Healing Hearts (Hope River #3) - Margaret McHeyzer Page 0,2
me sideways to make sure I’m copying her. “I haven’t met your auntie. Perhaps one day I’ll get to cook for her too.”
I shrug. “Doubt it. Mom doesn’t really like Aunt May. They’re so different. Actually, the summer holidays are nearly here!” I say happily.
“I don’t know anyone who doesn’t love vacation,” Dorothy says with a smile. “One day, I’m going to go to Australia. I have family who live in Sydney, and they’re always asking when I’m going to see them.”
“Australia, huh?” I shrug. “I love where Aunt May lives. It’s this really small town, called Hope River. And everybody knows everyone, and there’s always something to do. I can’t wait ’til summer vacation, because I’m going to ask Aunt May if I can go stay with her for a few weeks.” Sadness quickly overtakes my happiness. “It’s not like Mom or Dad want to hang out with me here.”
Dorothy doesn’t respond. I suppose she can’t. Instead, she focuses on the task at hand. “Now that we’ve mixed it, we have to make sure the dough is smooth and elastic. The way we do that is to poke your finger in it, like this.” She pokes her finger in, and the dough springs back. “That’s how we can tell it’s ready.”
I do the same, and turn my head for confirmation I’m doing the right thing.
“Great job,” Dorothy chirps. “What we have to do is cut it into two equal portions. Ordinarily, I’d be making it all in one go, but because you wanted to learn, we did two batches. Cut it into half, and wrap it in cling film, then place it in the fridge to rest for as long as you can. An hour will do, but two hours is better.”
I follow her instructions, and when the dough is in the fridge, I help clean the mess we made. “What about the sauce?”
“Ah, yes. I’m going to make a red sauce with fresh tomatoes and basil.” She goes to the pantry, where she takes out a bag of tomatoes, an onion, a head of garlic, and several other things.
I spend the rest of the afternoon helping Dorothy in the kitchen. It was so much fun, and now I can’t wait until dinner.
“Dad, guess what?” I say as I bounce in my seat impatiently.
Dad’s got his phone in his hand as he types and sends emails. Mom’s sitting opposite Dad, staring at him with hatred while she sips on her third cocktail since she came home from her lunch.
“Dad?” I say bursting with excitement to tell him about the pasta and sauce I helped make.
“Wait just a minute.” He holds a finger up to me.
Stephanie, one of our maids, fills my glass with water, and I smile at her. “Thank you,” I say, then turn to look at Dad, waiting for him to finish what he’s doing.
“Stephanie, another.” Mom points to her empty glass. Stephanie shuffles forward, and takes Mom’s glass.
“Dad,” I say again. Dorothy walks in and places the pasta on the table. She smiles at me, and I beam eagerly at her. When she returns, she has a silver bowl with the sauce we made. “Dad!”
Dad looks up from his phone, holds his finger up at me, then quickly finishes what he’s been doing. “Yes, darling, what is it?”
“Guess what I did today?”
Dad serves himself, Mom, and then me. But Mom’s never really interested in eating with us. She merely sits here drinking, while Dad and I eat together. Mom barely picks at her food.
“What did you do?” He twirls some of the pasta around his fork, and eats it.
“I made that.” I look at the pasta he’s eating.
“You made what, darling?” he asks as he swirls more pasta around his fork, and shoves it into his mouth.
“I helped Dorothy make the pasta and the sauce. I did it, I made that!” I enthusiastically say. My heart is beating so fast waiting for Dad’s reply and hopefully, his approval.
“Did you?” he asks with a giant smile. “Well done! It’s so good.”
I clap my hands together, and turn hoping to get the same reaction from Mom. Her sour look, and cold eyes signal her disgust. “Why would you bother helping them?” Mom scowls toward Stephanie who’s placing another cocktail beside Mom. “You’re well above them, Tabitha,” Mom says.
“I enjoyed it,” I say in a small voice as I look at the pasta on my plate, feeling deflated.