Page 2 of Mind Games

Painted blue as the sky, with shutters—real ones—and the posts of the long front porch green as the hills, it sat back from the skinny, snaking road. Azaleas and mountain laurel flowed along the front. Dozens of colorful bottles hung from the branches of a redbud tree.

Thea had never seen it blooming, except in pictures, because school, but she could imagine it.

In the back there would be gardens—flowers and vegetables and herbs—and the chicken coop where Grammie’s ladies clucked and pecked. The goat named Molly had a pen, the cow called Aster had two small fields where Grammie moved her from one to the other every few months.

There was a little barn and a garden shed. A stream meandered through and slid right into the woods.

And the hills rose up, all around.

Duck and Goose, Grammie’s two coonhounds, raced around the house toward the car.

In the car, Cocoa rose up to wag and whine.

The minute Thea opened the door, Cocoa leaped over and out. The three dogs began to sniff butts to reacquaint themselves.

The door of the house opened, and Lucy Lannigan stepped out on the wide front porch.

Her hair, the true black she’d passed to her daughter and granddaughter, had a thick white streak, like a wave, from the center down to the tip on the right side. She’d passed on the lapis-blue eyes as well with their long lids.

Her height, five-ten with a willow-stem frame, had missed Cora, but from the length of Thea’s and Rem’s legs, it wouldn’t miss her grandchildren.

In her faded jeans and simple white shirt, she threw open her arms.

“How many can I hug at once? Let’s find out.”

Like Cocoa, Thea and Rem jumped out, and they ran into the open arms of the woman who smelled like bread fresh from the oven.

Lucy said, “Mmm-mmm-mmm!” as she hugged and squeezed, then managed to gather in Cora and John. “Now my heart’s full to brimming. I’ve got all the love in the world and more right here on my front porch. I hope you’re hungry, ’cause I’ve fried up enough chicken for an army after a hard battle.”

“I’m starving,” Rem told her, and brought on her rolling laugh.

“I can always count on you for that. There’s fresh lemonade for some, and some damn good apple wine for others. Your rooms are all ready if you want to stow your bags away.”

“Let’s do that.” John kissed both Lucy’s cheeks. “Then I could sure go for that apple wine.”

The house always smelled so good. To Thea it smelled of the mountains and good cooking, of herbs and flowers.

She’d only been to Grammie’s house in the summer, so she’d never seen a fire crackling away in the living room with its big old blue couch and armchairs covered in what her grandmother called cabbage roses.

And there were flowers from the garden, and wildflowers from the hills, the candles Gram made herself, and always the latest school pictures of her and Rem in frames.

Her dad helped carry the bags up while her mom went into the kitchen with Grammie. Because, her dad always said, they liked a little mom-and-daughter time.

Thea didn’t mind because she’d have two whole weeks.

She loved her room here with its view of the mountains. Though it was smaller than her room at home, she didn’t mind that either.

She liked the old iron bed, painted white as snow, and the quilt covered with violets her grandmother’s grandmother had made. White daisies stood happy in a little glass pitcher on the dresser. Though the room had a tiny closet, it also had what Grammie called a chifforobe.

Thea liked it better than any closet.

And she liked knowing her mother had slept in that room as a girl.

Rem had the room right across—Uncle Waylon’s childhood bedroom—and then her parents would take Uncle Caleb’s old room for the night. One more bedroom Gram had set up for sewing and things, then she had the biggest room with the four-poster bed that had come down to her.

A bed she’d been born in.

Thea couldn’t quite imagine that one.

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