watch when the cook’s doing things, you let me learn what I can.’ What do you want to drink?”
“Milk, I’m starving for it,” said Mona. “Don’t run inside yet. Look, it’s the magic time of twilight. This is Michael’s favorite time.”
If only she could remember in the dream who had been with her. Only the feeling of love lingered, utterly comforting love.
For a moment she worried fiercely for Rowan and Michael. How would they ever solve the mystery of who killed Aaron? But together they could probably defeat anybody, that is, if they really cooperated, and Yuri, well, Yuri’s destiny had never been meant to involve itself with hers.
Everybody would understand when the time came.
The flowers had begun to glow. It was as if the garden were singing. She slumped against the door frame, humming with the flowers, humming as if the song were being made known to her by some remote part of her memory where beautiful and delicate things were never forgotten, but only securely stored. She could smell some perfume in the air—ah, it was the sweet olive trees!
“Honey, let’s eat now,” said Mary Jane.
“Very well, very well!” Mona sighed, threw up her arms and said farewell to the night, and then went inside.
She drifted into the kitchen, as if in a delicious trance, and sat down at the lavish table that Mary Jane had set for them. She’d taken out the Royal Antoinette china, the most delicate pattern of all, with fluted and gilded edges to the plates and saucers. Clever girl, such a wonderful clever girl. How unboring of her to have found the very best china by instinct. This cousin opened up a whole vista of possibilities, but how adventuresome was she, really? And how naive of Ryan to have dropped her off here, and left the two of them alone!
“I never saw china like that,” Mary Jane was saying, bubbling away. “It’s just like it’s made of stiff starch cloth. How do they do it?” Mary Jane had just come back with a carton of milk and a box of powdered chocolate.
“Don’t put that poison in the milk, please,” said Mona, as she snatched the carton, tore it open, and filled her glass.
“I mean, how can they make china that’s not flat, I don’t get it, unless the china’s soft like dough before they bake it, but even then—”
“Haven’t the faintest idea,” said Mona, “but I have always adored this pattern. Doesn’t look good in the dining room. It’s overshadowed by the murals. But looks absolutely splendid on this kitchen table, and how smart of you to have found the Battenburg lace table mats. I’m starving again, and we just had lunch. This is glorious, let’s pig out now.”
“We didn’t just have lunch, and you didn’t eat a thing,” said Mary Jane. “I was scared to death you might mind me touching these things, but then I thought, ‘If Mona Mayfair minds, I’ll just slap-bang put them all away, like I found them.’ ”
“My darling, the house is ours for now,” said Mona triumphantly.
God, the milk was good. She’d splashed it on the table, but it was so good, so good, so good.
Drink more of it.
“I am, I’m drinking it,” she said.
“You’re telling me,” said Mary Jane, sitting down beside her. All the serving bowls were full of delectable and scrumptious things.
Mona heaped the steaming rice on her plate. Forget the gravy. This was wonderful. She began to eat it, not waiting for Mary Jane to serve herself, who was too busy dropping spoon after spoon of dirty chocolate powder into her own milk.
“Hope you don’t mind. I just love chocolate. I can’t live for too long without chocolate. There was a time when I made chocolate sandwiches, you know???? You know how to do that? You slap a couple Hershey bars between white bread, and you put sliced bananas and sugar too, and I’m telling you, that’s delicious.”
“Oh, I understand, might feel the same way if I wasn’t pregnant. I once devoured an entire box of chocolate-covered cherries.” Mona ate one big forkful of the rice after another. No chocolate could equal this. The chocolate-covered cherries had faded to an idea. And now the funniest thing. The white bread. It looked good too. “You know, I think I need complex carbohydrates,” she said. “That’s what my baby is telling me.”
Laughing, or was it singing?
No problem; this was all so simple, so natural; she felt in harmony with the whole world, and it