Free Driftwood Summer by Patti Callahan Henry Page B

read all of those?”
    “Not all. I’m a little behind this month, what with the party and all. But I try. . . .”
    “I guess that answers the question of what you do with your free time.” Maisy picked up a hardcover of The Stand by Stephen King. “I read this in high school. It was one of those books that made me not want to read another book.”
    “Why not?” Riley took the book from Maisy, set it back on top of the pile at the edge of her dresser.
    “Because I knew the next book I read wouldn’t be nearly as good and I’d be disappointed. Are you reading it?”
    Riley laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever quite heard that rationale for not reading. I have The Stand here because it’s signed. . . . I don’t want to lose it. I read it years ago. . . .” She led them into the hall and shut her bedroom door. “Let’s go, okay?”
    “You know, I could help you with decorating around here. I really could.”
    “I like it just the way it is.” Riley’s voice was tight, the way she spoke when she was insulted or defensive. Years could never erase Maisy’s ability to read the subtle signals of sisterhood.
    “You’d like it even better my way,” Maisy said, and then put her hand up to her mouth. “That came out all wrong.”
    “Come on, let’s go see Mama. She’s called the store ten times.”
    Maisy followed Riley down the hall and back to the kitchen. “You have any medication I can take before we embark on this adventure?”
    “What?” Riley spun around to see Maisy’s teasing smile. “Oh . . . sarcasm. Your favorite form of communication.”
    “I call it joking. You call it sarcasm. Tomato, tom-ah-to. Whatever,” Maisy said.
    “Brayden, let’s go,” Riley called out.
    The drive to the Sheffield home took less than five minutes, but Maisy felt that she was holding her breath the entire time. Together Maisy, Riley and Brayden walked into the drawing room, which had been turned into a quasi-hospital room. On a mechanical bed set up in the middle of the room lay Kitsy propped up on pillows. Her bedside tables had been arranged to suggest that she was in her master bedroom. A floral shop seemed to have dropped off an entire van full of arrangements. The curtains had been pulled back from the windows to expose the view of the expansive backyard with its hectic live oaks and lush grass. A tire swing hung from an oak branch. Maisy remembered leaning against that tree, waiting her turn to swing and thinking she was resting against God’s shoulder.
    Mama’s eyes were closed, offering Maisy a moment to take in her appearance, to control her own reaction. She felt as if she’d just stepped onto a boat and needed her sea legs. As though Kitsy sensed her daughter in the room, her eyes flew open. “Maisy,” she said with the inflection and endearment only a mother could utter. “My dear Maisy.” Her hand rose to her chapped lips. “Come here and hug your mama.”
    “Hello, Mama,” Maisy walked toward her, bent over for the embrace.
    “Oh, darling. You look so well. So rested and tan and fit. California must suit you.” Then Mama’s eyes squinted. “I’m so glad you’ll be here for a long time.”
    Maisy felt ten years old again; she was being told that she couldn’t go to Lilly’s sleepover because a family birthday took precedence. Family was always the first priority. How could she have forgotten that? Maisy took her mama’s hand. “I’ve come to see you, to make sure you’re okay. But I can’t stay long.” She glanced at Riley, who hung back in the doorway with Brayden.
    Kitsy waved her hand through the air as if shooing flies from the back porch, Maisy’s words like a trivial nuisance that could be run off with one swipe. “Of course you’ll stay. Now sit down and we’ll go over our duties.” Kitsy bent from her waist, winced and pulled a bulging notebook from the bedside table. “Riley, dear, will you please go fetch Adalee from upstairs?”
    “Adalee’s here?”