Free Sunshine Picklelime by Pamela Ferguson Page A

as they reached Mrs. Patel’s gate and followed one another along her pebble path to the front door. The evening air was getting even chillier. PJ was glad to step into the warm kitchen with its fragrantly spicy smells and a lovely tablecloth patterned with hummingbirds.
    Mr. Patel was a systems analyst and working late, so it was just the three of them—a “girls’ night out,” as Mrs. Picklelime said.
    Mrs. Patel placed steaming bowls of orange
daal
, mixed-vegetable curry, and saffron rice on the table. Shewarmed up thin, crisp
papadum
and spread all PJ’s favorite little side dishes around. There were bowls of sliced banana, grated coconut, lemon chutney, tomato, and yogurt with cucumber.
    Before they ate, Mrs. Patel reached out and clasped PJ’s and Mrs. Picklelime’s hands and said, “Peace to our food and our friendship.”
    “Always.” PJ smiled. “What a feast!”
    “Shanti, you spoil us,” said Mrs. Picklelime.
    Once they started eating and bowls crisscrossed the table, PJ asked, “Mrs. Patel, are you and Mr. Patel soul mates?”
    Her mom stopped sprinkling coconut over her curry. “PJ, that’s very personal.”
    Shanti Patel threw back her head and laughed, a wonderfully musical laugh. “No, of course it isn’t! Oh, child. We were married very young. What did we know about soul mates in those days? But we were good friends, you know? We were at school together.” She thought for a minute. “You can’t be soul mates without being good friends. Why do you ask?”
    PJ and her mom exchanged quick glances. Mrs. Patel picked up on this, eyes moving kindly between mother and daughter. “Child, sometimes people marry for all sorts ofreasons without being soul mates,” she said. “You’re very young, PJ. But not too young to learn some good life lessons from this. Friends and partners can grow in different directions and become closer. Or grow apart. Now, come, we’re getting too serious! Shall I heat more
papadum?”
    Later, when PJ and Mrs. Patel were alone for a moment, PJ asked her for some gardening advice for their skimpy flower beds and lawn.
    “Of course, child. Come tomorrow afternoon to my greenhouse and we’ll get cracking. We can plan lovely surprises for your mom when she comes home every weekend!”
    As her mother returned to the kitchen, PJ looked up and realized her mom had also talked privately to Mrs. Patel, otherwise how did Mrs. Patel know she was leaving?
    Mrs. Patel smiled at her reassuringly and said, “Reach into the fridge, PJ. I made your favorite, mango ice cream, for dessert!”
    The moon was high and hazy through the salty night air by the time Mrs. Picklelime and PJ left the warmth of Mrs. Patel’s kitchen to go home. They were both sleepy, but it had been a lovely evening they knew they would remember for a long time.
    “I’ll miss you, Mom,” PJ said as her mother unlocked the front door. “Even when I don’t see you I know you’re around. Soon you won’t be.”
    “Remember we’ll see each other every five days, honey. That’s not too long for us to be apart, is it?”

operation owl rescue
    When PJ left school the next afternoon, the air was fresh and sparkling and the sky was a sharp blue, free of the heavy sea mists of the evening before.
    She joined Mrs. Patel in her greenhouse and selected some tiny cherry tomatoes from clusters of sturdy vines. PJ couldn’t resist popping a few of them into her mouth and snapping the skins between her teeth. “Mmmm,” she said, juice trickling from her lips. “They’re like fruit.
Soooo
sweet, Mrs. Patel!”
    “Pick as many as you like. Here, fill this,” she said, handing PJ a basket. “Put the tomatoes in a beautiful bowl in the middle of your kitchen table to light up theroom. Come, I’ll help you create your own garden. Let’s start you off with some sweet-smelling herbs.” She selected pots of basil, thyme, parsley, and oregano and placed them in a plastic tray. When PJ didn’t react, she added,