Free A Perfect Storm by Phoebe Rivers and Erin McGuire Page B

directed me toward the sitting room, telling me I’d find MissDiamond watching her favorite show on the Home and Garden channel.
    There were several old people sitting around the sitting room, but just one who seemed to be interested in what was on TV—it was a craft show teaching people how to make hats out of margarine tubs.
    Miss Diamond was tiny, maybe even smaller than Lady Azura. She was wrapped in a hand-crocheted pink shawl and wearing a teal-blue, pleated skirt. I wondered if she’d sewn it herself.
    â€œExcuse me, Miss Diamond?” I whispered.
    She didn’t turn from her show.
    I tried again, louder. “Miss Diamond?” I repeated.
    She turned, and then tilted up her chin and peered at me. Her eyes behind her glasses were enormous. She tilted her chin back down. “Sit down, young lady,” she commanded.
    I sat. She still had her teacher’s way about her.
    â€œYour name, child?”
    â€œSara Collins, ma’am.”
    â€œYou’re a pretty thing. Lovely hair and eyes. Do you know how to knit?”
    â€œKnit?” I asked, startled. “Um, no.”
    She shook her head. “Kids these days. What do they teach them in those schools?” She turned to me. “Don’t tell me. You’re here to do a report about the Great Depression for school and you need to interview someone.”
    â€œUm, not exactly.”
    â€œWell I wasn’t alive during the Civil War, so don’t ask me about that.”
    â€œNo, ma’am. I’m here to—to, well, I know it sounds strange, but I’m here to give you a message.”
    â€œA message.”
    â€œYes. From—from Mr. Barkus.”
    She jerked her chin up and stared at me for a long time, like a fish in an aquarium. Searched my face. I guess she decided I wasn’t making fun of her or playing some awful joke, because slowly she lowered her chin and leaned in toward me.
    â€œMr. Barkus has given you a message for me?” Her voice was suddenly soft.
    â€œYes, ma’am. You see, I—well, I can see him. And talk to him.”
    She nodded. Like I’d just said something totally ordinary.
    â€œPerhaps you think me an old fool for believing you,” she said.
    â€œNo, ma’am. I’m actually really relieved that you do.”
    â€œHumph. Well, the older I get, the more willing I am to believe such things,” she said. “All right, child. Tell me. What is the message Mr. Barkus asked you to deliver to me?”
    â€œHe asked me to tell you that he—he loved you. That he was on his way to ask you to marry him the night that his pickup slid off the road. That he should have told you earlier, but he was a . . . a big lunkhead.”
    I sat with my hands folded in my lap and waited for her to say something.
    She was quiet for a very long time. Then a slow smile spread across her wrinkly face. A glint of a tear appeared in the corner of her eye.
    â€œThat old fool,” she said, shaking her head and continuing to smile. “I know you’re telling me the truth, because he used that word a lot. Lunkhead.”
    She reached out and patted my hand, and then turned away, pulling an embroidered white hanky out from the folds of her shawl. “Thank you, pretty younggirl,” she said, over her shoulder. “You’ve made an old lady very happy.”
    When I left a little while later, I had a big smile on my face.
    That evening I had dinner with Lady Azura. My dad was working late. I made us omelets and toast. I was glad that my visit with Miss Diamond had been so pleasant. I was almost able to not dwell on the fact that all my friends were currently at Jody Jenner’s house, having a fabulous time. Without me.
    â€œYou came home late this afternoon,” Lady Azura remarked, taking a dainty bite of her omelet.
    â€œI had to run an errand. At Cherry Hill Retirement Home,” I said.
    She waited. Picked up her teacup and took a