Page 84 of Shadow Spell

“It does.” Branna lowered the sword. “The lot of you can put my kitchen back to rights. I’ll be in the workshop when you’re done,” she said to Fin, and walked out.

13

MEARA SPENT MOST OF HER NEXT FREE DAY AT HERmother’s helping with the last of the packing up for what they were all calling The Long Visit. And as packing required making decisions—what should be taken, what should be left behind, what might be given away or simply tossed in the bin—Meara spent most of her free day with a throbbing headache.

Decisions, and Meara knew it well, put Colleen Quinn in a state of dithering anxiety. The simple choice of whether to take her trio of pampered African Violets nearly brought her to tears.

“Well, of course you’ll take them.” Meara struggled to find balance on a thin midway line between good cheer and firmness.

“If I leave them, you and Donal will have the bother of watering and feeding them, and if you forget...”

“I can promise not to forget.” Because she’d take them straight to Branna, who’d know how to tend them. “But you should have them with you.”

“Maureen might not want them in her house.”

“Now why wouldn’t Maureen want them?” Teetering on that thin line, Meara pasted a determined smile on her face as she lifted one of the fuzzy-leafed plants, pregnant with purple blooms. “They’re lovely.”

“Well, it’sherhouse, isn’t it?”

“And you’re her mother, and they’re your plants.”

Decision made—by God—Meara set them carefully in boxes she’d begged off the market.

“Oh, but—”

“They’ll ride safe in here.”Seven times seven is—bugger it—forty-nine.“And haven’t you said plants are living things, and how they respond to music and conversation and affection? They’d miss you and likely wilt, however careful I was with them.”

Inspired, Meara sang “On the Road Again” as she tucked balled paper around the pots. At least that got a glimmer of a smile from Colleen.

“You’ve such a beautiful singing voice.”

“I got it from my mother, didn’t I?”

“Your father has a fine, strong voice as well.”

“Hmm” was Meara’s response to that as she multiplied in her head. “Well now, you’ll want some of your photos, won’t you, to put around your room.”

“Oh.” Colleen immediately linked her fingers together as she did when she didn’t know whether to turn left or right. “I’m not sure, and how would I choose which. And—”

“I’ll choose, then it’ll be a nice surprise for you when you unpack. You know, I could do with some tea.”

“Oh. I’ll make some.”

“That would be grand.” And provide five minutes of peace.

With Colleen in the kitchen, Meara quickly snatched framed photos—captured moments of the past, of her childhood, of her siblings, and, though it didn’t sit particularly well, of her parents together.

She studied one of her parents, smiling out with the lush gardens of the big house they’d once had surrounding them. A handsome face, she thought, studying her father. A fine, strapping man with all the charm in the world.

And no spine whatsoever.

She wrapped the photo to protect the glass of the frame, tucked it in the box. She might be of the opinion her mother would be better off without the constant reminder of what had been, but it wasn’t her life to live.

And that life, right at the moment, fit into two suitcases, a shoulder tote, and three market boxes.

There would be more if the move became permanent—a word Colleen wasn’t ready to hear. More packing to do, but much more than that, Meara was sure, more life to be lived.

Considering the job done—or nearly enough—she went back to the kitchen. And found her mother sitting at the tiny table, weeping quietly into her hands.

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