Read Online Postcards From Last Summer by Roz Bailey - Free Book Online

parents were married here, a slew of children baptized here. And James Noonan had been hired by Dr. McCorkle to renovate this very kitchen. In an age where so many kitchens were prefabricated pressboard, I felt a deep, timeless connection to family every time I swung open the dark walnut cabinets that had been built by my grandfather.
    â€œYou’re getting way too skinny there, Tara,” Ma said, taking a box of Hostess cupcakes out of the brown bag. “These will do you good.”
    â€œYou always did try to fatten me up.” Tara’s amber eyes were lit with defiance. “All the moms and aunts give it their best shot, but it never works.”
    â€œSo tell me what you’re up to.” Mary Grace filled the kettle at the sink—no microwaved water for her tea; that would be a travesty. “One more year you’ve got at college, then to work with the both of you.”
    â€œWe don’t mind hard work, Ma.” I peered out the kitchen window at the guys around the shed as I rinsed my hands in the sink. “It’s those guys you need to worry about.”
    Cocking one eyebrow, my mother agreed. “That’s for sure. Your brother hired to play with toys. Whoever heard of such a thing? And those Fogarty brothers, getting the family business dumped in their laps. It’s a shame, but they’ve got too much time on their hands. It’s a wonder they’ve not been incarcerated, but don’t get me started. How are your parents?”
    â€œThey’re fine. My brother’s visiting on leave, and Mama’s still floating on a cloud.”
    â€œThe prodigal son. Of course, we love the one who ran away.” Mary Grace squinted out the window. “Is that your man with my Stevie?”
    Tara’s pale brown skin flushed pink. “He’s a friend. One of Wayne’s friends.”
    â€œOf course he is.” Mary Grace placed a wrapped chocolate cupcake on a plate and handed it to Tara.
    â€œMa . . . don’t make her eat it.” I jabbed at the tuna with a vengeance. “You don’t have to,” I told Tara.
    â€œIt’s okay.” She tore open the clear wrapping and pulled off a curlicued edge of frosting. “I’d be a junk-food freak, except my mother banned it from the house.”
    Twenty minutes later, the guys filed in, along with Skeeter and Johnny, and everyone was sitting around the McCorkle table eating sandwiches along with juicy peaches and tomatoes Mary Grace had brought from the farm stand down the road.
    Spooning peaches into a bowl, I marveled at how my mother managed to get half a dozen people settled and fed while tossing off questions that elicited participation from the more reserved and pointed up things everyone had in common. Ma was awesome at the social thing. She suggested Charlie give Steve tips on traveling to China, where sporting goods were manufactured for Victory Sports, and Steve seemed open to it all, not jealous at all. Which surprised me, considering the attraction that had once burned between him and Tara. They’d crushed on each other, back when we were in junior high. Not that they’d gone anywhere with it or even been an official couple. But watching them now, it all seemed so civil and grown-up.
    Ma coaxed Tara to describe the needs of kids in a Trenton neighborhood association where Tara had been volunteering time while at Princeton. She started Bear talking about his week in Maui, sharing a shack with another surfer in the land of wild hibiscus, blue crush waves, and residents who could barely afford the gas to drive to the other side of the island for a surf competition.
    At times like this, I could fool myself into believing there was a very real connection between Bear and me. Close your eyes and pretend you’re a girlfriend. Of course, I’d never even been inside his VW camper, never visited the inner sanctum, but then I’d never heard of a girl who