Chapter Three

      Lorrie Ann paused at the wrought-iron gate that led to the terra-cotta-paved courtyard. Wisteria and roses climbed the white stucco walls. The large ranch house rambled off both sides of the patio. Lorrie Ann smiled at the turquoise door.

      All the hours and years she’d spent waiting for her mother to come back rushed in and filled her mind.

      “Are we waiting for Aunt Maggie?”

      The child’s voice pulled her back to the present. She smiled down at the rumpled-looking doll and took the small hand in hers.

      “No, just caught up in some memories.” Pulling air through her nose and slowly releasing her breath, she took one step forward. “Let’s go to the kitchen door. I bet she has something we can heat up for lunch.”

      Obviously familiar with the home, Celeste headed to the breezeway. The traffic-worn stones gave testimony that family and friends went straight to the back door.

      Stepping into the kitchen, Lorrie Ann had the unexpected urge to cry. Spices from all the meals cooked over the years lingered in the air. The clay bean pot and flat cast-iron griddle sat on the old white stove.

      “Did you live here when you were a little girl?” Celeste asked as she twirled in the middle of the large open kitchen. “I want tortillas. Do you think she has some papas?”

      “Now, that is a word I have not heard in a while.” Lorrie Ann opened the refrigerator door and dug around until she found an old margarine tub with cubed potatoes that had been panfried. “Here we go—papas!”

      “And tortillas!” Celeste held a wicker basket of tortillas like a trophy. “But I’m not allowed to touch the stove.”

      Lorrie Ann turned on the burner and adjusted the flame.

      “After school, my cousin, Yolanda, and I would race in here to fight over the first tortilla.” Maggie’s daughter always argued that since she was younger by four years and it was her mother who made them that she should get the first one.

      At the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room, Celeste jumped on a stool and started spinning in circles. “Is Aunt Maggie your real aunt? Did your mom and dad live here, too?”

      “Maggie is my mom’s older sister. My mom traveled, so I just stayed here.” The story slipped from her lips naturally as she flipped the tortilla.

      “What about your dad?” The child spun the chair in the opposite direction.

      “My father?” A good question her mother never answered. “Um...well. He’s gone.”

      “He’s dead?”

      Lorrie Ann gasped. “Oh, no.” What had she done? “Oh, oh, no. I mean...I don’t know. No, uh...” How did she get out of this?

      “You don’t know? I’ll ask Daddy to pray for him. Rachel says he has the most important job in the world.”

      Lorrie Ann scooped the potatoes into the warm tortilla. She glanced at the door. “Aunt Maggie should be here any minute.” With plate in hand, she turned away from the stove to face the child.

      Celeste’s head popped up over a pyramid made of red cups. Her tongue stuck out between rows of tiny white teeth.

      Lorrie Ann froze. “Oh, my...you...um...you need to sit down.”

      “I just need to add the last guard to my castle.” She balanced the spoon against the side of the top cup, but as she pulled away, the whole structure collapsed.

      Heart in her throat, Lorrie Ann dropped the plate on the counter and rushed to grab Celeste before she fell. “I think it would be better if you didn’t stand on a swivel chair.” With a heavy sigh, she started picking up the cups.

      Celeste joined her. “I’m sorry, Miss Lorrie Ann. My sister says I need to learn to sit still.” Her voice sounded subdued.

      With a forced smile, she faced the little girl. “No harm done.” She patted her on the head. “It’s okay, rug rat.” They put the last cup back on the counter. “See, everything’s back in place and nothing broken. But I would suggest not standing on moving chairs.” She patted the seat. “Cool tower, by the way.”

      “Thanks.” The smile beamed again.

      “Here you go. Time to eat.” She scanned her brain for a safe topic. “I think I saw grapes. Do you want some?” She went back to the refrigerator and pulled out a clear bag full of the fruit. While washing them, she glanced out the big picture window, hoping to see her aunt. She sighed at the empty driveway and tore off a small bunch of grapes for Celeste.

      “Oh, I can’t eat whole grapes. Daddy says they have to be cut in half so I don’t choke. Hot dogs, too.” She tossed a cubed potato in her mouth. “Why do they call the purple crayon grape when grapes are green? Will you please cut them? Daddy won’t let me use a knife.”

      “Sure.” She pulled a small knife from the same drawer they had been in twelve years ago.

      “I tell Daddy that only babies eat cut grapes, but he says I’ll always be his baby.” She stuck out her tongue and scrunched her little nose.

      “In Los Angeles, cut grapes are gourmet food. I only eat sliced grapes myself.” She pulled a white plastic knife from the drawer and handed it over to Celeste. “Here, you can use a plastic knife.”

      Together they sliced the grapes. Lorrie Ann tossed one up to catch in her mouth, but it bounced off her chin, causing the sweetest giggle to come from the other side of the counter. She closed one eye and looked at the little girl with the other. “Hey! Are you laughing at me?”

      Celeste sat up straight. Her ponytail swung with the shake of her head while her shoulders trembled as she failed to hold down her laughter.

      Both turned at the sound of the screen door opening.

      “Aunt Maggie, look! Miss Lorrie Ann taught me how to make gourmet grapes.”

      “She has always been very creative.” She smiled at them then headed to the red wall phone. “Give me a minute. I need to start the prayer chain and call your grandpa.”

      “He’s at the five hundred pasture today, Aunt Maggie.”

      Maggie ran her finger down a list of names. “Well, then, I’ll just leave him a message.” She pushed the buttons on the phone. Bare spots on the twisted ten-foot cord exposed colored cables.