CHAPTER TWO

Gracie parked her rental behind the house as she normally did. Her sister’s cherry-red Thunderbird convertible was shaded by the copse of oak trees next to Mom’s practical white Honda Accord. She smiled at the familiarity of it all. Home. Even though she had a great apartment in Dallas, Amarillo was what she thought of as her true home. She opened the car door, and before she could put a foot to the ground, Hope and her mother came bustling out the back door.

“Look at you,” her mom said. “My lovely girl; I have missed you so much.” Gracie hugged her mother, smelling the familiar lilac perfume she always wore. “It’s been way too long, sweetie.”

Hope stood behind their mother, her smile as wide as the state of Texas. “Hey, Poo.”

Gracie embraced her sister. “It’s so good to be home, I’ve missed y’all so much.” She looked at Hope. “Poo? Really, sis? It’s been ages since you called me that. I’ll let it slide this time.” She laughed at the nickname given to her by her sister when she had been a toddler.

“It’s been tough for everyone, Gracie. I’ve missed you, sweet child, more than you’ll ever know. I’ve made a fresh pitcher of tea just for you girls. We have two weeks to make up for lost time.” Her mom was always sweet yet very succinct with words. After years of teaching second graders, speaking to them on a level they understood, she hadn’t changed at all.

The past two years had been hard on all of them. The entire country had practically shut down during one of the nation’s worst pandemics since 1918. Flights were canceled; hospitals all across the nation and beyond had become the epicenters for hope and, sadly, too many unnecessary deaths. Hope had contracted the deadly virus at the hospital, though she had never been sick enough to require a hospital stay. Thankful did little to describe what Gracie had felt during that time.

“I’ve missed your tea, Mom. You can’t imagine,” Gracie said, her eyes pooling with happy tears. “And you.”

“Oh, sweetie, I think I can.” Ella took a tissue from her pocket to dry her tears. “Last night’s weather forecasters predicted we’re going to have one of the hottest days on record today, so let’s get out of this heat.”

Amarillo was hot and dry a big part of the year. Gracie had spent many of her teen years lounging in the backyard, her nose in a book while she worked on her tan. Fair-skinned, she never achieved the bronzed glow her friends had. Her efforts had been for naught, as all she came away with were more freckles and two splotches of bright pink on her cheeks. Her mother had warned her that she would regret this in her later years. So far, so good, she thought as she followed her mom and Hope inside.

Memories of her childhood rushed at her like a tidal wave. The kitchen, the hub of their home, looked exactly as she remembered it.

Almost.

White cupboards with wood-and-glass-framed doors wrapped around the large U-shaped kitchen. The family collection of Corningware filled the cabinets according to color, reminding her of a box of crayons. Her mother had replaced the old Formica countertops with white marble, and of course, all the appliances were modern and up to date. Pots of herbs in primary colors sat along the windowsill. Red-and-white-checkered curtains hung in the window above the kitchen sink, and as far as Gracie knew, these were the same ones she had seen on her last visit. The only new addition was an island in the center of the kitchen.

“Wow,” Gracie said. “Mom, it’s beautiful. You should start a Pinterest page, share your talent. Maybe let those tour groups have a peek inside.”

Her mom chuckled. “Since retiring, I’ve had to keep busy. Stuck inside all last year, I decided to make a few changes here and there. I had Rick build the island and added a few knickknacks here and there. No to the tourists; you know how I feel about them.”

“His work is pristine as usual.” Gracie had seen his work. He owned a woodworking shop on the outskirts of town. Word of his creativity had spread to a production company for a major network with a popular decorating show. He made an appearance about once a month. Gracie was thankful he had taken time off to work with her mother.

Hope took a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and filled imitation Ball jar glasses with ice and tea. She plunked a lemon slice in each, then slid them across the new island.

Gracie sat on one of the new barstools. “I’ve dreamed of this,” she said, after she’d drained her glass. “I’ve tried making your tea a zillion times, but I can’t seem to get it just right. What’s the secret you’ve been hiding, Mom?”

Hope gave her mother a sharp look.

“Oh, it’s just years of practice, I suppose,” Ella said, but her words seemed strained.

