Something Borrowed, Something Bleu Read Free Page A

awkwardly on the back, then greeted Meghan and Erin in turn. Dad put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed again. For a brief moment I leaned my head against his chest.
Anna Belle looked around at the group. “Let’s get some double lattes, then, and hit the road.” Ever efficient, she turned on her heel and led the way to the coffee bar. Over her shoulder she tossed, “Sophie Mae, I like your hair short like that. Shows off your pretty green eyes.”
“Um, thanks.”
“You should have cut it like that years ago.”
Beside me, Meghan grinned.
As we followed behind my mother like a string of baby ducks, I examined my parents. In the last year the lines on my father’s lean face had deepened, and a few more white strands accentuated Anna Belle’s smooth copper hair. Other than that, little had changed. As always, they both were prime specimens of physical fitness.
Anna Belle’s cropped pageboy framed a face that had once graced magazine covers. Her stint as a model had been short, intended only to make money for college. She’d always drilled into Bobby Lee and me that physical beauty was ultimately meaningless. Of course, she was right, but Anna Belle Watson could better afford that attitude than most, with her high cheekbones and dark, intense eyes. It also looked like she spent more time than ever in the gym. Muscles defined her bare arms and roped up her tanned calves to the hem of her Bermuda shorts.
Feeling like a pale lump of dough, I turned my attention to my dad. Lean and only slightly taller than Anna Belle, he had a thick blonde mane and clear hazel eyes. An electric-blue-and-chartreuse floral shirt topped his khaki shorts—one of the many Hawaiian patterns in his extensive collection. His gait was loose and easy as he walked beside her. In fact, he looked remarkably calm, and I wondered what that was all about. He’d mellowed over the years, as had my mother, but he had always been a man with fire in his belly, intense and curious and interested in everything.
Especially when my brother was alive.
In line at the coffee counter, Anna Belle asked, “What does everyone want?”
She took our orders and presented them to the barista in a succinct and slightly impatient list. My mother seemed to be in a real toot to get on the road. A few minutes later we were armed with various forms of caffeine, green tea for my father and a lemon granita for Erin. Our suitcases were circling on the conveyer when we got to the baggage claim station, and we rolled straight out to the parking garage.
On the way, Anna Belle culled me from the herd, her hand on my elbow guiding me far enough away that the others couldn’t hear her mutter, “Your father doesn’t know about the letter.”
I looked my surprise at her. “Why not?”
Ahead of us, Dad turned in our direction, a quizzical look on his face. Anna Belle pushed me back toward the group. “I’ll explain later.”
You sure as heck will, I thought.

     
     
    “We’re here!” Erin jumped out and stood on the sidewalk with her hands on her nonexistent hips, face tilted toward the azure sky.
I rubbed my gritty eyes. My neck screamed as I turned my head to look out the window; Meghan’s shoulder had proven an awkward headrest on the ride to Spring Creek. The last vestige of air conditioning slipped out Erin’s open door and the dry summer heat wrapped around me like a python. Anna Belle was already on the front step, keys jingling in her hand. The hydraulic support of the hatchback wheezed open behind me.
I peered out at the house I’d grown up in: brick mixed with oatmeal-colored siding, two stories high and featuring a fully finished basement courtesy of my father’s hard work. The yard boasted a tiny patch of grass, but was mostly landscaped with drought-hardy plants like Russian sage and sunset hyssop, interspersed with puffs of blue fescue grass. Zinnias brightened the spaces in between, as did the two identical ceramic urns that flanked the front door, planted with verbena, lobelia, and