At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories) - By Barbara Bretton Page 0,90

kitchen table with Laquita's flamboyant aunts as if they all shared a particularly juicy secret. How long ago was that, she wondered. Another lifetime at least. Mrs. Chase had looked as comfortable at that old Formica table as she did in her own drawing room and Gracie remembered being struck by that fact. It had seemed most remarkable at the time.

"I can't go in there," she said, thinking about Noah and all that had transpired between them. "Especially not after those newspaper stories."

"Oh, don't worry. You won't bump into anyone. We respect each other's privacy. Mrs. C. gave my family the entire downstairs except for the main rooms. We have the garden extension, the rooms built off the kitchen, the old servants' quarters. I haven't seen Mrs. C in at least two months."

All Gracie could do was stare at Laquita in amazement. For a town that hadn't changed an iota in its two-hundred-plus year history, it had sure been busy the last ninety-six months. Next thing she knew, she would find out Ruth Chase had taken a lover and was planning to move to Monte Carlo.

"There's no way I'm coming here for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow."

"Will you stop worrying? I told you, we have completely separate living quarters. Besides, I hear Noah is taking his mother and Sophie out to some fancy restaurant in Portland."

They hurried through the downpour to the back door, the one she remembered so well from the days when Gramma Del cooked for the Chases. She even remembered the gouge the size of a quarter dug into the frame when six-year-old Noah accidentally hit it with a baseball bat. The kitchen itself was much the same as when Gracie had last seen it, a warm and inviting haven on a cold and rainy night. Rachel Adams had added touches of her own that had made it even more appealing. One wall was now lacquered a deep red and hung with shiny copper pots of varying shapes and sizes. The cabinets had been restored to their original pine and the floors tiled in a shade that reminded Gracie of toasted almonds. Pots of flowers hand-picked from the greenhouse graced the countertops, the table, the refrigerator. The smells of cookies and pies and breads were downright intoxicating. Huge piles of fresh vegetables awaited tomorrow's Thanksgiving feast while a big pot of chili simmered on the back burner.

The second that door closed behind her, she was five years old again with Gramma chopping carrots at the sink and Noah coloring at the kitchen table and Ruth Chase hovering nearby. Some of her happiest moments had been spent in this kitchen. Some of her very best days. She had to shake her head to physically drive away the memories.

"Rachel!" Laquita's voice rang out as they approached the back hall. "We're here for a fitting."

Two shaggy mutts bounded into the room, both with tails at full mast.

"They're the image of Wiley!"

"They should be. They're his offspring." Wiley was almost fifteen years old now. He spent his days sleeping at Ruth Chase's feet, dreaming of his youthful exploits.

Gracie knelt down on the tiles and let the animals sniff her hands and forearms before she started to pet them. It was one of the first things they'd taught her at veterinary school and it had saved her numerous trips to the ER. "Are they yours or the Chases'?"

"Both," Laquita said. "The lines get blurrier every year."

An alternate universe, that was what it was. Gramma Del, are you watching this? The Adams-Chase household! Can you imagine?

"Let's check out the sewing room," Laquita said. "They're probably all in there."

"Great." Gracie was a shameless snoop. She peeked in every room they passed as they walked down the back hallway toward the sewing room. She saw a beautiful den with two sofas and a fireplace. She saw three bedrooms, each one more handsomely appointed than the one before. Two baths. One Jacuzzi. A laundry room that would make the Maytag repairman proud. There wasn't a fingerprint or speck of dust anywhere. Gracie had seen operating theatres that weren't as perfectly maintained.

The sewing room was at the end of the hall, to the right of the door that led out to the garden. Shouts of female laughter spilled into the hallway. Gracie felt a sharp pang of envy that Laquita had been lucky enough to be part of such a happy family. When she was a little girl she used to wish she could be part of Laquita's family,