Anything for Her - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,39
of the porch steps. “Did I wreck things?”
Nolan hesitated, picking over his possible responses before settling on one. “Did you? No. Did we? It was a close thing. But don’t try to take all the responsibility, Sean. I shouldn’t have invited her.”
“I don’t even know why I acted that way,” he mumbled.
Nolan smiled and clapped him on the back. “Sure you do. But it’s nothing to brood about, all right?”
“Maybe it would be okay if we did something with her this Sunday.”
Nolan raised an eyebrow. Well, well. Did he mean it?
“We’ll see,” he temporized, unlocking the door. Cassie exploded through it in a frenzy of body-wriggling delight. “Now go on, give her some time outside before you start getting ready for bed.”
The happy dog diverted him from his grumbles. Nolan was smiling as he went to the kitchen to set up the coffeemaker.
He wondered what Allie would say if he invited her someplace this Sunday in company with Sean. Good idea, or bad?
* * *
ALLIE HAD ALREADY spent an obscene amount of money by the time she and her mother took a break for lunch at the Grill in the flagship Nordstrom store. She was glad to plunk down her bags and peruse the menu.
Once they ordered, a honey lime chicken ciabatta for her and halibut with fresh market veggies for her mother, Allie took a sip of iced tea. “You haven’t bought much yet.”
Mom made a face. “I think it’s too hot today to get excited about cold-weather clothes.”
“You mean, we have to do this all over again a month from now?”
Her mother laughed. “That’s such a hardship?”
No, the hardship was having had to say “no” to Nolan, who had taken it in good part but sounded disappointed. Surprised, too. Common feminine wisdom would suggest that she needed to say no to him occasionally. Only...she missed him.
“Of course not. You probably have friends you could go with, too.”
“You know you’re always my first choice,” her mother said comfortably.
Mom had always been Allie’s, too. She’d never seen anything wrong with being best friends with her mother. In fact, she’d believed she was lucky. Only lately had she begun to wonder.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “About...oh, when I was little, I guess.”
Only the slight deepening of some lines on her mother’s face suggested this wasn’t a welcome subject. “What have you been thinking?”
“I told you I went with Nolan and Sean to pick out a dog last weekend, right? That got me to remembering Lady.”
Mom’s expression eased at that. “I don’t know what possessed us to choose a beagle when we had such a small yard. We should have gotten a tiny dog. Or a lazy one.”
“Dad used to get so mad when she disappeared.”
They both laughed, remembering the way he’d fumed to hide his worry. The whole family would spread out, walking city blocks calling Lady’s name. She always seemed surprised when one of them appeared so far from home.
Usually Allie’s mother blocked any talk about the past. We’ve eased into it, good. “And Nanna,” Allie continued. “Does it bother you that, well, you weren’t there when she died?”
Now Mom’s face froze. “What do you think? Of course it bothers me!” As if aware of how her voice had risen, she scanned their fellow diners, none of whom appeared to be paying any attention to them. “Why would you ask something like that?”
“Because I’ve forgotten so much. I wish...I wish we’d kept more, to remember people by.” She wished for more than that, but knew she couldn’t say so.
“Oh, things,” her mother said dismissively. “You always did like to collect mementos.”
“Did I?”
“Every vacation, you’d insist on hauling home shells or pebbles and piles of brochures. Do you remember pressing flowers and leaves? You told me you wanted to keep the smells.” Her mouth curved reminiscently. “You were so disappointed when you discovered that dried flowers and leaves lost their scent.”
The memory of eagerly pressing flowers between the pages of a fat book, then piling a dozen other equally fat books atop, came to her as if it had been yesterday. And the dry, faded result. She’d lifted the book after she opened it and inhaled deeply, but caught only the hint of the smell she sought, or it might have been the memory of it.
I do remember, Allie thought with astonishment. She’d had a huge bulletin board over her bed, crowded with photos and bits and pieces of this and that. Postcards from places they’d been, a sand dollar that