Riding Shotgun. Joanna Wayne

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       Chapter Four

      By all rights, Grace should be a nervous wreck at this point. She’d made a major faux pas in the backyard. She hadn’t given anyone her real last name in the six years she’d been on the run. Thankfully, she’d caught herself in time to use the last name that was on her latest fake ID.

      It was the unexpected nature of the encounter with Esther. Normally, she planned her life carefully, taking no chances with strangers.

      In spite of that, Grace felt at ease. Esther was so sweet and unassuming, her house so cozy, it was impossible not to feel at home with her.

      Esther was resting at least semicomfortably now, reclined on the sofa in the loose-fitting cotton robe Grace had helped her change into. Her leg was propped on multiple pillows, her ankle iced and a clean compression wrap from Esther’s first aid kit in place.

      “Are you a nurse?” Esther asked.

      “No, but I’ve had experience with sprained ankles, usually my own. But if this is not a lot better by morning, you should see a doctor and have it x-rayed.”

      “It can’t help but be better the way you’re pampering me.”

      “I’m just doing what anyone would do.” Grace tucked an available afghan around Esther’s legs. “Do you have some pain relievers in the house?”

      “I have some ibuprofen I use when the arthritis starts acting up.”

      “It wouldn’t hurt to take that. Where would I find it?”

      “In the kitchen cabinet next to the sink and above the counter.”

      “I’ll get it,” Grace offered. “Would you like anything else, perhaps a cup of tea?”

      “Nothing yet, but you help yourself to anything you see in there that you want. There’s homemade chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar and sweet tea in the refrigerator.”

      “Thanks, but I had a late lunch.” Chips and a soft drink, if you could call that lunch.

      Alone in the kitchen, Grace took a few seconds to absorb her surroundings. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, had a cozy, lived-in feel. A red teakettle sat on the back burner of a freestanding gas range. An electric coffeepot was on the counter next to a chicken-shaped sugar bowl and a basket of unshelled pecans.

      A breakfast nook with a view of a pumpkin patch held a round oak table and four captain’s chairs topped with blue-and-white-checked cushions.

      A sky blue fruit bowl filled with apples, oranges and bananas rested in the middle of the table. The fruit was too tempting to resist. Since Esther had offered, Grace washed her hands at the kitchen sink and helped herself to a banana.

      Everything was much as Grace had imagined it when she’d first seen the house from the logging road except that there were no children, no husband, no food simmering on the range. Yet Grace was almost certain the house had once known laughter and great love.

      And now she was fantasizing, relying on her own needs to dictate the unknown.

      She took a bite of the banana and checked the refrigerator to see if there was something a lousy cook like herself could prepare for Esther’s supper. Bacon, eggs and sandwich fixings were plentiful, but that was about it.

      The freezer told a different tale. One shelf was filled with serving-size packages of food, all neatly labeled. Soups, meatloaf, chicken and dumplings, casseroles.

      Another shelf held sealed plastic bags filled with frozen vegetables. Butter beans, several kinds of peas, corn, carrots and okra, to name a few. Definitely no shortage СКАЧАТЬ