“Valentino and I will take care of Natty,” Sasha promised solemnly.
Overcoming her paranoia, Tricia went into Natty’s kitchen, measured out the spices and peeked into the parlor once more as she passed.
Natty was unquestionably sound asleep. So was Valentino.
But Sasha sat on the ottoman at Natty’s feet, watching her intently, as though poised to leap into action at the first sign of any emergency.
Touched, Tricia left the house again, with the chili ingredients safely stashed in her purse.
The rummage sale/chili feed was going at full tilt when Tricia arrived back at the community center, so she pushed up her sleeves and got busy helping, careful to keep her cell phone in the pocket of her jeans in case Sasha called.
After an hour, Tricia took a break and dialed Natty’s number, just in case.
Natty answered, sounding quite chipper. Evidently, the nap had restored her considerably. “We’re doing just fine, dear,” the old woman said, in reply to Tricia’s inquiry. “Sasha and I are about to play Chinese checkers, right here by the fire, where it’s cozy.” A girlish giggle followed. “The child swears by all that’s holy that she’s never played this game before, but I suspect she’ll trounce me thoroughly at it, just the same.”
Tricia smiled, impatient to join Natty and Sasha at home. She’d missed her great-grandmother sorely while she was away and, with the move to Paris looming, she wanted to spend as much time with Sasha as she could.
“No one ever beats you at Chinese checkers,” Tricia said.
Again, Natty giggled. “I used to be pretty wicked at Ping-Pong, too, if you’ll recall,” she replied sweetly. “But I’m not as quick with a paddle as I used to be.”
Tricia smiled again, recalling some lively Ping-Pong tournaments she and her dad and Natty had competed in, after stringing a net across the middle of the formal table in Natty’s dining room.
Her great-grandmother had indeed been formidable in those days. Neither Tricia nor Joe had been able to beat her, except when she decided to throw a game so they wouldn’t lose interest and stop playing.
“Shall I bring some chili home for supper?” Tricia asked, feeling an achy warmth in her heart that was partly love for the spirited old woman and partly nostalgia for those long-ago summers, when her dad was still around. “I’m sure there are some plastic containers I could borrow.”
“Yes,” Natty decided immediately. “And bring home some of Evelyn’s cornbread, too, if the supply hasn’t been exhausted already.”
Tricia promised to head home with supper as soon as possible.
Along with Carolyn and several other volunteers, she waited on the steady stream of customers—it never ceased to amaze her how many people showed up for the event. Many of them, of course, were out-of-towners, staying at River’s Bend, but the locals came in waves, often for both lunch and supper.
At six the last few stragglers wandered out, and Evelyn promptly locked up behind them.
By then, the huge kettles had been emptied, scrubbed and filled with fresh salted water and bags full of dried beans, and while the others sat at the public tables in the front of the community center, relaxing and enjoying a well-earned meal of their own, Tricia stirred spices into the cooking pots.
A few minutes later, Tricia left by the back door, carrying two bulky plastic-lidded bowls full of food, and spotted Carolyn, just getting into her aging compact car.
She made an oddly lonely figure, in the twilight-shadowed parking lot and, on impulse, Tricia called out to her. There was a kind of brave sadness about Carolyn that she hadn’t noticed before.
Smiling, Carolyn turned from her open car door. “I should have thought of that,” she said, with a nod to Tricia’s takeout.
“There’s plenty,” Tricia said. “Why don’t you join Natty and Sasha and me for supper?”
Carolyn hesitated—she looked tired—but then she gave a little nod. “I’d like that,” she said.
“Good,” Tricia said. “Follow me.”
THE FOUR OF THEM—Natty, Sasha, Carolyn and Tricia—had enjoyed a lively supper of chili and cornbread, seasoned with plenty of laughter, sitting around Natty’s kitchen table, and Carolyn had stayed to help clear away after the meal.
Natty, explaining that the effects of her afternoon nap had worn off, excused herself from the kitchen and made her way to her bedroom, Winston soft-footing it along behind her, his tail curved like a question mark. Valentino looked almost sad as he watched his feline friend disappear into the hallway without so much as a backward glance.
Sasha, alternately giggling and yawning, asked if she could use the computer upstairs; her parents had taken their laptop to France with them, and though they’d had some problems accessing wireless services in their hotel room, the little girl was certain they must have resolved the trouble by now. She was eager to send an instant message and, hopefully, receive an immediate response, and Tricia didn’t have the heart to point out that since it was after 2:00 a.m. in Paris, Paul and Diana were probably sleeping.
Although she did fine in the daytime, when there was plenty going on to engage her interest, Sasha missed her mom and dad more poignantly after sunset. Tricia well remembered being her goddaughter’s age, how she’d felt for several weeks every September, when she was back in Seattle to start the new school year. With her mother working nights at the hospital, and Mrs. Crosby from downstairs as a babysitter, Tricia had lain in her childhood bed and silently ached for her life in Lonesome Bend, for her dad’s easy companionship, and for Natty’s, and for the fleeting magic of little-girl summers in a small town.
“This is a terrific old house,” Carolyn commented, effectively bringing Tricia back from her mental meanderings. “It has so much character.” She spoke with sincere appreciation, her blue eyes taking in the bay windows, with their lace curtains, the lovely hand-pegged floors, the fine cabinetry, the antique breakfront full of translucent china, every piece an heirloom.
“On Natty’s behalf,” Tricia smiled, “thank you. The house was one of the first to be built, when the town was just getting settled.” Tricia pulled on her jacket, which she’d left draped over the back of her chair earlier, when she and Carolyn had first arrived with their rummage-sale supper, and took Valentino’s leash from the pocket.
The dog’s ears perked up at the sight of it, and he came to Tricia, waiting patiently while she fastened the hook to the loop on his collar.
“I wonder what it would be like,” Carolyn mused, “to have such deep roots in a community.” She spoke in a light tone, but there was some other quality in her voice, something forlorn that made Tricia think of the way Valentino had watched Winston follow Natty out of the room—as if he’d lost his last friend in the world.
What could she say to that? Tricia liked Carolyn tremendously, but even after working with her at the community center all day and then sharing a meal, they were still essentially strangers.
Tricia was quite shy, though she’d made a real effort to overcome the tendency, especially since she’d returned to Lonesome Bend to sell off her dad’s properties and make sure Natty really would be okay on her own, as she claimed. Carolyn, on the other hand, didn’t seem shy at all, but merely—well—private. She was a person with secrets, Tricia was sure, though not necessarily dark ones.
Valentino was anxious to get outside, so Tricia opened the back door, instead of heading for the front, and Carolyn followed. Both women were silent as they