Odd, Gracie thought. “Whatever it is, you’ve definitely mastered sweet tea.” She reached for the pitcher to refill her glass, but Hope had a death grip on its handle, so tight her knuckles were white.

“Jeez, sis, loosen up. Mom can make more tea.” Gracie forced a laugh, but she couldn’t help but think that Hope was ticked at their mother for some reason. She had to get the lowdown later tonight after their mother went to bed. This was usually the time when they had their best sisterly yak sessions.

Out of the blue, her mother said, “If you must know, it’s the pot.”

Hope’s dark eyes widened as she turned to look at their mother. Gracie raised her eyebrows. “Pot?”

“I’ve had it for years; it’s been handed down for at least three generations.” Her mother sipped her tea, her light brown eyes twinkling. At sixty-seven, her mother was fit and petite, like Hope. She wore her dark brown hair cut in a modern bob and could easily pass for a woman ten years younger. What little makeup she wore enhanced her high cheekbones, and her apricot lipstick was applied carefully as always. Gracie thought her mother was stunning.

“Mother, are you all right?” Hope asked, all traces of indignation gone, her professional instinct on full display.

“Hope!” Gracie raised her voice a notch so that Hope had to look at her.

“What?” Hope gave her a snarky look.

She tilted her head toward the stove. “That’s what she meant. I never gave it much thought until now.”

Hope followed her gaze. Gracie could see that her sister finally realized what her mom referred to. “The pot. It’s the one you always use to boil the tea bags in,” Gracie said, to clear the air.

“It is. As I said, it’s been handed down from generation to generation. I think that in its years of use, maybe the tea has somehow permeated the enamel into the cast iron.”

“You had me for a minute. I thought you were smoking pot,” Hope said.

“Actually, Mama smoked it when she was going through chemotherapy. Said it helped her more than her pain medication. She had such a terrible time taking all those pills. I’m not one to judge. It gave Mama a little relief.”

Her mother was truly the most nonjudgmental person she knew. She was kind and compassionate, and Gracie adored her mother. Probably more than most daughters, as they had always been extremely close. Hope, who was much older, had less patience with their mother, as she saw her almost on a daily basis. With Hope’s divorce and the hours she spent working at the hospital, Gracie figured her sister was long overdue for a bit of downtime.

“Mimi smoked pot. Wow, if I had known that I would’ve been the coolest kid in high school.”

“Gracie! Shame on you. I hope you’re not hinting that you and your friends smoked marijuana.” Her mom spoke in her you-are-in-big-trouble voice.

“Nope, never tried the stuff. I would get fired in a heartbeat if illegal substances were found in my pee.” Gracie watched Hope. She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. “We’re tested occasionally.”

“There’s definitely a lot of controversy on medical marijuana,” Hope interjected, trying her best to act serious. “Some patients with terminal diseases swear it helps them with anxiety, pain, and sleep. I’ve read a few published articles, and opinions vary. If I were terminally ill, and I’m not, before you ask”—Hope eyed her mother—“if pot helped, I guess I might give it a shot. Not much to lose with a diagnosis like that. I had no clue Mimi smoked the stuff, but she was pitiful at the end.”

“Yes, she was, but let’s not bring negative vibes into this house today,” their mother said. “We’ve had enough bad news this past year, so let’s spend our time together doing fun stuff. It’s been ages since we stayed up half the night playing Monopoly. When you two are rested, I’ll challenge you both to a game.”

They had spent many nights throughout the years playing their favorite board game. Gracie recalled a game that had lasted an entire weekend. As usual, Hope won, but they usually had a blast when they were into the game.

“I’m certainly ready,” Gracie said. “I need to beat Hope at least once in my life.”

“Game on, Poo,” Hope acknowledged.

“Let’s stop with the Poo stuff already! I’m thirty-two; time to call it quits.”

“Never,” Hope said.

Ella spoke up. “Girls, let’s not get into that stinky old story again.” She winked at Hope.

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Not so fast now. You’re not the one who cleaned the poo out of her hair,” Hope reminded their mother.

