Family Practice by Marisa Carroll Page A

favorite spot.” Her mother’s Buff Orpington chickens all had names and, Karen swore, personalities. They were pets as well as a source of income. Karen sold their eggs and they also starred in a series of their own videos.
    “They don’t take kindly to trespassers,” Callie said as she accepted the cold glass of lemonade and scooted over a little to make room for her mother on the glider. When Karen sat down, the glider swayed harder, and Callie held out her vintage water-lily-patterned glass to keep lemonade from splashing over the edge.
    “Sorry,” Karen said. “I’ve put on a couple of pounds the last few weeks. Too much strawberry shortcake.” Her mother was tall and long-legged, full-figured but not overweight. She favored long skirts, peasant blouses, and vests and sweaters she knitted herself from the fiber of her goats. Her hair was long and straight and today she had it piled on top of her head, held in place by a leather-covered comb.
    The two big red-gold hens they’d been discussing bustled forward from beneath the sunflowers and began eating the popcorn kernels Karen tossed to them.
    “Mmm, the lemonade is wonderful,” Callie said, closing her eyes as she savored the cool drink. “Just what I needed to sweeten my day.”
    “You’re welcome to move in here if being too close to J.R.’s new wife and kids is too much of a strain.”
    “It’s not Ginger and the twins that are stressing me out.” That wasn’t precisely the truth, but close enough. “And you know you and I are too different to get along well even in a house this size.”
    Karen didn’t press the invitation. Their relationship had improved as Callie matured. In her own way Karen had done her best to make amends for the years she’d been away, and Callie had done her best to try to forget how much her mother’s desertion had hurt. But there was still a thin, transparent barrier between them, and so far neither of them had made an attempt to strip it completely away. Perhaps they never would.
    “What possessed that man?” Bitterness seeped into Karen’s tone and she threw the next handful of popcorn hard enough that the kernels overshot the hens and landed in an overturned bushel basket planted with yellow and white daisies and pink waterfall petunias. The chickens clucked in annoyance.
    Callie didn’t have to ask what Karen meant. “He fell in love with her, Mom.”
    “And where has it gotten him? Fifty years old and about to become a father again. He’s the laughingstock of White Pine Lake—”
    “Mom, change the subject.” She wasn’t going to go that route with her mother today. She suspected that Karen was still a tiny bit in love with J.R. But there was no going back for any of them and Callie had stopped indulging the fantasy of reuniting her parents many years ago.
    Karen sighed and patted Callie’s hand. “Sorry, baby. Letting the bad vibes get the better of me today. I should fire up the sauna and indulge myself in a good purging. What’s on your agenda for the weekend?”
    “House hunting,” Callie said, although she hadn’t actually planned on it until that moment.
    “Hmm,” Karen said, aiming the next handful of popcorn so it fell like a puffy white shower on top of the hens’ heads. “Too close for comfort with Doc Hottie on the other side of the wall, huh?”
    “What are you talking about?” Callie hoped she wasn’t blushing. “No, it’s not Zach. Well, mostly it’s not Zach. The duplex is income property, after all, and sort of out of my price range now that it’s high season.” She could afford the rent on the duplex for a couple of months, but as she suspected he would, her father had refused to accept it. “And besides, it’s too small.”
    “Too small? Don’t try to flimflam me.” Her mother rolled her eyes. “It’s Zach. He’s a hottie,” Karen repeated, fanning herself with one hand. “Every premenopausal woman within twenty miles flocks to him for sympathy and