Chapter 8 - Spring Cleaning
Spring arrived in Seattle with an explosion of cherry blossoms and crisp, clean air that smelled of damp earth and blooming dogwoods.
The house was mine again. Every room, every hallway, every corner.
I had hired a contractor to completely remodel the kitchen—tearing out the cold, modern marble countertops that Vanessa had chosen and replacing them with warm, honey-colored oak cabinets and a deep farmhouse sink that looked out over the garden.
On a bright Saturday morning in April, Evelyn was sitting on my back patio, drinking iced tea with me at the very same table where, almost a year ago, a lemon cake had hit the concrete stones in a messy heap of yellow frosting.
“You know,” Evelyn said, laughing as she took a sip of her tea, “I still think about that cake. Such a waste of good organic lemons.”
“Not a waste at all,” I smiled, looking out over the perfectly manicured lawn where new rosebushes were beginning to sprout. “It served its purpose.”
“And what purpose was that?”
“It woke me up,” I said quietly.
May you like
Evelyn reached across the table and clinked her glass against mine, a knowing, affectionate grin lighting up her face. “To wake-up calls, Margaret. And to never letting anyone make you feel like a guest in your own home again.”
“To new beginnings,” I replied, raising my glass to the morning sun.
