Once Upon a List by Robin Gold

Author:Robin Gold
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

March

21.

It was an unusually balmy afternoon shortly after the first anniversary of Sebastian’s death. The sun peeked behind a passing cloud, and the scent of fresh-cut grass and sweet primrose laced the gentle breeze, which carried with it the hopeful promise of spring. Clara, squatting on her hands and knees in Libby’s backyard, gripping a pointed, scoop-shaped, silver garden trowel used for breaking earth, dug a fresh hole where she’d remembered burying Leo’s recorder when she was a young child.

“I swear this is where I hid it,” she said yet again to Libby, who was towering nearby, between the large weeping willow tree and Maple Manor, with both hands on her hips and her eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry. I was wrong about the other eight holes I dug.” Clara flinched, trying to downplay the fact that she was slowly but surely transforming her mother’s meticulously maintained backyard into a crater-cramped zone that resembled a life-size version of Whac-A-Mole, the popular carnival redemption game. “But I have a good feeling about this one.”

“Mm-hmm. How much deeper do you plan on digging?” Libby tapped her foot against the soft grass.

“Not much.” Clara wiped a thin sheen of perspiration from her brow, fearing her mother was moments away from foaming at the mouth. “It was late at night when I buried the recorder, so it was dark outside, but I don’t remember it taking me too long to form the hole. So if I’m not mistaken, it should surface any time now.”

“Any time now . . .” Libby echoed for effect. “Well, let’s certainly hope so.”

Ten long minutes of Libby frowning later, Clara was still shoveling at a frantic pace, and her mother was chewing the corner of her bottom lip, watching the unsightly ninth ditch in her treasured garden continue to expand.

“Uh, one more hole and you get a free sandwich?” Clara attempted to diffuse the increasing tension in the air.

But Libby just stood there with her arms crossed, unamused.

“I—I don’t understand.” Clara hurled brown dirt over her shoulder with the trowel. “I could’ve sworn this is where I buried the damn thing!”

“Words every mother longs to hear escape her daughter’s mouth.”

“I’m sorry. I really mean it. I assure you, I do not want to make a monumental mess back here. But you have to understand,” Clara pleaded, focusing on one thing and one thing only: her time capsule list. “I need to find that recorder!” She paused for a minute to catch her breath. “Is it okay if I try digging about three feet over to the left? Now I’m starting to think I may have made the hole a little bit closer to the house. I’m almost positive that was the area.” She nodded toward the precise location where she wished to break ground for the tenth time.

“Oh, you’re almost positive?” Libby emphasized her words with raised arms, exasperated. “Fabulous. I feel much better now. Please, go ahead and form yet another ditch! You haven’t destroyed my tulip beds yet. And the hollyhock corner over there”—she pointed west—“looks ripe for the taking.

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