Read Online Going Organic Can Kill You by Staci McLaughlin - Free Book Online
Authors: Staci McLaughlin
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you girls get married.” Mom looked out the window at the neighbor’s cat grooming himself atop the cross-rail fence.
Ashlee pointed to herself and mouthed the word “Me.”
Mom turned back and Ashlee dropped her hand.
“Our first menu is braised chicken breast with brown rice.” She rose. “I’ll get started.”
Chicken and rice, not the most exciting food, but it beat tofu fish sticks any day.
I jumped up from the recliner. “I’ll help.” I walked with Mom down the hall and into the kitchen. The white stove gleamed under the fluorescent ceiling fixture. Ancestors long dead peered out from the framed pictures on the wall. Out the window over the sink, I saw a squirrel run up the pine tree.
“How about a green salad on the side?” Without waiting for an answer, I grabbed a head of lettuce and a bag of shredded carrots out of the fridge.
I set the carrots on the counter and the lettuce on the cutting board and slid a knife out of the block. “I see the video store went out of business downtown. That’s the third store since I moved back.”
Mom pulled a copper pot off the rack and set it on the counter. “Ever since the lumber mill closed a few years back, people have been struggling. Recovery has been slow, and now with this economy, no one can afford to shop.”
“Is Mendocino having the same problem?”
Mom shook her head. “What better way to forget your troubles than to stay at a nice bed and breakfast overlooking the ocean? And browse in those cute boutiques? Business may be down a bit over there, but nothing like here.”
I shoved the knife tip into the lettuce and cut the head in half. “This town needs more ways to attract the tourists.”
“Esther’s spa should help some. That’s why I’m so happy you’re working there. Some townspeople are convinced her place will create all sorts of new jobs as out-of-towners sign up to stay there. I don’t think the impact will be that great, but every little bit helps.” She stepped around me to pull the chicken from the refrigerator.
I hadn’t considered myself a Blossom Valley resident since I’d gone away to college, but seeing the place crumble was unsettling. The O’Connell Farm and Spa couldn’t revive the entire town on its own.
I chopped up the lettuce, tossed in some carrots, and diced up a tomato. I put the bowl in the fridge to chill, noting that low-fat vinaigrettes had replaced all the creamy dressings. My stomach grumbled in protest.
While Mom dumped the rice into the pot of water on the stove, I flipped through the stack of mail I’d spotted on the kitchen table. My forwarded bills were trickling in, a last remnant of my high-tech life in San Jose. I never thought I’d treasure my bills.
Auto insurance ads. Credit card offers. My hand settled on the fourth envelope, addressed to Mom. The return address was Bank of America Home Loans. Across the envelope, F INAL N OTICE stretched out in scarlet red.
I glanced at Mom. She was seasoning the chicken. I studied the outside of the envelope, then held it up to the light, squinting at the letters struggling to shine through the thin paper.
“Dana!” Mom had approached without my noticing.
The envelope fell from my hand and landed back on the stack.
“That’s my mail.”
I willed myself not to wince under her glare. “But what’s this about a final notice? Are you behind on your house payments?”
“None of your business. Quit snooping.”
I knew Dad didn’t leave much, but I never imagined Mom’s house might be in jeopardy. “We should talk about this. Now that I’m working again, I can pitch in more on the bills.”
Mom pointed a finger at my chest, poking the air with each word. “It’s just a misunderstanding. I’ll take care of it.” She turned and stalked to the stove. The poor rice didn’t stand a chance under her whip-like stirring.
I stared at her back for a moment. Was she really going to lose the house? No way could she get a new mortgage at
Ashlee pointed to herself and mouthed the word “Me.”
Mom turned back and Ashlee dropped her hand.
“Our first menu is braised chicken breast with brown rice.” She rose. “I’ll get started.”
Chicken and rice, not the most exciting food, but it beat tofu fish sticks any day.
I jumped up from the recliner. “I’ll help.” I walked with Mom down the hall and into the kitchen. The white stove gleamed under the fluorescent ceiling fixture. Ancestors long dead peered out from the framed pictures on the wall. Out the window over the sink, I saw a squirrel run up the pine tree.
“How about a green salad on the side?” Without waiting for an answer, I grabbed a head of lettuce and a bag of shredded carrots out of the fridge.
I set the carrots on the counter and the lettuce on the cutting board and slid a knife out of the block. “I see the video store went out of business downtown. That’s the third store since I moved back.”
Mom pulled a copper pot off the rack and set it on the counter. “Ever since the lumber mill closed a few years back, people have been struggling. Recovery has been slow, and now with this economy, no one can afford to shop.”
“Is Mendocino having the same problem?”
Mom shook her head. “What better way to forget your troubles than to stay at a nice bed and breakfast overlooking the ocean? And browse in those cute boutiques? Business may be down a bit over there, but nothing like here.”
I shoved the knife tip into the lettuce and cut the head in half. “This town needs more ways to attract the tourists.”
“Esther’s spa should help some. That’s why I’m so happy you’re working there. Some townspeople are convinced her place will create all sorts of new jobs as out-of-towners sign up to stay there. I don’t think the impact will be that great, but every little bit helps.” She stepped around me to pull the chicken from the refrigerator.
I hadn’t considered myself a Blossom Valley resident since I’d gone away to college, but seeing the place crumble was unsettling. The O’Connell Farm and Spa couldn’t revive the entire town on its own.
I chopped up the lettuce, tossed in some carrots, and diced up a tomato. I put the bowl in the fridge to chill, noting that low-fat vinaigrettes had replaced all the creamy dressings. My stomach grumbled in protest.
While Mom dumped the rice into the pot of water on the stove, I flipped through the stack of mail I’d spotted on the kitchen table. My forwarded bills were trickling in, a last remnant of my high-tech life in San Jose. I never thought I’d treasure my bills.
Auto insurance ads. Credit card offers. My hand settled on the fourth envelope, addressed to Mom. The return address was Bank of America Home Loans. Across the envelope, F INAL N OTICE stretched out in scarlet red.
I glanced at Mom. She was seasoning the chicken. I studied the outside of the envelope, then held it up to the light, squinting at the letters struggling to shine through the thin paper.
“Dana!” Mom had approached without my noticing.
The envelope fell from my hand and landed back on the stack.
“That’s my mail.”
I willed myself not to wince under her glare. “But what’s this about a final notice? Are you behind on your house payments?”
“None of your business. Quit snooping.”
I knew Dad didn’t leave much, but I never imagined Mom’s house might be in jeopardy. “We should talk about this. Now that I’m working again, I can pitch in more on the bills.”
Mom pointed a finger at my chest, poking the air with each word. “It’s just a misunderstanding. I’ll take care of it.” She turned and stalked to the stove. The poor rice didn’t stand a chance under her whip-like stirring.
I stared at her back for a moment. Was she really going to lose the house? No way could she get a new mortgage at
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