Where the River Runs by Patti Callahan Henry

Author:Patti Callahan Henry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

CHAPTER TEN

“The thorn in your foot is temporarily appeased, but it is still in.”

—GULLAH PROVERB

I awoke to face a window full of honey-colored light. I lifted the window and held my hand out into the open air that felt as though it waited for me today—an expectant day holding its breath. Or maybe it was only I who was expectant; Cate was coming to visit. After Mother had finished talking to Sissy, I’d had an intense need for some connection, a friend who knew me well in my present life. I’d called Cate and invited her to come spend the day with me. Although she’d been surprised to hear I was in Seaboro, as I hadn’t told her, she was only two hours away and promised to be here before lunch. I’d then called Tim to beg him to show my best friend the better parts of Seaboro—the water.

I opened the bedroom closet. I hadn’t worn any of my matching outfits or laced sundresses except to the Ladies of Seaboro luncheon. I leafed through the sundresses and had the odd feeling that I was peeking in someone else’s closet, trespassing on the wardrobe of a woman who was much more together than I was.

I yanked a pair of wrinkled shorts from the laundry basket, dug around for a clean T-shirt and went down to the kitchen. Mother sat at the table waiting for me. She had always been beautiful; I had no doubt that Daddy assumed he was as lucky to have her as she thought she was to have him. Even now a stunning face lingered behind the sagging skin, the age spots and wrinkles, as if it were all a tissue veil over the beauty underneath. Her hair had once been blond as the sun at midday; now it was silver and still long and consistently pulled behind her head in a severe knot.

Her hair was down again, which meant she had no plans for the morning. “This is nice,” she said.

“What?” I asked, and poured myself a cup of coffee.

“Having you here for breakfast every morning . . . I’m getting used to it.” And she actually smiled.

Although I felt I should say something profound and loving in return, I only grinned like a goofy five-year-old who had just been told her scribbled artwork was a Picasso. I walked over, leaned down and kissed her cheek.

She squinted at me, glanced up and down at my outfit. “What are you wearing?” she asked.

“Clothes.” I laughed.

“Meridy, surely you have some better clothes than that.”

“Well, I invited a friend from Atlanta to come visit today and—”

“A friend?” She stood. “To stay here?” She swept her hand across the kitchen.

“No . . . just for the day. Cate—she’s in Wild Palms.”

She sat, breathed out. “Well, will she be coming for lunch?”

I nodded. “Is that okay?”

Mother lifted her chin. “Of course it is. I just need to prepare something.”

“You do not need to prepare anything . . . really. It’s just Cate and we’ll be gone most of the day.

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