The Doctor's Do-Over. Karen Templeton

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СКАЧАТЬ under the weight of hundreds, if not thousands, of books and DVDs and videotapes. At least there weren’t any cats.

      That they’d found, at any rate.

      “I had no idea the place had gone to seed like this,” April whispered to Mel as they loaded the bags onto the now disinfected pine table in the middle of the oversize kitchen. Quinn dumped her bags, as well, then took off to continue exploring. Mel was half tempted suit up the kid in hazmat attire. And maybe a cross.

      “Seed, hell,” Mel muttered as she hauled two gallons of milk onto the top shelf of the fridge, which at least was no longer toxic. “The ancient Greeks had nothing on the civilizations growing in there.”

      “So you’re saying it was worse?”

      “Heh.” April stared at one of the kitchen chairs; Mel chuckled. “Your butt might smell like Pine-sol when you get up, but you’re good.”

      “The lawyer said Nana died virtually broke,” her cousin said, sitting. “That the house … this was all that was left.”

      “Because she clearly spent everything she had on crap she didn’t need,” Mel said. “Have you been upstairs yet?”

      “After seeing the gathering room? I didn’t have the nerve. Not alone, anyway. And you let Quinn go up there?”

      “She’s an intrepid soul, she’ll be fine.”

      April sighed. “I cannot imagine how long it’s gonna take to sort through all this junk. Although I don’t suppose it was junk to Nana. And who knows? There might be some valuable stuff in amongst all that …” She waved her hand, searching for the right word.

      “Trash? I seriously doubt it. Frankly, my vote is for lighting a match.” Mel lifted her hands. “Oops.”

      “Bite your tongue,” her cousin said, coloring. “And you know she used to have good things. I remember the crystal. And the china. And some of the furniture dated back to when the house was built—”

      “And sometimes, old is just old. April—the place is about to collapse, from what I can tell—”

      “I’m sure most of it’s cosmetic!” At Mel’s snort, she added, “You mark my words, once we get it all cleared Out …” Her eyes filled. “We can bring it back to life, Mel. I’m sure of it.”

      Too tired to argue, Mel changed the subject. “So … you’re married, huh?” April frowned slightly. Readying the veggies for slaughter on a cutting board in the middle of the kitchen table, Mel pointed to her cousin’s left hand with one of the knives she’d hauled from Baltimore. Because some things, a real cook doesn’t leave home without.

      “Oh,” April said, touching the rings. “I am. Or rather, was. Clayton—my husband—died a few months ago.”

      “Oh, God, honey—”

      “It’s okay, he’d been ill for a long time.” Then she squinted up at the forlorn schoolhouse-style fixture dangling in the center of the room. “That has got to go.”

      “And it will, when the flames reach the kitchen.” Mel clanged her iron skillet onto the gas range, turned the heat on high, then returned to the table. “I take it you don’t want to talk about your husband?”

      “Not any more than you do the house, apparently.”

      “I did talk about the house, I suggested we level it and collect the insurance. That, or turn it into an annual Halloween attraction.” At her cousin’s silence, she frowned. “What?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Nothing, my hiney.” Mel waved the knife in April’s direction. “I remember that look. All too well. That look spells trouble.”

      On a soft laugh, April reached across the table to briefly squeeze Mel’s wrist, before grabbing a red pepper slice and nibbling on it. “It’s nice, being here with you again.”

      “Ditto. Although … I’m not the same person I was then.”

      “Who is?” April said on a sigh. “Even so, despite the clutter and the filth and wildlife I don’t even want to think about, being back here … it’s like time stood still. Not that I feel like when we were kids—and heaven knows I wouldn’t want to—but it’s like the me I am now can feel the me I was then looking over my shoulder. Didn’t expect that.” She paused, then said, “So did you keep up with Ryder or what?” When Mel shot her a what-the-hell look, April grinned. “It’s hardly an illogical question, Mel. Well?”

      “No.”

      “Really? I mean, I know how close you two were—”

      “We were childhood buddies, that’s all,” Mel said, wondering if it was too late to bake something. As if that was a serious question. “Besides, he went off to med school, and Mama and I moved to Baltimore after Dad died, and … we lost touch—”

      Quinn bounded into the kitchen—Mel had often wondered if the child had springs on the soles of her feet—and straight to the table to snatch a carrot slice. “When’s dinner? I’m about to expire from hunger.”

      “Ten minutes,” Mel said, carting the chopped veggies to the stove to dump them into the sizzling oil. “You can set the table. Dishes are up there.” She nodded toward the cupboard next to the sink. “Used to be, anyway.”

      After filching a pepper slice, Quinn swung open the cupboard door, nearly gagging when she pulled down an avocado-green Fiestaware plate that looked like it hadn’t been washed in twenty years. “Gross!”

      “Hey,” April said with a laugh. “When we were kids we’d’ve rinsed it off and called it good.”

      “And you, child of mine,” Mel said as she stirred, “used to lick the kitchen floor.”

      Shock and horror bloomed in Quinn’s blue eyes. “Did not!”

      “Got the video to prove it. You apparently have the immune system of an android. Palmolive’s right on the sink, baby. Go for it.”

      After dinner, during which they talked, and laughed, and reminisced more than Mel had any idea they could, Quinn disappeared again to poke through those ten thousand books—heaven!—while April and Mel cleaned up. Her hands deep in Palmolive suds, April looked over at Mel, drying the dishes and stacking them on the counter rather than putting them back with their disgusting little friends.

      “Dinner was fantastic. You always cook like that?”

      “Thanks. And yes. Cooking’s my thing.”

      “Really? Huh.” Behind her, Mel heard sudsy swishing. “So … is Quinn’s father in the picture?”

      “Nope,” Mel said lightly. “Never has been.”

      More swishing. Then: “Is she Ryder’s kid?”

      Yeah, she’d expected that. Still, the assumption needled. Especially since there were other people in town who’d be all too eager to leap to the same conclusion. “No. As I said, Ryder and I СКАЧАТЬ