Like a Charm Read Free Page B

these days without a bit of technology here and there. Your dad has discovered some BBC America show called Doctor Who , and now we are overrun with gadgets. It was his idea to do all the door sensors.”
    I giggled. “Dad watched television?” The laugh turned into hysterics. My parents , the ones who would never pander to The Man and get a telephone when I was a teen, or let me have a television.
    One of my rebellious acts as a grown woman with a job was to buy a forty-two-inch plasma with my first bonus check. I watched it for forty-eight hours straight one weekend. Geez, now my mom and dad had cell phones and a computer. Pure absurdity.
    â€œI think you need to eat.” Grimacing, she pushed me to the door.
    She led me to a large room with several dining tables. They too were made out of bamboo and in all different shapes, with accompanying low bench seats.
    â€œIs there anyone staying here?”
    â€œYes. We have a corporate retreat this weekend. They are up in the hills on a hike. They won’t be back for hours.”
    I followed her through silver swinging doors and into one of the most beautiful kitchens I’d ever seen, straight out of Architectural Digest .
    â€œHoly crap, Mom, this is gorgeous.” I swept my hand along the cold, black granite counters. Everything else was stainless steel and glass. There were two industrial stoves and three Sub-Zeroes in the enormous space. Windows lined the north wall.
    She pulled out a bar stool at one of the two large islands. “Have a seat, and I’ll see what I can find you to eat.”
    Dad walked in dressed in a big gray sweatshirt and jeans. Some things never changed. His long blond hair had a few white streaks, but he was as handsome as ever. “Puddles.” He hugged me hard. I hadn’t heard that god-awful name in years.
    â€œHey, Daddy.” I hugged him back. Puddles was a nickname he gave me twenty years ago, and, well, it had to do with my fear of the outhouse we had to use when the toilet broke in the trailer. I’ll say no more.
    He sat down beside me. “I’m so glad you came to visit.” He acted like I hadn’t been dragged here against my will, or that I hadn’t seen a woman teetering on a roof just before she leapt to her death. I wondered how much my mother told him.
    She put a plate of food in front of me along with some chamomile tea, and I eyed the meal warily. “I’m glad too,” I said absently, wondering if she actually thought the sliced tofu and avocado on my plate was real food. I cut into the avocado and took a bite.
    I made a solemn oath the day I went off to Harvard that I’d never eat tofu again, and I was sticking by that. I didn’t care how hungry I became; I wouldn’t cave.
    Last year I’d been home alone in my Atlanta condo for Thanksgiving and ate nothing but Hot Pockets and corn dogs with mustard for four days. I loved it. Anyone who has had multiple servings of Tofurky will understand.
    â€œIf she’s up to it, maybe you can show Kira the new vineyard, and your sculpture garden.”
    Dad clapped his hands together and the popping sound almost made me fall out of my chair. “Oh, sorry, Puddles, the nerves must still be bothering you.”
    â€œJoe!” my mom admonished.
    â€œSorry, kiddo. You know we’re going to get you fixed up. You’ll be ready to rule the world in no time.”
    Mom touched his arm, and he shrugged.
    â€œIt’s okay, Dad. I’ve just been under the weather. I’d love to see the vineyard and the garden.”
    Mom’s phone vibrated on the counter. “I’ll take this in the office. You two have fun, but don’t do too much. It’s her first day out of bed.”
    Dad patted my shoulder. “I’ll take care of the kiddo.”
    After my meager lunch, I followed Dad out the back of the complex. “What did you guys name the place?”
    He laughed. “Peace