six or seven orphans in my charge at any time. So it’s not
like I’m bringing in a zoo. I could keep the pitties in my room or outside, if
there’s a yard. I’d love to talk more with in person. It sounds like you’re as
picky as I am. I don’t blame you — there’s a bunch of crazies out there.
Regards,
Imogen
CHAPTER EIGHT
One-two-three-four. Creak!
Sabrina bounded up the steps to the Parker house, the ball
of her right foot landing on the old wooden porch. It was like going back home.
The Chateau du Parker had in fact been her home when she and
Molly were both in college. But even before then, it had been a haven to escape
to, far away from the toxic waste of sadness that was CherNola. Sabrina was
relieved when Molly decided not to sell the house after her parents’ untimely
demise in an automobile accident.
Molly also charged cheap rent.
The craftsman-style house was tucked away in a recessed lot
at the end of a dead-end street that was shrouded by a trio of large live oaks.
Sabrina ordinarily would have made her visit with Molly a stopping point during
a late-night run, but tonight a blistering cold front was steadily blowing in
from the north.
The windows were ablaze with a strange greenish-gold light
cast by the hideous chartreuse panels Mrs. Parker bought in the seventies and
Molly never got around to replacing. Sabrina rubbed her arms briskly. She
wished she’d thought to bring a sweater. Before she had a chance to knock, the
front door flew open. The next thing she knew, she was engulfed in a squishy
hug and the smell of freshly chopped herbs and garlic. Molly had to be one of
the most tactile people she’d ever met.
“I’m making spätzel with ham and Dutch apple pie — you’ll
stay for dinner, right? I want to be able to tell people that Sebastian and I
had guests. Well, at least one guest,” Molly said breathlessly as she closed
the door behind them. “First, tell me something. Be honest. Do I look any
different to you?”
“Different?” Sabrina asked as she followed Molly into the
kitchen.
“You know what I mean. Do I look married?”
“You look absolutely bridal,” Sabrina assured her. From the
moment Molly and Sebastian went exclusive, they could have been mistaken for
newlyweds. “But how do you feel?”
“Please, Brini.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Are we going to go
through this again? I will tell you the second I feel like I might be going out
of remission.”
“You know why I have to ask. Right?”
“Because you’re more overprotective than Mom ever was.”
Molly smiled. She had a large, mobile mouth and a mane of long, thick chestnut
curls that always looked slightly unkempt. Her skin was sun-kissed from
puttering in her garden. She projected the vision of perfect health. But
Sabrina knew that a walker was stashed in the walk-in closet of her old bedroom.
She’d seen what multiple sclerosis could do to Molly.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Molly fretted. “I haven’t gotten
around to tidying up.”
But Sabrina knew the house would look no different, despite
her friend’s cleaning efforts. When Sabrina roomed at the Chateau du Parker,
she quickly gave up trying to give Molly decorating and organizing tips and
abandoned herself to the clash and clutter. Molly decorated whimsically with no
reference to consistency. Overstuffed vintage sofas were paired with
streamlined IKEA end tables. Framed pieces of embroidery with sappy sayings
like “I Hope You Dance” hung next to lithographs of abstract art. Throw rugs in
all colors were tossed on the scuffed pine floors. Every square inch of kitchen
surface was covered with Sebastian’s books and papers, quilting magazines,
patchwork pieces and masses of tiny sewing stuff.
“Tell me about Paris.” Sabrina pulled a bar stool up to the
counter and checked it for stray stickpins before she sat down.
“That can wait.” Molly stirred something simmering in a
large skillet. “I want to hear about my wedding
like I’m bringing in a zoo. I could keep the pitties in my room or outside, if
there’s a yard. I’d love to talk more with in person. It sounds like you’re as
picky as I am. I don’t blame you — there’s a bunch of crazies out there.
Regards,
Imogen
CHAPTER EIGHT
One-two-three-four. Creak!
Sabrina bounded up the steps to the Parker house, the ball
of her right foot landing on the old wooden porch. It was like going back home.
The Chateau du Parker had in fact been her home when she and
Molly were both in college. But even before then, it had been a haven to escape
to, far away from the toxic waste of sadness that was CherNola. Sabrina was
relieved when Molly decided not to sell the house after her parents’ untimely
demise in an automobile accident.
Molly also charged cheap rent.
The craftsman-style house was tucked away in a recessed lot
at the end of a dead-end street that was shrouded by a trio of large live oaks.
Sabrina ordinarily would have made her visit with Molly a stopping point during
a late-night run, but tonight a blistering cold front was steadily blowing in
from the north.
The windows were ablaze with a strange greenish-gold light
cast by the hideous chartreuse panels Mrs. Parker bought in the seventies and
Molly never got around to replacing. Sabrina rubbed her arms briskly. She
wished she’d thought to bring a sweater. Before she had a chance to knock, the
front door flew open. The next thing she knew, she was engulfed in a squishy
hug and the smell of freshly chopped herbs and garlic. Molly had to be one of
the most tactile people she’d ever met.
“I’m making spätzel with ham and Dutch apple pie — you’ll
stay for dinner, right? I want to be able to tell people that Sebastian and I
had guests. Well, at least one guest,” Molly said breathlessly as she closed
the door behind them. “First, tell me something. Be honest. Do I look any
different to you?”
“Different?” Sabrina asked as she followed Molly into the
kitchen.
“You know what I mean. Do I look married?”
“You look absolutely bridal,” Sabrina assured her. From the
moment Molly and Sebastian went exclusive, they could have been mistaken for
newlyweds. “But how do you feel?”
“Please, Brini.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Are we going to go
through this again? I will tell you the second I feel like I might be going out
of remission.”
“You know why I have to ask. Right?”
“Because you’re more overprotective than Mom ever was.”
Molly smiled. She had a large, mobile mouth and a mane of long, thick chestnut
curls that always looked slightly unkempt. Her skin was sun-kissed from
puttering in her garden. She projected the vision of perfect health. But
Sabrina knew that a walker was stashed in the walk-in closet of her old bedroom.
She’d seen what multiple sclerosis could do to Molly.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Molly fretted. “I haven’t gotten
around to tidying up.”
But Sabrina knew the house would look no different, despite
her friend’s cleaning efforts. When Sabrina roomed at the Chateau du Parker,
she quickly gave up trying to give Molly decorating and organizing tips and
abandoned herself to the clash and clutter. Molly decorated whimsically with no
reference to consistency. Overstuffed vintage sofas were paired with
streamlined IKEA end tables. Framed pieces of embroidery with sappy sayings
like “I Hope You Dance” hung next to lithographs of abstract art. Throw rugs in
all colors were tossed on the scuffed pine floors. Every square inch of kitchen
surface was covered with Sebastian’s books and papers, quilting magazines,
patchwork pieces and masses of tiny sewing stuff.
“Tell me about Paris.” Sabrina pulled a bar stool up to the
counter and checked it for stray stickpins before she sat down.
“That can wait.” Molly stirred something simmering in a
large skillet. “I want to hear about my wedding
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