Read Online Kiss River by Diane Chamberlain - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diane Chamberlain
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since I know you’d rather I didn’t pursue this.”
Alec shrugged as he opened the front door for her. “You knowthere are other first-order lenses already on display, don’t you?” he asked.
“But they’re not the Kiss River lens,” she said with a smile. She stopped short as she walked through the doorway, and he followed her gaze to the small, oval-shaped stained-glass window to the left of the doorjamb.
“Oh, this must be Lacey’s,” she said, touching the glass image of a woman walking a greyhound.
“No, actually,” Alec said, “it was made by my first wife.” The oval window had been one of ten in the house he’d shared with Annie. When he and Olivia sold their separate homes to buy this one, it was Olivia who’d insisted he not leave all of Annie’s work behind. “You’ll regret it someday,” she’d said. He’d let her pick which oval window they should bring with them, not really caring at the time. But over the years, he’d been grateful to her for knowing he needed that little reminder of the good times with Annie.
“Oh,” Gina said. “I can see where Lacey got her talent.” She nodded to him. “Thanks again,” she said, then looked past him toward Olivia. “Nice meeting you both.”
“Nice meeting you, Gina,” Olivia said from behind him.
After closing the door, Alec walked over to where his wife was sitting on the sofa and leaned down to kiss her, but he knew the mood had long ago been broken. Bocelli was no longer singing, and most likely Olivia had blown out the candles when she left the bedroom. She returned his kiss, but then pulled away to look at him.
“The money is there to salvage the lens,” she said. “You know it is.”
He shook his head. “Olivia…”
“You could help her,” Olivia said. “No one knows the history of that lighthouse as well as you do.”
“No,” he said, letting go of her, standing up straight. “And please, don’t talk to me about it again.” He bent over again to kiss her lightly on the forehead, then turned to walk toward the kitchen, and if he hadn’t disliked the stranger the moment he’d opened his front door to her, he certainly did now. She had ruined his entire afternoon.
CHAPTER 7
Saturday, March 14, 1942
M ama and I baked all morning, as we do often on the weekend. Today was very cold for the middle of March and I was glad to have the oven heat up the house. I am so tired of going out to use the privy in the cold! This seems like the longest winter ever. First warm day we have, I’m taking off my shoes and not putting them on again until next fall.
Even though I spent all morning with Mama, we hardly talked at all. It is so hard for me to spend time with her. There is a wall between us. I want to hug her and tell her how much I love her and instead, ugly things come out of my mouth. Or nothing at all. We used to sing sometimes when we baked or cleaned together in the house. I can’t imagine that now. It’s not the war or anything like that. It’s ME. I feel like I have a mean guard up and can’t let it down for a minute around her. Can’t be soft. I don’t know why. Except that I am almost fifteen years old. I overheard Mama complaining about me to a friend at Trager’s Store when she didn’t think I was listening, and the friend said, “Oh, it’s just that she’s a teenager, Mary. She’ll grow out of it.” I hatedbeing lumped together with all the teens in the world, but maybe she’s right. Though I can’t imagine growing out of this. Sometimes I miss having Mama’s arms around me, but when she touches me, I stiffen up, so who can blame her for not trying anymore? I can’t help it, though. Everything she ever says to me is “Don’t do this” and “Don’t do that.” There’s nothing much else to talk about.
Anyhow, we baked four pies and ten dozen cookies. It being so cold out, I didn’t want to leave that warm kitchen, but then I thought about the choice I had. Stay in the house with
Alec shrugged as he opened the front door for her. “You knowthere are other first-order lenses already on display, don’t you?” he asked.
“But they’re not the Kiss River lens,” she said with a smile. She stopped short as she walked through the doorway, and he followed her gaze to the small, oval-shaped stained-glass window to the left of the doorjamb.
“Oh, this must be Lacey’s,” she said, touching the glass image of a woman walking a greyhound.
“No, actually,” Alec said, “it was made by my first wife.” The oval window had been one of ten in the house he’d shared with Annie. When he and Olivia sold their separate homes to buy this one, it was Olivia who’d insisted he not leave all of Annie’s work behind. “You’ll regret it someday,” she’d said. He’d let her pick which oval window they should bring with them, not really caring at the time. But over the years, he’d been grateful to her for knowing he needed that little reminder of the good times with Annie.
“Oh,” Gina said. “I can see where Lacey got her talent.” She nodded to him. “Thanks again,” she said, then looked past him toward Olivia. “Nice meeting you both.”
“Nice meeting you, Gina,” Olivia said from behind him.
After closing the door, Alec walked over to where his wife was sitting on the sofa and leaned down to kiss her, but he knew the mood had long ago been broken. Bocelli was no longer singing, and most likely Olivia had blown out the candles when she left the bedroom. She returned his kiss, but then pulled away to look at him.
“The money is there to salvage the lens,” she said. “You know it is.”
He shook his head. “Olivia…”
“You could help her,” Olivia said. “No one knows the history of that lighthouse as well as you do.”
“No,” he said, letting go of her, standing up straight. “And please, don’t talk to me about it again.” He bent over again to kiss her lightly on the forehead, then turned to walk toward the kitchen, and if he hadn’t disliked the stranger the moment he’d opened his front door to her, he certainly did now. She had ruined his entire afternoon.
CHAPTER 7
Saturday, March 14, 1942
M ama and I baked all morning, as we do often on the weekend. Today was very cold for the middle of March and I was glad to have the oven heat up the house. I am so tired of going out to use the privy in the cold! This seems like the longest winter ever. First warm day we have, I’m taking off my shoes and not putting them on again until next fall.
Even though I spent all morning with Mama, we hardly talked at all. It is so hard for me to spend time with her. There is a wall between us. I want to hug her and tell her how much I love her and instead, ugly things come out of my mouth. Or nothing at all. We used to sing sometimes when we baked or cleaned together in the house. I can’t imagine that now. It’s not the war or anything like that. It’s ME. I feel like I have a mean guard up and can’t let it down for a minute around her. Can’t be soft. I don’t know why. Except that I am almost fifteen years old. I overheard Mama complaining about me to a friend at Trager’s Store when she didn’t think I was listening, and the friend said, “Oh, it’s just that she’s a teenager, Mary. She’ll grow out of it.” I hatedbeing lumped together with all the teens in the world, but maybe she’s right. Though I can’t imagine growing out of this. Sometimes I miss having Mama’s arms around me, but when she touches me, I stiffen up, so who can blame her for not trying anymore? I can’t help it, though. Everything she ever says to me is “Don’t do this” and “Don’t do that.” There’s nothing much else to talk about.
Anyhow, we baked four pies and ten dozen cookies. It being so cold out, I didn’t want to leave that warm kitchen, but then I thought about the choice I had. Stay in the house with
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