"Don't wait too long to mend those fences, Sam. It's amazing how quickly the weeds can grow."
* * *
Alli padded around the kitchen in her bare feet as she drained the spaghetti and stirred the sauce. That done, she turned her attention back to the bowl where she was stirring some fudge brownie mix. There was something about cooking that was incredibly therapeutic. She could almost relax, almost forget everything that had happened that day.
The kitchen was warm and cozy, a little nest safe from the rain dripping through the trees in the backyard and the wind rattling the windowpanes. Alli felt a shiver run through her body despite her warm thoughts, for storms had a way of reawakening the monsters in her head, the ones who had first appeared when her parents had lost their lives in a rainstorm.
Living on the Oregon coast, she had grown used to the unpredictable weather, but no matter how hard she tried to be casual and nonchalant, there was something about Mother Nature in all her fury that made her want to hide under the covers.
"Hi, Mommy," Megan said, coming into the kitchen dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a sweatshirt. She dragged one of the chairs over to the counter and stood on it so she could see what Alli was doing. "Can I stir?"
Alli handed her the spoon. "Sure, honey."
Megan frowned as she moved the spoon through the heavy, thick mixture. "It's hard."
"Just keep blending the mix until you can't see any of the powder. Do you want me to do it?"
"No," Megan said firmly. "I can do it."
Alli smiled to herself. Megan was as stubborn as she was. Megan saw life as a mountain to be climbed and she took each step with great enthusiasm. "You're doing great," Alli encouraged, because sometimes little mountaineers needed some support.
While Megan was stirring, Alli pulled her daughter's hair back and ran her fingers through the curls, smoothing them with her fingers. "How was summer school today?"#p#分页标题#e#
"Ricky said his father said he has a kite that can beat ours this year."
"Ricky's father has been trying to beat your dad since he was twelve years old."
"He has?"
"Yep. But your dad and your grandpa couldn't be beat. They always had the coolest and the fastest kite."
"When are we going to make our kite?" Megan asked. "It's almost the Fourth of July."
"Soon," Alli said vaguely. She knew they had to get on it, but she could hardly call Sam, not now, not after the way they'd parted. She felt guilty, knowing that Megan would be the one to suffer if she and Sam couldn't at least communicate enough to finish the kite they'd promised their daughter they would make together.
"Can I call Daddy?" Megan asked.
"Keep stirring, honey. I want to get this in the oven."
"My hand is tired," she said, handing the spoon back to Alli.
Alli whipped the rest of the batter up in no time and spread it in the pan, then set it in the oven. Megan sat on the edge of the counter, licking the chocolate-covered spoon clean. "No more, honey; you'll spoil your appetite."
"Are we going to look for pearls tomorrow?"
"We sure are. We have to go out at low tide, so we can scoop the oysters off the bottom."
"Do all the oysters have pearls?"
"Only a few very special ones. That's why we have to look at a lot of 'em."
"Okay. Can I watch TV in your room until dinner is ready?"
"Sure."
Alli set the bowl in the sink as Megan got down from her chair and ran upstairs to the bedroom. She had just finished rinsing the bowl and setting it in the dishwasher when the doorbell rang, reminding her that the storm couldn't completely keep the outside world at bay.
She walked slowly to the front door, wearily convinced that there couldn't possibly be someone on her doorstep she wanted to see. Still, when she opened the door and saw Sam she couldn't stop her heart from skipping its usual beat.
Sam wore a bright yellow rain slicker. His hair was slicked back, away from his face, a few drops of water clinging to his cheeks. He carried a plastic bag in one hand and a plastic bottle of something in the other.
"What do you want?" she asked grumpily.
"Peace offering," he replied, handing her the bottle.
She saw that it was almond crème lotion, her favorite kind.
"For your hands, to get rid of the fish smell," he said, still dripping all over her front porch.
"Well, it's a start."
"Big-time groveling is in order, huh?"
"I should have let those fish stink up your boat."
"Our boat," he reminded her.
"For the moment."
"I do appreciate what you did for me." He caught her gaze and held it.