagined had become a mini-event.
Instead, she focused on helping to make it work, and the excitement of having her mother up for a couple of days.
If she worried, and she often did, it centered on the mild annoyances Dobbs tossed out. Because that’s all they were, mild annoyances. Ringing doorbell, slamming windows and doors, flickering lights.
Worse would come, and waiting for it kept her nerves on edge.
“I agree with you, Cleo, about the people being here, the energy they bring, but I’m worried about—”
“Food and drink are under control, Son.”
“Not that.” Maybe a little, she admitted. “No big blast of anything since the really big blast.”
“Oh, her. Forget her for now. Whatever she throws, we toss back. Harder. And see, I made this marinade, and these flank steaks are going to soak in it overnight. Now, if you ever finish peeling those potatoes, we’re going to make the best potato salad anyone’s ever had. Creole-style.”
“Sometimes I don’t know who you are,” Sonya replied.
With a laugh, Cleo put the steaks in the fridge. “I’m into this cooking shit, Son. It’s like a drug. We’re going to get this prep done, and when Winter gets here, we’ll have some wine. Get her settled in, then I’m making that shrimp-and-rice dish Bree gave me the recipe for.”
Nodding, nodding, Cleo studied her list again. “If we’ve gone wrong anywhere—and I really don’t think so—Winter will save us.”
“I just want her to have a good weekend here.”
“Then we’ll make sure of it.”
Knowing her job, Sonya peeled, sliced, chopped, minced.
When all the make-ahead dishes were tucked away, she helped clean up.
“That’s the hardest part done.”
“Promise?”
Chef Cleopatra waved a hand. “Tomorrow’s easy, just like I planned. And we’ve got a few hours before Winter gets here. I’m going up to the studio.”
“I’ve got a little work I can deal with.”
As they walked out of the kitchen, Cleo put an arm around Sonya’s shoulders. “If you get that feeling like you did a few days ago, text me.”
“Honestly, I don’t know if I can.”
“Try. I know it was a good, positive thing you saw, and really romantic on my scale, but try. Just SOS is enough.”
“I’ll try. It’s never happened when my mom’s here. I hope that holds.”
Work pulled her in, and assured her she’d never find cooking and planning meals like a drug. Occasionally enjoying, even satisfying. But so was takeout.
Immersed in her first round of tests for the medical practice’s website, she only pulled out when Clover played the Vogues’ “Five O’Clock World.”
Twice.
“Okay, all right. I got the hint. Ten minutes to finish running this through, and I’ll shut down. Shit, there’s a glitch. Make that fifteen. I can fix this.”
It took twenty, but when she shut down, she felt she’d earned the weekend.
She walked down the hall to give her mother’s room one last check.
Fresh flowers—selected from the garden—stood in a small, squat glass vase on Catherine’s vanity.
She’d placed the hairbrush, a hand mirror there as well.
As she had the round cobalt perfume bottle with the gold cap found in the attic.
She checked the bathroom. Fresh towels, fancy soaps, and the lovely old powder jar they’d found and she’d filled with bath salts.
The little things the house provided, Sonya thought, made all the difference.
She went down, doing a survey of each room. Floors and furniture gleamed under Molly’s loving care. Flowers fresh from the garden or the florist, candles ready for the flame.
It all said not just beautiful old house, but home.
They’d found old frames upstairs, and she’d ordered others. Some photos she’d framed stood on shelves, on mantels, paying homage to those who’d come before her.
Cleo would say those little things brought the light, and Sonya had come to believe it.
Drawn by Yoda’s happy barks, she wound her way to the kitchen. It sparkled. She’d helped make that happen. Had to have your hand in, she thought.
But it didn’t just sparkle. There were the little things here, too. Cleo’s suncatcher rainbowing the light, one of Anna’s bowls filled with colorful summer fruit, the glass jar filled with sunny lemons.
It mattered, these things they’d brought to the house.
Content, she looked out the window. She saw the dog, racing with the red ball, and the cat, sunning herself on her doghouse perch.
And she saw the boy in his short pants and untucked shirt, hair tousled from the play and the summer breeze. The breeze carried his laugh to her as he took the ball from Yoda, winged it high and long.
“Perfect timing,” Cleo said as she walked in.
At the window, Sonya held up a hand, curved her fingers in a come gesture.
Cleo hurried over. She let out a gasp, clutched Sonya’s shoulder.
“It’s Jack. Oh, Sonya, it’s Jack. He looks so…”
“Happy,” Sonya murmured as it all caught in her throat. “Just a little boy playing with his dog on a summer day. A happy boy with a happy dog.”
As she spoke, Jack turned. He looked back at the house, looked at them standing behind the glass. Her heart leaped, her eyes burned when he grinned.
