Read Online Blue Moon Bay by Lisa Wingate - Free Book Online Page B

all just a buzz. I couldn’t concentrate on the words. The cold had pressed through my jacket, and my suede dress boots were wet all the way to my socks. On the sun porch, at the urging of Uncle Herb, I took a seat on the faded floral fainting couch that was nearest the old wall-hung propane heater. Mom and Clay headed to the kitchen to get some plates and glasses, and to make a pitcher of iced tea.
    â€œYou look plumb wore out,” Uncle Charley observed as he turned up the heater. “I’m gonna go put on a pot of good hot coffee.”
    Despite my insistence that he didn’t need to make coffee on my account, he speedily quit the room and was followed by Uncle Herb. I heard the whisper of voices in the kitchen. The last thing I remembered was letting my head fall against the sofa pillows, then catching Blaine Underhill’s name again and thinking that I should tiptoe in there and see what they were whispering about.

A life all turbulence and noise may seem
    To him that leads it wise and to be praised;
    But wisdom is a pearl with most success
    Sought in still water . . .
    â€”William Cowper
(Left by Ben Murray, retired—no longer in a hurry.)
Chapter 5

    F amily arguments should not be postponed until first thing in the morning, particularly on a gorgeous February day, when the winter sun slips over the water in a hush, biding its time before filtering through the canopy of live oaks into the rocky nooks and misty valley floors. No rush today , a morning like that says. It’s the off season, remember?
    I woke to the sound of ducks landing on the water and a cardinal chirping in the winter-bare climbing rose outside the window. My heart was pounding and I couldn’t catch my breath. I’d just had the dream about the door. I’d gone farther than usual, this time. The knob had started to turn in my hand, but then the spider dropped from its web in the doorframe and landed on my fingers. I screamed, jerked back, awakened bolt upright in the bed. . . .
    Now I sat clinging to my knees, my mind slowly settling into the fact that I was in the gardener’s cottage behind Uncle Herbert’s place. Frigid morning air chilled the heat from the dream as I gazed out the window at the cardinal, a bewitching splash of red, like a drop of blood among thorns. Beautiful, yet out of place . . . Somewhat noisy and demanding, as if determined to steal my attention.
    The perspiration on my skin quickly turned to ice, and I grabbed the coat I’d thrown over my feet last night after piling the bed with dusty quilts. The collar of the coat was cold against my neck, and even the insides of the pockets were stiff and chilly. Something crisp bumped against my fingers, and I pulled it out, then vaguely remembered Mama B handing me the flyer from her suitcase-sized purse.
    I unfolded it now, blinking the sleep from my eyes in morbid fascination, trying to bring the first few lines into focus.
    Elect Blaine Underhill
    County Commissioner
    Precinct 4.
    The man was everywhere.
    Below the name was a list of bullet points, espousing Blaine Underhill’s worthiness for the job of county commissioner.
    Lifelong county resident
    Experienced leader
    Proven businessman—not a politician
    Avid fisherman and outdoor enthusiast (now there was an important qualification for office)
    Sixth-generation Texan (I sort of admired that one. Being estranged from my mother’s family and perpetually conflicted during visits to my dad’s hometown because of the in-law wars, I felt an absence of the ties that bind. Occasionally, it bothered me.)
    A unifier, who would strive to work across party lines (These days, you had to wonder if anyone could make that claim. Maybe the county surrounding Moses Lake was an island unto itself, where people with differing opinions actually found ways to discuss things like rational, civil adults. Despite the fact that he had ignored me in chemistry class,