After Ashley had dragged her nails down Cassidy’s arms hard enough to leave marks. After Travis had come, and Cassidy as well, stars floating in front of his eyes—
After the physical act was done, the emotional connection pulsed between them like a live wire, raw and energetic. Powerful, potentially dangerous, yet for them, the only possible way.
Cassidy held his hearts close. He kissed Ashley’s temple then wiggled until Travis was included in the embrace. “Good memories,” he said softly.
Travis grinned. “The best.”
Coleman Memory Book
~Kate (Moonshine) Coleman~
For me, memories come in small, medium, and big packages.
My time as a Coleman started when I fell in love with Randy. Finding our way as a twosome was magical and sweet as well as frustrating and annoying. Because, as we like to joke, if two people in a relationship always get along, then you don’t need one of them.
Overall, our twosome is a unit, and we work together to get things done and enjoy life. Play as well as work. Still learning that at times.
The medium package is the Moonshine family. Which admittedly is growing, with grandbabies for me to adore, but in the beginning, it was a two plus four, and that meant finding new ways to balance happiness, play and work with extra bodies. I’m so grateful that my children have all grown up to be adults I’m not just proud of but want to spend time around. People I can have easy conversations with yet be challenged and supported by.
Which means the big package is the entire Coleman clan. And that’s where the memory I want to share comes from, because otherwise I’ll just gush about my grandkids. Which is good and right, but not what this is about.
When we started the family gatherings on Boxing Day and Canada Day, it made life simpler. Every other year would be our turn to host, once in summer, once in winter. But the year Trevor was born in June, there were two other new babies as well, so Sally said Whiskey Creek would host.
Their house was mostly built by that time, her kitchen a little chaotic and not yet sorted because they were getting married in August and still working on things. Myself and the other sisters-in-law came over early to help each other finish cooking before the actual gathering.
I had offered to make lemon pudding pies. The crusts I’d done ahead of time, so with little Trevor being taken care of in the other room, Sally and I whirled into action, scooping up sugar and mixing vigorously. As soon as the custard started to set, we poured it into the piecrusts and then admired how pretty they looked, all creamy, yellow perfection.
Until Sally decided to lick the spoon.
Her face—dear, Lord—I can picture it now. The sheer horror and the way her mouth puckered before she raced to the sink and spit and spit and spit.
I’d used salt instead of sugar.
Once we figured that out, and Sally had rinsed her mouth and was no longer gagging, that’s when the giggles hit. For the next umpteen minutes, we laughed so hard, we ended up on the floor, stomachs aching.
Sally suggested we scrape the terrible pudding out of the crusts and start again, and in the end, it worked. But to this day, I can’t give that recipe to anyone without enjoying a small snicker.
I learned three important lessons:
1. Sometimes mistakes are the way to learn (i.e., always check that the white, crystal-like substance is sugar).
2. Sometimes we need a bit of laughter to ease past our mistakes.
3. And family is a good place to find both laughter and good advice. Whether you open a small, medium, or large package of Coleman.
[Images: lemon pies. Family gathered around a fire. Big laughing group. Hugging couple.]
Part III
And what is the future, happy one?
‘A sea beneath a cloudless sun;
A mighty, glorious, dazzling sea
Stretching into infinity.’
Past, Present, Future
Emily Brontë
17
Hope turned the sign on the front door from open to closed but left it unlocked. Then she wandered back into the Stitching Post, deep satisfaction rising as she gazed around her neat shop, admiring the sample quilts hung along every available surface above the well-stocked fabric shelves.
After nearly seven years, she could honestly say she was no longer afraid of failing. She had loyal customers and experienced teachers and a place she loved to go every day.
Thumping from the back stairs behind the shop brought a smile to her lips. She moved toward