Read Online Can't Take the Heat by Jackie Barbosa - Free Book Online Page B

brought it back from the trip we took to Spain after her double mastectomy and first round of chemo. I blink to clear my eyes as the bittersweet memory of that vacation assaults me.
    The room with the floor-to-ceiling window turns out to be the dining room. I must have purchased the table and chairs, but the Shaker hutch and sideboard are from our old house, and the painting that hangs above the sideboard—a seaside scene with fishing boats pulled up along the shore at sunset—is the one that hung above the same piece of furniture at home.
    Home. That’s what this place feels like. Why can’t I remember how it came to be that way?
    Jett’s hand touches my shoulder. “You okay?”
    Swallowing my careening emotions, I nod. “Just lots of memories here, but none of the ones I’m looking for.”
    “Damn.” She gives my upper arm a sympathetic squeeze. “You want to keep going?”
    I stiffen my spine, beating back my disappointment with curiosity. Although I doubt seeing the rest of the house is going to bring about a sudden, dramatic breakthrough, I’m intrigued by my own decorating choices. It’s a bit like having a window into my own brain in the future, even though that future is actually in the past.
    “Definitely.”
    Once in the kitchen, I discover the real reason I bought this house. The fixtures are outdated and the maple cabinets are badly in need of refinishing, but the countertops are soapstone. Undoubtedly as original as the careworn cabinetry, they’re nonetheless in perfect condition, and I run my finger over the smooth, gray-green finish with a sigh of pleasure.
    We go on to the three bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms. Like the kitchen, the bathrooms need work, but the problems are mostly cosmetic—unfashionable tile, hot and cold faucets instead of a mixer handle for the tub, and so on. It seems I had enough money to buy the place, but not enough to do all the upgrades before I moved in.
    In the bedrooms, I find a few more items I recognize, but most of the furniture is, if not new, then new to me. I can tell that the room with the queen-sized bed is where I sleep, while the one with the double bed is a guest room.
    The third bedroom is a surprise, though. Smaller than the other two, it’s stacked with boxes, all labeled in my handwriting or Wes’s: China, Glassware, Tax Records, Sheets and Towels, Books, Pictures and Home Movies. All the contents of the storage unit that aren’t in use elsewhere are still in these boxes. I haven’t had time to go through them yet. Or maybe I haven’t had the will, because actually deciding which things to keep and which to get rid of is the final step in letting my mother go. A step I apparently haven’t been able to take.
    But maybe it’s one I need to take. Part of what I have to do if I’m going to find my way back to the present.
    I turn to look at Jett, who’s standing a few feet behind me. “I think I need to go through these boxes.”
    “Let me help you,” she offers. No hesitation, no questions as to why I’ve decided to unpack these boxes today, after all this time. If I need help, she’s ready to dive in. But then, that’s why she’s been my best friend since we were six years old.
    I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. This is something I need to do myself.”
    She purses her lips. “You sure? It’s no problem.”
    “I’m sure. And don’t worry. I can find my way back to the casino from here. I know this neighborhood like the back of our hands.”
    That makes her laugh. “Okay, then. But you call if you need anything. I can be here in thirty.”
    “Thanks, Jett. You’re the best.”
    We hug, and then I walk her to the front door. Before she leaves, she says, “I hope you find what you’re looking for in there.”
    Swallowing the lump in my throat, I murmur, “I do, too.”

    When the front door opened and Delaney walked in, Wes had to steel himself not to jump up from the chair in which he was sitting, pretending to read