“What was I, two? I had no clue what I was doing. We didn’t have a dog. I didn’t realize what I was doing. Right, Mom?”

“You were just a tiny little thing, but I would have thought the smell might have warned you away.”

“I should have never volunteered to babysit you that day,” Hope added.

“I suppose I would’ve said no if the situation were reversed. You’re the oldest. Babysitting a little sister who is sixteen years younger than you is kind of a normal chore. Right, Mom?” Gracie smiled at them both. She couldn’t imagine the horror Hope must’ve felt when she found her in the front yard playing with a very large pile of the neighbor’s dog poo. According to Hope, she had called her “Poo” while being hosed down outside. From that moment on, Hope nicknamed her Poo, and the nickname had stuck.

“Gracie, let’s talk about something else before I gag at the memory,” Hope suggested. “Mom ordered Taylor’s BBQ for supper tonight. They’re delivering at seven-thirty. It’s been ages since I’ve had their brisket. I can’t wait to dive in tonight.”

“Oh no, Mom! I’ll gain ten pounds while I’m here. I won’t be able to fit into my uniform, but I can’t wait, either. Your iced tea and Taylor’s BBQ rank at the top of my list of favorite foods and drinks.”

“She ordered banana pudding, too. With extra whipped cream,” Hope added, an evil grin on her face.

“Their banana pudding is to die for, which both of you know I can’t resist. Guess I’m going to be jogging a bit more than normal,” Gracie teased.

“When do you find time to jog?” Hope asked. “I barely find the time to exercise these days.”

“Mostly through airports when I’m running late. My off days, I jog at the greenway near my apartment.”

“She does have the legs for it,” their mother said.

“Meaning?” Gracie questioned.

“Long and shapely,” Hope answered for their mother.

“Well, thank you both, that’s sweet.” Gracie had often wondered why she didn’t resemble her mom or Hope. They were petite, with dark hair and whiskey-brown eyes. However, she knew she looked like her father. He had been tall, but she didn’t remember much more about him other than what she had been told. She was barely two when her father succumbed to a rare disorder, Huntington’s chorea. She hadn’t known much about the disease until she was older. Knowing that there was a fifty-fifty chance she had been born with the defective gene, her mother assured her she had her tested when she was a baby. Neither she nor Hope had inherited the defective gene from their father. Hope remembered much more from that time in their lives, but she rarely spoke of it, as it still upset her. She thought that this was why Hope had never had children, even though she didn’t carry the faulty gene. Gracie couldn’t blame her. It must be incredibly difficult for anyone to take the risk of having a Huntington’s child.

Gracie had questions about her dad, and her mother was always happy to speak about him, but she would get incredibly sad as she recalled the last three years of his life. The disease had sent him into a state of depression, which happened to be a part of the disease itself. Mom told her that from there, he had become extremely forgetful—another effect of the disorder—and there were times when he could hardly walk.

What Gracie didn’t understand, and wouldn’t dare ask, was: If her father was so sick, how had she been conceived? Of course, she knew how; she just didn’t understand how he could, for lack of better words, keep up with his husbandly duties in the bedroom if he were so ill. She supposed he’d had good days and bad days, and she was the result of a good day. She would talk to Hope about it when they were alone, though not now, not on her first night home after all this separation during the pandemic. She would know when the time was right.

They spent the next hour catching up on one another’s lives and some of the experiences they’d had while forced to be apart.

Gracie yawned. “I’m still on European time. Y’all mind if I take a quick shower and a nap before dinner?”

“Not at all; I was about to suggest it myself. Your rooms are ready, sheets are freshly washed, and there are plenty of towels and supplies in the upstairs bath. And I added a little something extra for each of you.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.” Gracie stood up, stretched, and then leaned down to kiss her mother.

Hope blew their mom a kiss, then raced upstairs. She liked to be first in everything, as she was highly driven in every area of her life.

Ella shook her head and placed a finger to her lips. Hope did not like it when they spoke of her competitiveness.

“I know, not now. Don’t worry, Mom,” Gracie said, before heading upstairs to her childhood bedroom. Upsetting her mom was not in her DNA.