Read Online The Never Never Sisters by L. Alison Heller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: L. Alison Heller
Ads: Link
seventh birthday. I improvised: red food coloring in vanilla
cake mix, with canned Saskatoon jam (from the museum gift shop) spread between the
layers. An instant hit.
Frankie, not recalling any of this, was nervous enough to follow me out of the bedroom
and into the kitchen. It was still dark outside, and we both squinted when I switched
on the track lighting. “Frankie, I promise. I’m fine.” I bent down to try to preheat
the oven to four hundred fifty, which was difficult because my glasses were in the
other room. “I just want to meet her halfway. More than halfway.”
“That should be relatively easy, given that we bought the ticket.”
“Because we
insisted
on it, as we should have.” I glared at him a bit. Frankie’s inner compass veered cheap,
although through the years I’d gently nudged him away from drying up into a complete
miser. “She’s putting herself out there. You don’t reach out and take the time to
visit someone unless you really want a relationship.”
“You don’t know what she wants out of the trip.”
“And you do?” I lifted the washcloth off my bowl of rising coffee-cake dough and stuck
a finger in. Nice and springy.
He scratched the back of his head. “I guess I’ll go shower.”
I shouted after him, down the hall. “Your outfit is hanging on the back of your closet
door.”
I picked it out not to be bossy, but because I knew that left to his own devices,
Frankie would wear a suit and send entirely the wrong message: formal and about to
leave for the office, not dear old dad enjoying weekend breakfast with his family,
remembering fondly the time we tried the Saskatoon berries.
Frankie really was wrong to be worried. I had been stressed at first, but now that
Sloane was hours away, I felt good. I was about to hold in my palm what I’d dreamed
of for years.
chapter ten
MY MOM OPENED the door at eight o’clock, not in her usual morning robe, but fully dressed—leggings,
a black button-down shirt and espadrilles. She smiled, the expression tense and brief.
“Was the Boy hurt about not coming?”
“No. He understands.” When I’d left that morning, Dave had shaken his head in sympathy.
“Good luck,” he’d said in a tone of voice that could be described only as one part
pity, two parts relief.
I put my head close to my mom’s. “How’s the scene in there?”
“Great.” Again, the smile. “She got here about five minutes ago, and she’s in the
kitchen getting coffee.”
“But how does she
seem
?”
“Really great. Come see.” She put her hand on my back and pushed me down the long
hall.
Sloane was leaning against their kitchen island, one leg crossed over the other, a
mug of coffee in her hand. The teenager—stringy, sullen—had morphed into a ropy, sulky
woman with crow’s-feet deepening her olive skin and a few threads of gray in her long
onyx hair.
“Hey.” She nodded dismissively and I felt myself shrink back to my stoop-shouldered
preteen self.
“Paige is so excited you’re here!” My mom pulled me closer to the island and stepped
toward Sloane, only to retreat like a kid playing in the surf. She clasped her hands
together and separated them and hung them at her sides before finally anchoring herself
in the work of ripping foil covers off platters of lox and bagels. As she did it,
a grin hinged crazily over her mouth, like a child performer who’s been coached to
Smile! So it looks like you’re having fun!
“I am.” I looked right at Sloane, not because I wanted to, but because watching my
poor mom was making me nervous. “What made you visit?”
“Paige.” My mom folded a sheet of tinfoil in half, smoothing down the edge. “Let her
settle in. She just got off a plane.”
“It’s okay.” Sloane shrugged, twisting one of the pieces of lank hair around her finger
and pulling. She needed a better bra. “It had been a while. I thought it was
cake mix, with canned Saskatoon jam (from the museum gift shop) spread between the
layers. An instant hit.
Frankie, not recalling any of this, was nervous enough to follow me out of the bedroom
and into the kitchen. It was still dark outside, and we both squinted when I switched
on the track lighting. “Frankie, I promise. I’m fine.” I bent down to try to preheat
the oven to four hundred fifty, which was difficult because my glasses were in the
other room. “I just want to meet her halfway. More than halfway.”
“That should be relatively easy, given that we bought the ticket.”
“Because we
insisted
on it, as we should have.” I glared at him a bit. Frankie’s inner compass veered cheap,
although through the years I’d gently nudged him away from drying up into a complete
miser. “She’s putting herself out there. You don’t reach out and take the time to
visit someone unless you really want a relationship.”
“You don’t know what she wants out of the trip.”
“And you do?” I lifted the washcloth off my bowl of rising coffee-cake dough and stuck
a finger in. Nice and springy.
He scratched the back of his head. “I guess I’ll go shower.”
I shouted after him, down the hall. “Your outfit is hanging on the back of your closet
door.”
I picked it out not to be bossy, but because I knew that left to his own devices,
Frankie would wear a suit and send entirely the wrong message: formal and about to
leave for the office, not dear old dad enjoying weekend breakfast with his family,
remembering fondly the time we tried the Saskatoon berries.
Frankie really was wrong to be worried. I had been stressed at first, but now that
Sloane was hours away, I felt good. I was about to hold in my palm what I’d dreamed
of for years.
chapter ten
MY MOM OPENED the door at eight o’clock, not in her usual morning robe, but fully dressed—leggings,
a black button-down shirt and espadrilles. She smiled, the expression tense and brief.
“Was the Boy hurt about not coming?”
“No. He understands.” When I’d left that morning, Dave had shaken his head in sympathy.
“Good luck,” he’d said in a tone of voice that could be described only as one part
pity, two parts relief.
I put my head close to my mom’s. “How’s the scene in there?”
“Great.” Again, the smile. “She got here about five minutes ago, and she’s in the
kitchen getting coffee.”
“But how does she
seem
?”
“Really great. Come see.” She put her hand on my back and pushed me down the long
hall.
Sloane was leaning against their kitchen island, one leg crossed over the other, a
mug of coffee in her hand. The teenager—stringy, sullen—had morphed into a ropy, sulky
woman with crow’s-feet deepening her olive skin and a few threads of gray in her long
onyx hair.
“Hey.” She nodded dismissively and I felt myself shrink back to my stoop-shouldered
preteen self.
“Paige is so excited you’re here!” My mom pulled me closer to the island and stepped
toward Sloane, only to retreat like a kid playing in the surf. She clasped her hands
together and separated them and hung them at her sides before finally anchoring herself
in the work of ripping foil covers off platters of lox and bagels. As she did it,
a grin hinged crazily over her mouth, like a child performer who’s been coached to
Smile! So it looks like you’re having fun!
“I am.” I looked right at Sloane, not because I wanted to, but because watching my
poor mom was making me nervous. “What made you visit?”
“Paige.” My mom folded a sheet of tinfoil in half, smoothing down the edge. “Let her
settle in. She just got off a plane.”
“It’s okay.” Sloane shrugged, twisting one of the pieces of lank hair around her finger
and pulling. She needed a better bra. “It had been a while. I thought it was
Similar Books
