Barefoot Season. Сьюзен Мэллери

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      Two

      Knowing and seeing were not the same thing. Michelle stared at the front of the inn and knew the hits were going to keep on coming.

       “It’s so good to have you back,” Damaris said, giving her another bone-crushing hug.

       At least that was familiar, as was the other woman’s scent of cinnamon and vanilla from the pastries she made each morning. But everything else was wrong. From the roof—a hideous green color—to the matching shutters. Even the shape of the structure had changed. The lines of the building where she’d grown up had shifted, growing out in a way that made the inn look stubby. As if it had a muffin top and needed to lay off the blackberry scones and go find a Zumba class.

       To the left, where the restaurant had been, an extra room jutted out, slicing through the side lawn and razing the slope she’d rolled down as a kid. To the right, a garish, wartlike growth was stuck on the side—all bright colors and windows displaying the usual island crap. Dolls and lighthouses, wind chimes and dangling stained glass.

       “There’s a gift shop?” she asked, her voice more growl than question.

       Damaris rolled her eyes. “Your mother’s idea. Or maybe Carly’s. I never listened when the two of them talked. They’re like the birds. Making noise and not saying much.”

       Damaris’s small, strong hands gripped her arms. “Don’t worry about them. You’re home now and that’s all that matters.” Her mouth tightened in concern. “You’re too thin. Look at you. All bones.”

       “From being in the hospital,” Michelle admitted. There was nothing like a painful rifle shot to kill the appetite.

       Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flutter of wings. They were there—the ever-present Puget Sound cranes circling the gray water of the Sound. The birds brought visitors and scientists. For some reason people found them interesting. Michelle had never been a fan. When she’d been eight, she’d spent a whole summer getting pooped on by the cranes. She wasn’t sure if it was just bad luck or an avian conspiracy. Either way, she’d gone from a fairly neutral opinion to hating them. Time away hadn’t lessened her desire to have them gone.

       She returned her gaze to the inn and felt her gut lurch with disappointment. How could anyone have done this to the once-beautiful building? Even her mother should have known better.

       She probably had, Michelle told herself. This was Carly’s doing, she was sure of it.

       “Come inside,” Damaris said, moving toward the porch. “It’s going to rain and I want to feed you.”

       The unrelated thoughts made Michelle slightly less uneasy. At least Damaris was the same—welcoming and loving, always needing to feed those around her. Michelle would hang on to that.

       She walked haltingly next to the much shorter woman, knowing she should probably be using her cane but refusing to show weakness. Not when the situation felt so strange. And in her world, not knowing what came next meant she was in danger.

       One of the thrilling results of multiple posts in Iraq and Afghanistan, she thought grimly. Along with nightmares, a hair-trigger temper and an attractive little tic that showed up under her left eye from time to time.

       She’d foolishly allowed herself to believe that the second she saw the inn, she would be okay. That being home was enough. She’d known better, but still, the hope had lived. Now it shriveled up and died, leaving her with little more than the pain in her hip and a desperate longing to be ten years old again. Back when crawling onto her dad’s lap and feeling his strong arms holding her tight made everything all right.

       “Michelle?” Damaris’s voice held concern.

       “I’m okay,” she lied, then smiled at the other woman. “Or if you don’t believe that, how about I plan to be okay eventually? Can you live with that?”

       “Only if you promise to eat.”

       “Until I burst.”

       Damaris’s hair had gone a little gray and there were more wrinkles around her eyes, but other than that, she was as she had been. At least that was something. Michelle was still searching for a piece of her home that was recognizable. Even the gardens were different, she thought as she stopped to look at the yards of happy daisies waving in the slight breeze.

       Their color exploded in a cheerful pattern, edging the lawn, creeping up toward the main building, sliding around the side. They СКАЧАТЬ