Free The Body in the Birches by Katherine Hall Page Page A

things.”
    â€œI don’t suppose they have quinoa and flaxseed,” Sylvia said, walking back into the room. “Rory, I know how much you like the kale salad I make with it. I picked up some kale yesterday from that man who has the little stand across the Reach next to that Mexican restaurant place.”
    â€œI’m not sure they have things like that at the market,” Sophie said. “But if they haven’t left yet, you could go back and ask those going to Blue Hill to stop at the natural foods co-op. And if the farm stand has strawberries out, could you ask them to pick up a few cartons of those, too? They can’t miss it. You’re right, Sylvia, it’s just past El El Frijoles.” She smiled. “I’m such a dunce. It took a couple of seasons before I realized what the name meant and got the joke!”
    â€œGlad you reminded me. I love that place!” Rory said. “Skip the salad, Ma, I’m going to head over there and get some of thosecrab quesadillas for my lunch. I’ll bring some back for you, too, sis, unless you’re doing the vegan thing again, and in that case I’ll score you their black bean dish. Anyone else?”
    Sylvia looked daggers at Sophie. As if Rory’s defection was Sophie’s fault and Sophie’s alone.
    Autumn had not said a word, her nose buried in an oversize coffee cup that said JAVA HOUND on it. The Birches had what seemed like hundreds of mugs and cups like these. Another instance of what came in never going out. Sophie had used one this morning with the 1950s Tony the Tiger logo. Might be worth checking some of these out on eBay. She caught herself. That is, whoever inherited could.
    Autumn had ditched her Raggedy Ann tights and the rest of the outfit for a more conventional summer outfit—cutoffs and flip-flops with a muslin-print long-sleeved shirt that was obviously vintage, something from a flea market. Her hair was long and she’d clipped it up on top of her head like a Gibson Girl. She was one of the most beautiful women Sophie had ever seen, and as usual, she felt as plain as a mud fence next to her. And there were those blue eyes, too. Like big blue marbles or some sort of poetic sapphire orbs. Sophie was sure there had been any number of comparisons from the men her cousin attracted.
    Autumn stood up, went over to the sink, turned on a faucet, and rinsed the cup out, handing it to Sophie to dry.
    â€œThanks, not this time,” she answered. “I won’t be here for lunch.”
    â€œBut you’ll be back by two?” Her mother’s anxiety was not hard to miss. Her voice had gone up an octave and it had already been shrill talking to Rory.
    Autumn just looked at her and slipped out the back door without another word.
    â€œWhere can she be going? She doesn’t have a car!” Sylvia placed a hand on Rory’s arm, as if to keep him anchored.
    Sophie decided it was time to take off herself, after she checked on Bev. She glanced back into the room as she left. Uncle Paul was rubbing his forehead with one finger. A simple gesture, but what was it conveying? Annoyance, forbearance, remembrance? He had been sitting at the table with his coffee beside him and this week’s Ellsworth American spread out in front of him. Sophie hadn’t seen him turn a single page.
    Tom called as he was boarding the small commuter plane in Bar Harbor and again when he landed. In between Faith went about the mundanities of everyday life. She did a wash, planned supper, and after the second call set out for the market in Granville to pick up chicken and a few other supplies for the Fourth. That was the thing about news like this. You had to keep on with whatever you had to do, but everything you did took on a surreal air. Standing by the case in the meat department, debating how much white meat versus dark meat to buy, most of her mind was on Marian and the rest of the Fairchilds.
    Tom’s sibs,