Read Online On Little Wings by Regina Sirois - Free Book Online

know.” I wished I could say She misses you, too.
    I think she saw the conversation wading into gloomy waters and she shook her head, brightening her smile. “I didn’t know what to do with myself today. I can’t remember the last time I felt this nervous! I didn’t know what to wear. I didn’t know what to bring. I thought about flowers, but that felt awkward. So what is the appropriate gift for a meeting your grown niece? Do you have any idea?”
    I laughed and waved my hand in dismissal, “I don’t need anything.”
    “I can’t tell you how relieved I am after seeing you. This would have felt like a long visit if you stepped off the plane with multiple piercing and black make-up.”
    I laughed again, her warm, easy voice putting my fears at ease. “I only wear the black make-up on weekends,” I replied.
    “No, but really,” she said seriously, “You are beautiful. I can’t look at you enough.”
    “I think I look like my aunt,” I told her.
    “With several improvements,” she said as she stood up to direct me to the baggage claim. “My hair was never that light. And your skin! What do you remind me of? The sand? The sunset? Maybe the last light of day on the ocean, when everything is glowing."
    “Wheat,” I told her as I set my duffel by my feet in front of the rotating carousel which was just starting to spit out battered bags. “My mother says that I look like a Kansas wheat field on a summer day.”
    She fixed her eyes on me intently, thoughts spinning behind them. “I’ve never seen a Kansas wheat field, but I can imagine that is true.” Then, “Why Kansas? Why not Nebraska?”
    “I don’t know,” I answered as I spotted my suitcase high on the belt, entangled with a golf bag. I grappled it to the floor. “This is everything,” I said pointing to my luggage. Sarah led the way to the parking lot while I talked. “She tells me all the time that she wishes she named me Kansas. She went to college in Kansas and thought it was beautiful. She told me a story about it growing up.” I paused there, trying to assess if I was babbling.
    “Can I hear it?” she asked, unable to suppress the fascination in her voice.
    “It probably sounds silly. But yes.” I had to stop while a loud, smoky bus crossed in front of us. Despite being a smaller airport, the traffic kept a steady pace and we concentrated on crossing at the right places in-between hurrying travelers and cars. Sarah’s black SUV chirped loudly and blinked its lights as we approached and I loaded the luggage.
    “So the bedtime story?” she asked when we were all arranged inside.
    “Right. I guess it isn’t so much a story story – just something she told me. She said that she looked at the fields all the time and when she got pregnant with me the fields soaked right from her eyes into me, and that is why I look like them.” I hoped she didn’t think I sounded vain and shook my head to show her I didn’t necessarily agree.
    “She says it isn’t fair that we name children before we know how they turn out because when I was born I had curly black hair – nothing like a wheat field.” The truth is that my mother threatened to change my name to Kansas often when I was a child. I think a part of her hoped I’d prefer Kansas and adopt a new name just like Cleo. Unfortunately for my mother, I was perfectly content being called Jennifer. And even as a child I recognized, without being able to put the complex idea into words, that Cleo cornered the market on name changes in our town and copying her would only look affected.
    “So how did you get the name Jennifer, then?” Every question rang with excitement.
    “Nothing special. A pretty waitress brought some chocolate cake to their table. They read her name tag and walla - here I am.”
    “Here you are,” she repeated with satisfaction. “I want to know everything. You’ll go hoarse from talking, but first, do you need food? We’re more than an hour from home so we should