He took the ball from Yoda, rubbed the dog all over and into delirium. Then carrying the ball, he walked to the shed. Turning again, he gave a wave, then walked through the door of the shed.
And was gone.
“He let us see him.” Overwhelmed, Sonya wrapped an arm around Cleo. “He let us see him, and see him happy.”
“It’s a sign, not only that he’s come to trust us, and that’s just huge, Son. Huge. But it’s a sign the light’s only getting stronger.”
“I was thinking along those lines right before I saw him. I did a kind of walk-through, just making sure everything’s perfect for Mom. I thought about the things we brought down, put out, the things we’ve brought in, and how all of that matters.”
She started to open the door, call the pets in. Yoda let out his someone’s-coming bark and raced around the house.
“I bet that’s Mom now.”
“Like I said, perfect timing.”
They hurried to the front, rushed outside just as Winter took her weekender from the car and gave Yoda some love.
“There’s that good boy! Oh, and there are those gorgeous girls.”
She threw open her arms to pull both of them in. “Mmmm! So much better than FaceTime and texts.”
“I’m so glad you’re here! Come inside. Come in. I’ve got your case.”
“I’ve got one more thing.” She pulled a basket out of the trunk. “Bread basket.”
“You baked bread? Oh, smell that, even through the cling wrap.” Cleo took the basket.
“There’s enough if you want to sample tonight.”
“Oh boy, will we,” Cleo told her.
“And plenty to put out tomorrow. Yes, you told me not to bring anything, but I really wanted to, and this was fun. Oh, look at your lawn chairs. They’re … well, magnificent, like the manor.
“Owen built them?”
“He did. You’ll try them out. We’ll get you all settled, Mom, and have some wine.”
Clover greeted her daughter-in-law with Dylan and “Winterlude.”
“It’s still a little jolt,” Winter decided. “But a good one.”
“I’ll take your case up.”
“I can unpack in five minutes, baby, then I’m really here.”
“I’ll put the bread in the kitchen, and pour the wine.”
“Everything’s beautiful, Sonya.” Winter glanced around as they started upstairs. “This, to keep my nerves at bay, is how I picture you and Cleo. Living your lives, doing your work, being happy in this beautiful house.”
“That’s just what we’re doing.”
“I know you love it, and whenever I come here, I see why. And I’m back in my beautiful room. It’s—the vanity. That’s Catherine’s vanity? The one you told me about?”
“It belonged in here.”
“It’s just lovely.” Moving close, Winter ran her fingers over the top. “Absolutely lovely.” She wandered over to the windows. “And look how your gardens have grown. Yoda’s amazing doghouse, the woods so green and thick.”
“We saw Jack out there just before you came. Cleo and I saw Jack playing with Yoda. I told you about Jack.”
“You did.” Without thinking, Winter hugged her arms. “You’ll have to forgive the shiver that gives me.”
Winter turned back, studied her daughter. “It doesn’t give you one.”
“No. But then I’ve had months to, well, connect, and to get used to what goes on here.”
“It might take me longer, so I’d better unpack. Five minutes.”
In less than ten, they sat outside, admiring the garden with wine and the tray of cheese and raw vegetables Cleo put together.
“I have to say again how much I love the hair. Sassy Winter.”
Grinning at Cleo, Winter gave her head a little shake. “I needed a change-up. I can get so bogged in routine. Passed that one onto you, baby.”
“Routine’s productive. But yeah, a change-up now and then boosts the energy. We sneak in some. Like a family barbecue that won’t be burgers and dogs, as Chef Cleo’s going big.”
“Go big or why bother? Plus, I get to show off my skills, ’cause I got ’em.”
“She does,” Sonya concurred. “It’s almost scary.”
“I’m here to help. Sous chef, line chef, bottle washer. Whatever you need.”
Cleo lifted her wine, sipped. “You can join the party after dinner.”
“We’re having a party?” Sonya said.
“An ice cream making party. Peach ice cream for dessert tomorrow. I remember how my grand-mère used to make it. Churn, churn, churn. And there’s an old ice cream maker down in storage.”
“Well, God” was Sonya’s opinion.
“I was going that way, then I thought: Wait a minute. Technology. So I bought us a new, improved, shiny machine. No rock salt, no hand churning. I got all we need to make it. It’ll be fun.”
“See, Mom? Scary.”
And, Sonya discovered later, fun.
“This is a first for me,” Winter admitted. “I didn’t have a grand-mère who made ice cream.”
“Me either,” Sonya added.
“And I didn’t know the trick about peeling peaches. Half a minute in boiling water, ice bath, and the skin slid right off. I’m putting that in the book, Cleo, for the next time I make peach pie.”