Read Online The Four Seasons by Mary Alice Monroe - Free Book Online Page A

it’ll mean a lot to wash and polish, I’m afraid. Do…do you want to help?”
    â€œSure. Of course,” Jilly replied, looking with longing at the kitchen door. “But have mercy on me. I smell the tempting aroma of coffee and if I don’t get some of that, a few aspirins and a gallon of water down my throat soon I swear I’ll drop right here and be useless to anyone.”
    Rose tilted her head and laughed brightly, excited by Jilly’s willingness to back her luncheon. “Come on, then. I’ve made a petit déjeuner ,” she said, emphasizing the French. “Nothing special, just a few things I picked out that I thought you might especially like.”
    Jilly appreciated not only the breakfast but the obvious effort Rose extended to make her feel welcome, down to the use of a few common French phrases. She touched her shoulder, delaying her for a moment before joining the others in the kitchen.
    â€œRose, thanks for the flowers in the bedroom,” she said in a soft voice. “You remembered how much I love yellow roses.” Then with a crooked smile she added, “For that matter, thanks for putting me in my old room. It meant a lot.”
    â€œI thought it might,” Rose replied in a conspiratorial whisper. Then, in a swift change of mood, she smiled brightly and said, “You’d better grab something to eat before Dennis devours everything.”
    Dennis…Jilly reached up to smooth her hair with her palms, straighten her shoulders and make her entrance.
    The kitchen was warm, bustling and smelled deliciously ofhot coffee and rolls. Here, too, there was chaos. White bakery boxes were stacked high on the counters, plastic bags of fresh vegetables lay beside cutting boards and knives, ready for free hands, and there were dozens of plastic containers filled with all sorts of deli items. Nonetheless, at the table she found Dennis and Hannah sitting back in their chairs, leisurely munching croissants as though they had nothing in the world to do.
    â€œGood morning to all,” she murmured, heading straight for the sink.
    Hannah’s eyes widened at the sight of her exotic aunt whose legs seemed to go on forever under the short, sexy kimono.
    â€œGood morning, Aunt Jillian.”
    Jilly held up one finger to indicate that everyone should wait while she drank the water thirstily. Then, after a lusty “Ah,” she peered over at the pale, dark-eyed, rather plump teenager slouched in the chair across the room. Her red hair was the mark of a Season.
    â€œHannah?”
    The girl nodded, eager.
    â€œI wouldn’t have recognized you if not for the hair. You’ve grown!” She caught the nanosecond of anguish in the eyes and the faint blushing of her cheeks and instantly understood, as one woman does with another, that this was a teenager sensitive about her weight. “You’ve become a woman!” she amended smoothly.
    Hannah’s face relaxed. “I’m fifteen, Aunt Jillian. Almost sixteen.”
    â€œYou must call me Jilly. We’re all adults here,” she replied, winking before sipping more water.
    Dennis lowered his Chicago Tribune . His was a considerably cooler gaze than his daughter’s. He masked it with a politely rigid smile of greeting. The house suddenly felt several degrees colder. Jilly tightened the kimono about her neck.
    â€œSo, the prodigal sister returns,” he said, more as a pronouncement, folding the paper and placing it in his lap.
    Jilly felt a stab of annoyance. How like Dennis Connor to pull some biblical quote laced with criticism as his greeting after ten years. She wasn’t hungry, but to mask how upset she was, she casually reached out for a croissant.
    â€œProdigal?” she replied, with an arch to her brow.
    â€œProdigal is apt,” he replied, crossing his arms. “The long-lost child returning to the fold from her wanderings.”
    Jilly picked a corner from