A Mother's Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

problem.”
    He opened the door. “The executioner awaits.”
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    K YRA SMELLED FISH AS soon as she came in the door. As Emma came around the corner, she pasted a bright smile on her face and said, “Hello! You must be cooking something wonderful!”
    With a dishcloth thrown over her shoulder and the sturdy apron covering her bosom, Emma looked, Kyra thought, like one of those steely-eyed matrons who’d manned the hospitals during World War I. No nonsense here, that was clear. “I hope it’s not burnt,” she said. “It’s Dylan’s favorite. Kedgeree. With peas fresh from the garden.”
    â€œWonderful. How is Amanda?”
    â€œAmanda?”
    â€œThe baby?”
    â€œOh. Yes. She’s sleeping. Ate like a trooper and went to bed not twenty minutes ago.”
    Kyra felt a prick of heat in her chest and took a coolingbreath. No way through this but right through it. “Do babies always sleep so much?”
    â€œGood babies do.” Tugging the dish towel from her shoulder, Emma led the way into the tiny dining area to a table set with a fresh cloth beneath a window overlooking the sea. “Well, come sit down.”
    The dish was beautiful. Kyra could appreciate the fresh green peas dotting fluffy white rice. But the smell of smoked fish spoiled it. Even before she’d given up meat, she’d despised fish. Born inland, she’d never had a chance to develop a taste for it, and now it was a moot point.
    Or mostly it was. Somehow she was going to have to get through this meal.
    Dylan said, dishing up a spoonful of the casserole, “This is one of my mother’s best dishes.” He passed the spoon toward her, eyes quiet. “She’s known far and wide for it.”
    Kyra took the hint and focused on telling a single truth. “It looks beautiful.”
    How hard could it be to eat a serving or two? She wasn’t six years old, throwing a tantrum about bad food. With determination, she focused on the beauty of the fresh peas, the snowy rice, the chunks of fish. As she ladled a spoonful from the dish, the smell wafted upward on the steam, smelling of—
    Ocean, she told herself and focused on the idea of offerings from the sea and earth. The ocean smelled just like this. She loved the ocean. She passed the dish to her left, to Emma.
    â€œIs that all you’re having?” she asked. “There’s plenty!” And before Kyra could come up with a good excuse, Emma scooped a massive helping onto Krya’s plate. “There you go. Are all American girls as skinny as you and Africa? Don’t you all know men like some meat on a woman’s bones?”
    â€œMother,” Dylan said mildly, reaching for the salt.
    â€œOh, I know, I know. I talk too much. But I’m an old woman.” She seemed downright cheerful, her face flushed from cooking, strands of hair sticking to one cheek. “I’ve earned the right.”
    As the others dug in, Kyra gingerly scooped up a bit of rice and peas. If there was so much on her plate, maybe she could get away with only eating the nonfish parts and bury the fish in the rest of the meal.
    Fish broth filled her mouth. Smoky, sharp, exceedingly unpleasant. Kyra swallowed, took a sip of water. “Wonderful,” she said.
    â€œThis is one of Dylan’s favorites,” Emma commented.
    â€œIs that so?” Kyra noticed both of them had made a big dent in their piles, so there was obviously nothing wrong with the food, only her own taste buds. Recalling meals when she’d been forced to eat cow’s liver and chicken gizzards as a child, Kyra held her nose and took another bite. Chewing as little as possible—not difficult, actually—she swallowed fast. Drank some more.
    â€œHave some bread and butter.” Dylan nudged the plate toward her. His eyes, when she met his gaze, danced with wicked humor. He knew.
    She raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid