Page 101 of The Seven Rings
Knowing her job, Sonya peeled, sliced, chopped, minced.
When all the make-ahead dishes were tucked away, she helped clean up.
“That’s the hardest part done.”
“Promise?”
Chef Cleopatra waved a hand. “Tomorrow’s easy, just like I planned. And we’ve got a few hours before Winter gets here. I’m going up to the studio.”
“I’ve got a little work I can deal with.”
As they walked out of the kitchen, Cleo put an arm around Sonya’s shoulders. “If you get that feeling like you did a few days ago, text me.”
“Honestly, I don’t know if I can.”
“Try. I know it was a good, positive thing you saw, and really romantic on my scale, but try. JustSOSis enough.”
“I’ll try. It’s never happened when my mom’s here. I hope that holds.”
Work pulled her in, and assured her she’d never find cooking and planning meals like a drug. Occasionally enjoying, even satisfying. But so was takeout.
Immersed in her first round of tests for the medical practice’s website, she only pulled out when Clover played the Vogues’ “Five O’Clock World.”
Twice.
“Okay, all right. I got the hint. Ten minutes to finish running this through, and I’ll shut down. Shit, there’s a glitch. Make that fifteen. I can fix this.”
It took twenty, but when she shut down, she felt she’d earned the weekend.
She walked down the hall to give her mother’s room one last check. Fresh flowers—selected from the garden—stood in a small, squat glass vase on Catherine’s vanity. She’d placed the hairbrush, a hand mirror there as well. As she had the round cobalt perfume bottle with the gold cap found in the attic.
She checked the bathroom. Fresh towels, fancy soaps, and the lovely old powder jar they’d found and she’d filled with bath salts.
The little things the house provided, Sonya thought, made all the difference.
She went down, doing a survey of each room. Floors and furniture gleamed under Molly’s loving care. Flowers fresh from the garden or the florist, candles ready for the flame.
It all said not just beautiful old house, but home.
They’d found old frames upstairs, and she’d ordered others. Some photos she’d framed stood on shelves, on mantels, paying homage to those who’d come before her.
Cleo would say those little things brought the light, and Sonya had come to believe it.
Drawn by Yoda’s happy barks, she wound her way to the kitchen. It sparkled. She’d helped make that happen. Had to have your hand in, she thought.
But it didn’t just sparkle. There were the little things here, too. Cleo’s suncatcher rainbowing the light, one of Anna’s bowls filled with colorful summer fruit, the glass jar filled with sunny lemons.
It mattered, these things they’d brought to the house.
Content, she looked out the window. She saw the dog, racing with the red ball, and the cat, sunning herself on her doghouse perch.
And she saw the boy in his short pants and untucked shirt, hair tousled from the play and the summer breeze. The breeze carried his laugh to her as he took the ball from Yoda, winged it high and long.
“Perfect timing,” Cleo said as she walked in.
At the window, Sonya held up a hand, curved her fingers in acomegesture.
Cleo hurried over. She let out a gasp, clutched Sonya’s shoulder.
