Symphony of Bones by L.T. Ryan (most romantic novels .TXT) 📗

4

Laura sat cross-legged on the bed while Cassie paced up and down the tiny bedroom. They’d put away their clothes and shoved the suitcases in the corner along with the blowup bed, and now there was nothing to do but wait. A nap sounded nice, but Cassie was too wired.

The house smelled familiar. Lavender wafted up from the bowl of potpourri on the windowsill. She smelled the dryer sheets her mother had used when she’d washed Laura’s sweatshirt, now haphazardly draped over the back of the desk chair.

Smell was the sense most tied to memory, and Cassie had no reason to dispute that. Their house in Savannah had always smelled vaguely of lavender, and her mother hadn’t changed her brand of laundry detergent in over twenty years.

But if everything felt so familiar, why did she feel so out of place?

Laura had been watching her the whole time. “Worrying about it won’t make it go away.”

“Is that what you tell your clients?” Cassie didn’t stop pacing. “Don’t worry about it? Then it’ll just go away?”

“That’s not at all what I said.” Laura’s tone was even, but there was a bite to her words. “You can worry or not worry, that’s entirely up to you. But worrying won’t make your fear go away. It’ll amplify it. You know what will make the fear go away?”

Cassie stopped and rolled her eyes. “Confronting it?”

Laura had a shit-eating grin on her face now. “Yeah. It doesn’t always work. But it’s necessary.”

Cassie flopped down on the bed and buried her face in the blankets. They still smelled fresh. Her reply was muffled.

“What was that?”

Cassie lifted her head. “I said, it’s like you do this for a living or something.”

“You didn’t need me to tell you that, though.”

“I still need to hear it.”

Before Laura responded, there was a soft knock on the door. Cassie sat up, and the girls called out in unison.

Their dad peeked his head inside. He caught sight of the pile in the corner and smiled. “Ah, just like old times.”

“We’ll clean it up,” Cassie said. “I just need a room first.”

“Your mother is working on the sewing room right now. Unfortunately, you won’t have a real bed, but at least you’ll have your own space.”

“And a lot of yarn to play with if you get bored,” Laura chimed in.

“Does she need help?” Cassie wasn’t sure which answer she’d prefer.

“No, she doesn’t even let me go in there. But I’ll tell you what, I need some help with dinner. And your wine is still down there.”

Cassie couldn’t take a single sip of wine a half hour ago, but now it sounded fantastic. She and Laura followed their dad downstairs, leaving behind the sound of their mother shuffling boxes around in the other room. Part of Cassie wanted to knock on the door and offer her help anyway, but part of her was glad her dad had let her off the hook.

If Judy Quinn cooked you a meal, there would be no complaints, but Walter was the real chef of the house. Cassie had always thought he would open his own restaurant, but he had waved the idea away.

“Why turn something I enjoy into a job?”

It was a valid point.

Walter piled ingredients onto the island in the middle of the kitchen: steak, potatoes, asparagus, butter, onions, mushrooms, lettuce, tomatoes. The food was so fresh, Cassie swore she could smell what it was about to become.

Laura rolled up her sleeves. “How can we help?”

“Get me a couple of pans. Olive oil. Spices.” He pulled out some carrots and shut the fridge. “I wouldn’t mind a drink myself.”

Cassie pulled down a few pans hanging from a wire rack over the island while Laura made a beeline for the spices. When Walter looked over her selection, he gave her a satisfied nod. Laura beamed.

“I can get your drink,” Cassie offered.

“Well, if you insist.”

Cassie had always loved pouring her dad a drink. He didn’t partake often, and only drank whiskey neat, but it was a routine she knew well. She’d been doing it since she was sixteen, and she still knew how to measure the exact right amount each time. When she was younger, it had made her feel mature and responsible. Now, it felt like a unique bond between her and her father.

But after searching through three cupboards, she realized she had no idea where they kept the glasses, let alone where he kept his stash of whiskey these days.

“Over by the fridge,” Laura called, pulling a cutting board out of a drawer. “Whiskey’s in the dining room.”

Cassie had to temper her annoyance with her sister. It wasn’t Laura’s fault that Cassie was a stranger in her parents’ house, and it wasn’t Laura’s fault that she’d had to play the role of both sisters over the last ten years.

But the feeling of being replaced still stung.

Cassie poured her father his drink and scooped up her glass of wine, draining it in a few sips. Her mother’s wine was always sweeter than what Cassie kept at home, but it went down much easier. By the time Laura and Walter had finished cooking dinner, Cassie had consumed three glasses and was working on her fourth.

Her mom appeared in the doorway. “Smells good.”

“It’s going to taste even better,” Walter promised. “Been a while since both my daughters were here to help me.”

Cassie held up her glass and ignored the tingling in her fingertips. “Laura’s been doing the hard work. I’m just pouring drinks.”

“Some would say that’s the most important job in the kitchen.” Judy lifted the empty bottle and shook it. “Good thing we got more, huh?”

“Sorry,” Cassie said. But she didn’t mean it.

Judy pulled down plates, bowls and water glasses and set them on the island. Then she stacked silverware and napkins on top. She caught Cassie’s eye. “Do you mind setting the table?”

“No, not at all.”

The formal exchange made Cassie’s skin crawl, but she escaped the feeling by grabbing the tableware and taking her time in