Seaglass Summer Read Free Page A

a great service, eating mosquitoes and other pesky insects such as aphids, for example.”
    I press my hand to my chest. “I almost had a heart attack.” But I’m mad at myself. I shouldn’t be afraid of a few hairy little legs if I’m going to be a veterinarian.
    Uncle Sanjay pulls up the blinds all the way, letting in a burst of bright sunlight. “I’ll make us some tea and breakfast, shall I? We leave for the clinic in half an hour.”
    “Half an hour? But I have nothing to wear.”
    My mucky clothes are piled like a volcano on top of Uncle Sanjay’s washing machine in his laundry room. I left my suitcase lying on the floor, the two halves broken.
    “What about your island gear?” His face falls, so I force a smile.
    “Right! How could I forget?” I have to wear the denim overalls from the Trading Post, an Island Lover T-shirt, and the lime green sweater. I wish I could go in disguise—a wig and sunglasses. At least I still have my own shoes. I tie my hair back with a slightly soggy green bow to match the sweater.
    In the kitchen, we’re having huckleberry jam, toast, and lavender chutney for breakfast. I try everything except the chutney. I’m not ready to eat a flower.
    “Would you like some tea with honey?” Uncle Sanjay asks.
    “I need sugar.” I open the kitchen cabinets. Empty spice bottles are mixed in with the full ones. The empty ones are labeled with place names—Paris, Seattle, Miami. Looneyville, Texas; Whakapapa, New Zealand; and Little Hope, Georgia.
    “What are these, Uncle?” I have to take out all the bottles to reach the bag of sugar in the back.
    “I like to collect air samples. They’re all different. I should’ve asked you to bring some Los Angeles smog.”
    “We live in Santa Monica, on the western edge of L.A. We get clean air sometimes, too.”
    “Not as clean as our island air, I’m sure.”
    “Maybe not.” I separate the air bottles from the spice bottles and put the sugar in another cabinet, with the tea bags. “You don’t have any bottles from India.”
    Uncle Sanjay sits at the table and spreads lavender chutney on his toast. “Reminds me too much of home. I had a bottle of Kolkata air, but I emptied it. I wish I could go back more often, but India is so far away.”
    “We go every year, and my grandma visited us last spring. She was always cold. She wore a parka all the time. Dad got teary eyed when she left—”
    “I know what it’s like to miss family. I became a veterinarian in India a long time ago, nah? But when I got here, my training and experience counted for nothing. People come to America for the opportunities, the great schools, and one can open a private clinic and do very well. But I had to go to veterinary school all over again. I spent years away from my parents. I still miss everyone in India.”
    “Don’t you want to move back there?”
    “Sometimes—but this is my home now. My heart will always be in both places. In two countries. But I live here, where I’m needed.”
    “Don’t the animals need you in India, too?” I chew on my toast.
    “I’ve found a place here, where people trust me enough to bring their animals to my clinic. I care for them. They’re my island family.”
    “How did you end up here? I mean, this is the middle of nowhere.”
    “I followed your ma to America. She was first in thefamily to leave her home country.” Fingers curled around his teacup, he looks upward and smiles a little, as if remembering a happy moment. “I started in Virginia, then followed her west. I stopped in Seattle and got a job at a clinic there. One day, a lovely woman brought her old German shepherd for a paw massage. I improvised. I don’t specialize in dog massage, but I did my best. I couldn’t take my eyes off that woman. We fell in love. She was from Nisqually Island, and she wanted to move back here, so I followed her. What we won’t do for love. But she was a carefree spirit. When her dog died, she left to travel the world.