Something Borrowed, Something Bleu Read Free Page B

geraniums. Red Colorado flagstone, artfully arranged river rock, and chunky boulders provided structure: high desert xeriscaping at its best.
It was always a bit of a shock to return to Colorado after living in the verdant green of the Pacific Northwest. I could feel my sinuses crinkling from the dry air, and blinked rapidly to prevent the moisture in my eyes from wicking into the atmosphere.
Oh, and it was hot, too. August hot. And I don’t care what they say about a “dry heat”—once you hit 95 degrees, it just doesn’t matter anymore.
“Nice nap?” Meghan asked.
I wiped the sheen of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “I guess.”
My mother beckoned Erin to the front door. Dad started unloading luggage behind me. The ache spread up my neck and settled behind my eyes. At least it went with the coffee-sour stomach.
I did not want to go into that house.
Why my parents hadn’t moved was beyond me. How could they stand living there after what had happened? The one time I had the temerity to ask, Anna Belle had changed the subject.
Meghan opened her door and stepped to the pavement. I took a deep breath and followed her.
“Here, Dad, let me take that.”
    _____
     
     
    My former bedroom was larger and had a king-sized bed, so Anna Belle put Meghan and Erin in there. That left Bobby Lee’s old room for me. I found the prospect less than thrilling, but kept my mouth shut in the name of common sense. Our childhood rooms were both run-of-the-mill guest bedrooms now. Had been for years. There wasn’t a trace of either of us in the entire house anymore, except for the cluster of photos on the bookshelf in the great room. My inner child found that disconcerting, but the grown-up part of me said to stop being such a big baby.
Still, while I unpacked I expected a vestige of my brother in his old room, if only in the feel of the air against my cheek. But there was nothing—just taupe walls, blue Venetian blinds, a navy chenille bedspread, and a distressed pine dresser with a stinky fake gardenia candle on it. A cheap framed print of Picasso’s Don Quixote dominated one wall.
Kitty Wampus, my parents’ orange Abyssinian cat, sprawled on my pillow, shedding at will. I shooed him off and tried to shake some of the fur off, but it clung like Velcro. I sneezed and tossed it back on the bed. From the floor, the offending feline began to purr and do that cute squinty thing they do. Then he jumped back up and curled on the pillow again.
I sighed. Sneezed again. And sighed again.
Leaving the cat to his snoozing and shedding, I unpacked my toiletries in the bathroom I would be sharing with the Bly girls. I smiled when I saw the bar of Winding Road Alligator Soap, so named because it contained extra oils to soften dry skin, awaiting us in the shower. Then I peeked into my parents’ bedroom, thinking Anna Belle might be in there.
I wanted to know about that note. But all I found was a perfectly neat and uninhabited room.
From the bottom of the stairs I could see through a corner of the kitchen to the big sliding glass door that led to the back patio. Out in the yard, my parents were showing their kitchen garden to Meghan and Erin, who seemed to be listening with interest. I slipped around the corner of the stairwell and down three more steps into the great room.
Over the last eighteen years Dad and Anna Belle had updated the furniture to light earth tones and rearranged everything a multitude of times. They’d painted the walls a dusty mushroom color, and the front yard, visible through the two plate-glass windows, had changed and matured since the time when I’d lived there. Long ago, sleek maple blinds had replaced the heavy brocade drapes. The light fixture had changed from a brass-and-glass chandelier to an artsy, blown-glass affair. The slightly sunken living space, open to the kitchen above except for a long counter, felt airy and light, relaxed and welcoming.
But when my eyes followed the cord up from the overhead light, it