toward the counter.
Ashley’s vision seemed to narrow to a pinpoint, and when it widened again, she swayed in her chair, suddenly dizzy. If her blond hair hadn’t been pulled back into its customary French braid, she’d have shoved her hands through it. “It must be an awful thing,” she murmured, “to die the way Mom did.”
Cups rattled against saucers at the periphery of Ashley’s awareness. Olivia returned to the table but stood beside Ashley instead of sitting down again. Rested a hand on her shoulder. “Delia wasn’t in her right mind, Ashley. She didn’t suffer.”
“No one cared,” Ashley reflected, in a miserable whisper. “She died and no one even cared.”
Olivia didn’t sigh, but she might as well have. “You were little when Delia left,” she said, after a long time. “You don’t remember how it was.”
“I remember praying every night that she’d come home,” Ashley said.
Olivia bent—not easy to do with her huge belly—and rested her forehead on Ashley’s crown, tightened her grip on her shoulder. “We all wanted her to come home, at least at first,” she recalled softly. “But the reality is, she didn’t—not even when Dad got killed in that lightning storm. After a while, we stopped needing her.”
“Maybe you did,” Ashley sniffled. “Now she’s gone forever. I’m never going to know what she was really like.”
Olivia straightened, very slowly. “She was—”
“Don’t say it,” Ashley warned.
“She drank,” Olivia insisted, stepping back. The invisible barrier dropped between them again, a nearly audible shift in the atmosphere. “She took drugs. Her brain was pickled. If you want to remember her differently, that’s your prerogative. But don’t expect me to rewrite history.”
Ashley’s cheeks were wet, and she swiped at them with the back of one hand, probably leaving streaks in the coating of attic dust prickling on her skin. “Fair enough,” she said stiffly.
Olivia crossed the room again, jangled things around at the counter for a few moments, and returned with a pot of steeping tea and two cups and saucers.
“This is getting to me,” she told Ashley. “It’s as if the earth has cracked open and we’re standing on opposite sides of a deep chasm. It’s bothering Brad and Melissa, too. We’re family, Ashley. Can’t we just agree to disagree as far as Mom is concerned and go on from there?”
“I’ll try,” Ashley said, though she had to win an inner skirmish first. A long one.
Olivia reached across the table, closed her hand around Ashley’s. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble getting the computer up and running?” she asked. Ashley was profoundly grateful for the change of subject, even if it did nettle her a little at the same time. She hated the stupid contraption, hated anything electronic. She’d followed the instructions to the letter, and the thing still wouldn’t work.
When she didn’t say anything, Olivia went on. “Sophie and Carly are cyberwhizzes—they’d be glad to build you a Web site for the B&B and show you how to zip around the Internet like a pro.”
Brad and his wife, the former Meg McKettrick, had adopted Carly, Meg’s half sister, soon after their marriage. The teenager doted on their son, three-year-old Mac, and had befriended Sophie from the beginning.
“That would be…nice,” Ashley said doubtfully. The truth was, she was an old-fashioned type, as Victorian, in some ways, as her house. She didn’t carry a cell phone, and her landline had a rotary dial. “But you know me and technology.”
“I also know you’re not stupid,” Olivia responded, pouring tea for Ashley, then for herself. Their spoons made a cheerful tinkling sound, like fairy bells, as they stirred in organic sugar from the chunky ceramic bowl in the center of the table.
The kitten jumped back into Ashley’s lap then, startling her, making her laugh. How long had it been since she’d laughed?
Too long, judging by the expression on Olivia’s face.
“You’re really all right?” Ashley asked, watching her sister closely.
“I’m better than ‘all right,’“ Olivia assured her. “I’m married to the man of my dreams. I have Sophie, a barn full of horses out at Starcross Ranch, and a thriving veterinary practice.” A slight frown creased her forehead. “Speaking of men…?”
“Let’s not,” Ashley said.
“You still haven’t heard from Jack?”
“No. And that’s fine with me.”
“I don’t think it is fine with you, Ashley. He’s Tanner’s friend. I could ask him to call Jack and—”
“No!”
Olivia sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re right. That would be interfering, and Tanner probably wouldn’t go along with it anyhow.”
Ashley stroked the kitten even as she tried not to bond with it. She was zero-for-zero on that score. “Jack and I had a fling,” she said. “It’s obviously over. End of story.”
Olivia arched one perfect eyebrow. “Maybe you need a vacation,” she mused aloud. “A new man in your life. You could go on one of those singles’ cruises—”
Ashley gave a scoffing chuckle—it felt good to engage in girl talk with her sister again. “Sure,” she retorted. “I’d meet guys twice my age, with gold chains around their necks and bad toupees. Or worse.”
“What could be worse?” Olivia joked, grinning over the gold rim of her teacup.
“Spray-on hair,” Ashley said decisively.
Olivia laughed.
“Besides,” Ashley went on, “I don’t want to be out of town when you have the baby.”
Olivia nodded, turned thoughtful again. “You should get out more, though.”
“And do what?” Ashley challenged. “Play bingo in the church basement on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays? Join the Powder Puff bowling league? In case it’s escaped your notice, O pregnant one, Stone Creek isn’t exactly a social whirlwind.”
Olivia sighed again, in temporary defeat, and glanced at her watch. “I’m supposed to meet Tanner at the clinic in twenty minutes—just a routine checkup, so don’t panic. Meet us for lunch afterward?”
The kitten climbed Ashley’s shirt, its claws catching in the fabric, nestled under her neck again. “I have some errands to run,” she said, with a shake of her head. “You’re going to stick me with this cat, aren’t you, Olivia?”
Olivia smiled, stood, and carried her cup and saucer to the sink. “Give Mrs. Wiggins a chance,” she said. “If she doesn’t win your heart by this time next week, I’ll try to find her another home.” She took Big John’s ratty coat from the row of pegs next to the back door and shoved her arms into the sleeves, reclaimed her purse from
