seaboard. I guess she’d used her vacation time, and folks’ address, to pull a fast one on us.
Snippets had taken out a quarter-page ad to mourn Lisa’s untimely passing. They would be closed today, Sunday, but open for business as usual on Monday.
Since I’d already ruined my nails, I decided to clean my apartment. The Spic and Span in my bucket had turned brownish with dust and dirt when my doorbell rang.
Alice Rose stood on my front steps, her soft linen pantsin cobalt blue and matching sweater set a stark contrast to my torn jeans. Her blue eyes were dark, a sure sign she was troubled. Whereas I’d inherited our father’s light brown hair, which I spruced up with highlights, Alice Rose was born a platinum blonde. After she had her boys, her hair darkened slightly, so she dropped by the shop for regular lightening treatments. Recently, she decided that long hair was too much trouble, and she demanded that Mom give her a pixie cut like Emma Watson wears. The effect was stunning and brought out her tiny little nose. If Alice Rose had put on ten pounds, it didn’t matter. She was taller than I, so the weight was distributed evenly.
Glancing at the clock, I realized she must have stopped by on her way back from the early service at First Methodist. We’d been raised Baptist, but she switched to the Methodist Church because Wade went there. “Hey, you,” I said and I gave my little sis a hug, inhaling the gardenia perfume she favors.
She embraced me back, although reluctantly. “What is that you’re wearing? Good Lord, Grace Ann. You look like a bag lady and smell like a janitor.”
“Not all of us are lucky enough to have a cleaning lady.” I moved out of my doorway to let her in. Alice Rose had one favorite seat in my house, an old slipper rocker with a cane bottom that had been in our family since the days when genteel Southern women took a seat on the rockers to pull on the slippers they wore indoors.
Running a hand over her face and scrubbing it hard, she rocked furiously, back and forth, as if working off steam. “Don’t start, Grace Ann. You chose a career in hair and mine is in raising two boys. You made your bed and so did I. I’m not in the mood for you to rag on me. Not today.”
Chapter Ten
“WHAT’S UP?” I ASKED MY SISTER.
Sam had been watching Alice Rose carefully, quietly, but she hadn’t noticed him. With a loud squawk, he decided to break into the conversation.
“What on earth is that noise?” Alice Rose jumped to her feet.
“That’s Sam. He’s a rescue parakeet. Sort of.” I explained about his near-death experience. As if to emphasize that he was well and truly on the mend, Sam showed off for Alice Rose, chattering and fussing with his wing feathers.
“He’s precious! Look, Grace Ann, I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made that crack about what you’re wearing. It’s obvious you’recleaning, and when you’re scrubbing, any old thing is good enough.”
“Can I offer you a glass of tea? Coffee?”
“Iced coffee?”
“I can make that for you. I bought Truvia. I know you like that.”
Her nod was grateful and her smile tremulous. “Thanks, big sis.”
“You’re welcome, little sis. Let me put the kettle on to boil. All I have is French vanilla instant coffee, and the granules dissolve best that way.”
Alice Rose got up from the rocker and took a stool at the counter that separates my kitchen area from my living room. Her eyes reddened as she watched me bustle around. “I’m worried sick about Owen.”
The eldest of my twin nephews. “Why? What’s up?”
“His teacher says his vocabulary isn’t as expected for his age. They want us to take him for testing.”
My heart plummeted. I knew that Wade was a good dad, but one with high expectations and a truckload of pride. If they found a problem, would he be able to adjust? Would he accept his son or forever be disappointed?
“I’m sorry to hear that. I suppose the
Snippets had taken out a quarter-page ad to mourn Lisa’s untimely passing. They would be closed today, Sunday, but open for business as usual on Monday.
Since I’d already ruined my nails, I decided to clean my apartment. The Spic and Span in my bucket had turned brownish with dust and dirt when my doorbell rang.
Alice Rose stood on my front steps, her soft linen pantsin cobalt blue and matching sweater set a stark contrast to my torn jeans. Her blue eyes were dark, a sure sign she was troubled. Whereas I’d inherited our father’s light brown hair, which I spruced up with highlights, Alice Rose was born a platinum blonde. After she had her boys, her hair darkened slightly, so she dropped by the shop for regular lightening treatments. Recently, she decided that long hair was too much trouble, and she demanded that Mom give her a pixie cut like Emma Watson wears. The effect was stunning and brought out her tiny little nose. If Alice Rose had put on ten pounds, it didn’t matter. She was taller than I, so the weight was distributed evenly.
Glancing at the clock, I realized she must have stopped by on her way back from the early service at First Methodist. We’d been raised Baptist, but she switched to the Methodist Church because Wade went there. “Hey, you,” I said and I gave my little sis a hug, inhaling the gardenia perfume she favors.
She embraced me back, although reluctantly. “What is that you’re wearing? Good Lord, Grace Ann. You look like a bag lady and smell like a janitor.”
“Not all of us are lucky enough to have a cleaning lady.” I moved out of my doorway to let her in. Alice Rose had one favorite seat in my house, an old slipper rocker with a cane bottom that had been in our family since the days when genteel Southern women took a seat on the rockers to pull on the slippers they wore indoors.
Running a hand over her face and scrubbing it hard, she rocked furiously, back and forth, as if working off steam. “Don’t start, Grace Ann. You chose a career in hair and mine is in raising two boys. You made your bed and so did I. I’m not in the mood for you to rag on me. Not today.”
Chapter Ten
“WHAT’S UP?” I ASKED MY SISTER.
Sam had been watching Alice Rose carefully, quietly, but she hadn’t noticed him. With a loud squawk, he decided to break into the conversation.
“What on earth is that noise?” Alice Rose jumped to her feet.
“That’s Sam. He’s a rescue parakeet. Sort of.” I explained about his near-death experience. As if to emphasize that he was well and truly on the mend, Sam showed off for Alice Rose, chattering and fussing with his wing feathers.
“He’s precious! Look, Grace Ann, I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made that crack about what you’re wearing. It’s obvious you’recleaning, and when you’re scrubbing, any old thing is good enough.”
“Can I offer you a glass of tea? Coffee?”
“Iced coffee?”
“I can make that for you. I bought Truvia. I know you like that.”
Her nod was grateful and her smile tremulous. “Thanks, big sis.”
“You’re welcome, little sis. Let me put the kettle on to boil. All I have is French vanilla instant coffee, and the granules dissolve best that way.”
Alice Rose got up from the rocker and took a stool at the counter that separates my kitchen area from my living room. Her eyes reddened as she watched me bustle around. “I’m worried sick about Owen.”
The eldest of my twin nephews. “Why? What’s up?”
“His teacher says his vocabulary isn’t as expected for his age. They want us to take him for testing.”
My heart plummeted. I knew that Wade was a good dad, but one with high expectations and a truckload of pride. If they found a problem, would he be able to adjust? Would he accept his son or forever be disappointed?
“I’m sorry to hear that. I suppose the
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