Free Scones and Sensibility by Lindsay Eland Page A

multicolored friendship bracelet around her wrist, but still with her cheeks flushed a rosy hue. She was the picture of beauty.
    “Polly, what on earth are you doing?”
    I lifted my eyes back up to the heavens. “Just drinking in the late-afternoon sun like raindrops on a lily.” I locked my arm in hers. “Join me, my dearest friend.”
    She tugged at my arm, breaking me free from my blissful trance. “Your dad said I’d find you down here.”
    “Do not worry. I have not neglected my bosom friend and her father. I have been hard at work. Even this”—I gestured to the ocean and my footprints behind me—“is part of the work of love.”
    She laughed and picked up a shell from the pulling tide. “I’m not worried. I really don’t think this will be anything at all. But he did tell me he’s going to talk to her on the phone for the first time tonight.”
    I turned toward her. “And you must listen to their conversation, dearest Fran.”
    “Really? Why?”
    “We must know to what extent your father has attached himself to this woman.”
    Fran arched her eyebrows. “But Polly, he can’t bethat attached to her if this is the first time he’s even talked to her on the phone.”
    I clucked my tongue. “But you must not underestimate the powers of Internet communication, which you are all too familiar with. Indeed, I do find myself worrying about his attachment with this woman.” I linked my arm in hers. “Yet despite this unfortunate connection your father has formed, do not lose the dream of having a stepmother and confidante whom you love and who loves you deeply.”
    “Yeah,” she whispered, gazing out into the deep blue ocean. She shrugged her shoulders. “All right. But do you think … do you really think that maybe he’ll find someone?”
    “Indeed, my heart does not doubt it. And though today my efforts were fruitless, tomorrow is another one filled up to the brim with so much possibility.”
    Fran did not speak more, and after gathering my belongings together we strolled to my house under the cool breeze of dusk.
    We stood in front of my home. A small bell tinkled its music on the wind, and I knew supper was about to be served. I’d given my family the dainty crystal bell so that they could call me into the house withoutshouting like barbarians throughout the neighborhood. Mostly they remembered to comply with my request, and I was pleased Clementine did so now. Shouting would only agitate my peaceful spirit.
    “Will you join me and my sister for dinner, Fran? Though it is sure to bear the blackened scars of Clementine’s cooking, it will not be the chicken cordon bleu that has become the thorn in your side.”
    “No thanks, Polly,” Fran said. “I better get back. Dad’s supposed to talk to the lady tonight, but I don’t know when.”
    “Oh gosh! Yeah, you gotta get home! I mean … you must hasten home. Write down everything that is spoken.” I squeezed her hands. “And I offer up my thoughts and prayers on your behalf during this hour of trial.”
    She nodded. “I’ll call you tonight.”
    I entered the kitchen and found my innocent sister Clementine sitting uncomfortably close to Clint. I groaned inwardly. “Hello,” I said through clenched teeth, for a lady always keeps her manners, even in the presence of one who does not deserve it. “How good to see you, Clint. You’re looking very … large today.” I swept past and retrieved a kettle of water to boil on the stove for a cup of tea.
    He laughed and emptied brown liquid I assumed was some species of cola down his gullet. “And you, my dearest Pol, are as small as a gnat.” He was clearly making fun of me, and I was not amused. On the contrary, I seethed.
    But I refrained from comment, though the words formed on my tongue and itched to get out.
    Clint grabbed a bagel from the basket on the table without even asking if he may. “Well, I’d better go, Clemmy. Call me later and maybe we’ll go on a walk to the pier