Blue Sky Days Read Free Page A

changed,” she said.
    “Well, it’s been a while,” I said, trying not to fidget under her steady gaze.
    She made a little humming noise in her throat, her brows drawing together slightly. She studied me a moment longer and I wished I could see what she saw, and what was worth such intense scrutiny. Finally, she shook her head as if to clear it and the smile returned to her face as she reached out to touch my cheek. “Sorry,” she said. “There’s something different about you. I guess it’s just hard to accept the fact that you’re growing up.”
    I had to admit I found this kind of amusing since Daisy is only fourteen years older than I am. An unexpected but welcome surprise for my grandparents later in life, Daisy was born when my mother was in her late teens. My aunt had still been a child when my parents got married and had me. In a lot of ways, we grew up together, almost like sisters—something my mother fought hard to discourage every chance she got. She and Daisy had been so different that they had never been close, so my mother didn’t want me to have a special relationship with my aunt. Not that it made my mother work any harder to ensure a special relationship—or any kind of relationship—between her and me. The harder my mother tried to keep Daisy and me apart, the harder we both fought to be close. Daisy had been everything to me growing up—she was like an aunt, sister, mother, and friend all rolled into one fun package—basically all the things my own mother wasn’t.
    Physically tired from my trip, and emotionally tired from having nothing but time to think for the past several weeks, I steered the conversation onto lighter subjects. I told Daisy about my drive up, my first impression of Riverview, and how I was looking forward to sitting in the garden and learning about the plants and flowers she had. We reminisced about our childhood, carefully avoiding the subject of my mother.
    When the teapot was nearly empty and the cookies were gone, Daisy stood, smoothing out her dress before reaching for my hand. “Come on upstairs. I’m anxious to show you your room.” She pulled me from the couch and wound her arm through mine, leaning into me with a smile so loving it made my heart ache.
    The stairs went straight up to a small landing before splitting in two directions. Daisy took me to the left first to show me ‘her wing’, as she called it, with her enormous bedroom and luxurious en suite bathroom, and a smaller room that she used for her painting, sculpting, and other artful endeavours. The stairs on the other side led to the guest wing, which was now mine, according to Daisy. There were two small spare bedrooms she said I could use when friends were over, or turn one into a workspace for anything I was interested in. I didn’t tell her I had no friends, or that I was clueless as to what I’d use a workspace for. She was so delighted about showing me around, I didn’t want to disappoint her by letting her know how dull I had become, or how lonely my life was.
    “I hope you like your bedroom,” Daisy said as we paused in front of the closed door at the end of the hall. “When you told me you were coming, I spent days planning it all and putting it together.” Her whole face lit up, and her eyes glowed with an excitement I associated with kids on Christmas morning.
    When she opened the door, I knew why; it was like something out of a secret dream—the room I had always wanted but seemed too fanciful for someone as sensible as I was. My eyes were drawn immediately to the gleaming maple four-poster bed in the centre of the room, covered in a fluffy dark purple comforter and matching throw pillows. It was every little girl’s dream, and a vast difference from my single bed at home.
    Two of Daisy’s original paintings, both watercolours of the same forest—one in spring and the other in autumn—were hanging from the pale lavender walls, creating bright spots in the room. I scanned