Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,75

and cold, a bit colder than normal for this time of year, but early spring was like that around here. You never knew what kind of weather you were going to get from one day to the next.

Kind of like life.

I slid open the drawer where I’d stashed the beads and wire and jewelry tools and plucked out the bag holding them all.

I let Poindexter back inside, locked the back door and then settled at the kitchen table, methodically spreading everything before me, this time seeing the pattern and color combinations as if they’d been heaven sent.

I took a deep breath, measured the wire and snipped. I faithfully worked the pattern, over and over, stopping and starting, cutting the wire and beginning again, until I got it right.

I wove the beads into a simple pattern--a rainbow of colors and textures down the middle framed by seed beads the color of the sun down either side.

As I reached for my bedside lamp a long while later, I studied the play of color against my wrist, tracing my fingertip over each piece of glass.

I reached for Dad’s book and flipped the cover open, searching not for a cryptogram to solve but instead for the words he’d written on the inside front cover, the sentiment he’d lived by, taught us, hoped we’d believe.

In life, you either choose to sing a rainbow, or you don’t.

Maybe I’d taken my time in getting to this point. Maybe someone else would have bounced right back from life’s curve balls without quitting a job and cutting their hair and almost sleeping with their landscaper.

But, I hadn’t. And that was all right.

This was my rainbow. Mine alone. And maybe for me, the singing had finally begun.

o0o

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was within me an invincible summer.”

-Albert Camus

TWENTY-ONE

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A decent amount of trepidation filled me as I pulled into my mother’s drive on Easter Sunday. I hadn’t seen or talked to Mark in the two months since our argument, and while I’d seen my mother plenty of times since that day, we’d avoided the issue, dancing completely around the topic.

We’d also avoided my mother’s to-do list, or at least, I had.

Mark, Jenny and the kids hadn’t arrived yet, so I let Poindexter out into my mother’s fenced yard then followed her into the kitchen.

I spotted a small silver object hanging from the waistband of her jeans and pointed. “What’s that?”

“A pedometer.” Mom gave the tiny device a pat. “Ten thousand steps a day and I feel like a new woman. You should try it, honey.”

I bit my lip to avoid laughing. “I’ll do that.”

Then I opted for a subject change.

“I was thinking about your list.” I swiped a pickle from the crystal serving dish while my mother wasn’t watching. A move I’d perfected in grade school.

“It’s done,” she said.

“What’s done?” I muffed the question through pieces of dill. So much for subterfuge.

“The list.”

“Your list is done?” Was she serious?

“Mm hm.” She nodded as she slipped a tray of dinner rolls into the oven.

“Since when?”

“Since I started attacking it item by item.”

Without me. I cringed. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

She spun on me, her brows crumpled. “For what?”

“Mark was right. I’m not here enough. I should be here. I should--”

“You have your own life,” she interrupted me.

“But I--”

“And you should live it.”

The doorbell rang just as she stepped toward me. She ignored the chime long enough to cup my chin in her fingertips.

“Live your life, Bernie. That’s all your dad and I ever wanted for you.”

I stood frozen in place, working to swallow down the knot of emotion in my throat as my mother headed for the front door.

“Don’t you look handsome.” I heard her say.

“Is she here?” Mark asked.

Mark.

I drew in a fortifying breath. The time had come for me to say I was sorry. Hell, the time had come and gone. A good sister would have apologized weeks ago. But not me. No sir.

I heard Mark’s approaching footsteps and opened my mouth to speak. When he cleared the threshold, sporting Dad’s favorite jacket--navy blue with brass buttons, words failed me.

Don’t you look handsome. My mom’s words rang in my ears.

He did look handsome.

And he looked like Daddy. The sight stole my breath away.

Mark smiled, knowing the exact effect he was having on me. Sudden tears swam in my eyes and he frowned, reaching out to grasp my arm.

“Hey.” He pulled me close.