Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,68

there was only one thing to do. I marched into the kitchen and began a drawer by drawer search for chocolate.

The old me had stockpiled the stuff by the bagful, the new me hadn’t allowed myself to buy any in weeks.

Idiot.

Drawer after drawer, I came up empty-handed, until I pulled out the drawer next to my work desk. The thing was loaded to the brim--not with full bags--but with wrappers, empty bags, shreds of foil, paper, traces of crumbs.

I had never seen such a pathetic display of zero willpower in my life. I stared at the evidence and frowned. Who had I been hiding these from? Myself?

I scooped the mess out of the drawer and retraced my steps, dumping the load on the kitchen table. Poindexter’s tail thumped noisily against the floor. He’d once devoured a small box of gourmet chocolates and had lived to bark about it.

Because of that, he’d never been a big believer in the whole dogs-can’t-eat-chocolate mantra. Of course--I studied the mess of empty wrappers and cringed--apparently I hadn’t left a morsel for him to worry about.

I swept the entire mess into the trash can and poured myself a large glass of water. I chugged down the contents, trying not to gag as the last gulp splashed into my stomach.

I glanced at the clock. Wasn’t there some sort of diet rule about waiting twenty minutes when you thought you couldn’t live without inhaling something?

Twenty minutes.

I thought about the day I’d had. The week I’d had. Heck, the last several months I’d had.

I could do twenty minutes. All I needed was a distraction.

I scanned the kitchen and spotted exactly what I needed--the long forgotten bead shop bag I’d tossed onto the counter during my search.

Even though I knew I had no future in jewelry, I had spent a small fortune on supplies all those months ago.

I hadn’t looked at the bag since. Matter of fact, I’d forgotten about it completely. Until now.

I drew in a deep breath and sighed. This was sure to be an exercise in futility, but if playing with beads kept me from running out for chocolate, more power to the beads.

I carried the bag to the kitchen table and worked slowly, methodically, setting out the tools I’d purchased, the beading wire the young woman had told me was the be-all and end-all of bracelet design, the cards touting simple patterns to follow, and the beads.

I first dumped out the contents of a bag of purple beads, then a bag of lime green beads. Different. Spring-like. Bright. I used a placemat to keep the glass beads from rolling away, positioning them, lining them up by size, then alternating patterns, but still I wasn’t pleased with the results.

Finally I dumped out the contents of every bag of beads I’d purchased, keeping everything separated by color.

I stared at the piles, waiting for some sort of inspiration.

I stared.

I squinted.

I blinked.

I placed a round bead here, a square bead there, an oval bead here, yet nothing looked right and everything looked wrong.

Whatever I’d learned that night at the bead shop had left my memory completely.

I glanced up at the clock. Five minutes left before the drugstore at the corner shut for the night. If I wanted to inhale a jumbo bag of M&Ms, it was now or never.

I thought about refilling the water glass again, really I did. Matter of fact, I was still thinking about doing just that as I screeched the car to a stop in front of the store and launched myself into a full-out sprint.

Hours later, queasy from too much sugar yet lulled into complacency by the chocolate, I passed the pile of beads on the kitchen table on my way to let Poindexter out one last time before bed.

I thought about attacking the bracelet project again, but decided against it.

In the words of the great Scarlet O’Hara, tomorrow was another day.

As far as I was concerned, tomorrow was plenty soon enough.

o0o

Poindexter was out back barking before I even had a chance to get the coffee started the next morning. I’d stumbled downstairs in the throes of a sugar hangover to let him out back, then I’d stumbled back upstairs to get dressed.

I peeked out my bedroom window, watching the dog race back and forth across the yard. Based on the level of his frenzy, the planes must be coming in for landing no more than thirty seconds apart.

I prayed Mrs. Cooke would forgive me for another early morning wake-up call as I stared