Between Us Girls Read Online Free PDF
Author: Sally John
solid doorâthat, unlike now, had always been shut. To its right was a small sign made of tiles painted with flowers and lettering that read Casa de Vida, 157 Westwind.
Jasmyn approached the doorway, now open, where Liv waited alone. Keagan was nowhere to be seen.
The woman spread her arms wide and grinned. âWelcome to the Casa de Vida.â She pronounced it casa day veeda . âThe House of Life.â
Uh-oh. House of Life? Jasmyn was walking into some wacky cult place.
âCome into the courtyard and meet my other neighbors.â
Cringing at the image of herself as Gretel, Jasmyn followed Liv through the gateway, stopped in her tracks, and gasped.
Liv chuckled. âEveryone does that the first time they come inside. Isnât it lovely?â
Lovely did not begin to describe the festive paradise before her. It looked like a movie set. Actors would have Italian accents.
Plants grew everywhere, absolutely everywhere she looked. There were green leaves, from tiny to huge jungle-like. There were palms, tall and squat, strung with patio lights. There were pots of every size and color.There were blossoms of every size and color, up high and down low, giving off scents so sweet and thick she tasted honey.
Several people sat or stood near a trickling fountain or at patio tables shaded by red umbrellas. Everyone talked and laughed.
Almost hidden behind the garden and the people were the cutest little cottages she had ever seen. They were connected side by side, each one white and flat roofed with colorful window boxes. They sat in a crooked circle around the courtyard.
Oh, she hoped it wasnât a cult. âWhat is this place?â
Liv laughed. âAn apartment complex.â
âAn apartment complex? In Valley Oaks thatâs a three-story brick schoolhouse built in 1926.â
âIs that where you live?â
âSort of.â Yes, she did live in that building where everyone in town over the age of seventy had gone to middle school when it was a middle school. The building still smelled of chalk dust and glue and musty books. But it wasnât where she was supposed to live. It was not her house. Not her home.
âSort of?â Liv asked.
Jasmyn shrugged, her throat too tight to speak.
âWell, dear, it sounds full of history, like this place. The Casa was built in the 1920s too by a one-armed World War I veteran. All sorts of people have lived here. War heroes, television stars, movie stars, world champion surfers, a senatorâs mistress, a gangster on the lam, an admiral with amnesiaâwell, the list goes on and on. Are you hungry? You arrived just in time for our Labor Day potluck picnic. Letâs put your bag on this bench here for now.â She lifted the bag from Jasmynâs shoulder. âWeâll get you settled into number Eleven in a bit, okay?â
Jasmyn glanced over her shoulder. The gate was still open. It could be her last chance to hightail it out of there.
Suddenly it didnât matter. She had no idea what she was walking into, but she sensed that with Liv McAlister, everything was going to be all right.
And she hadnât felt that since the morning of St. Patrickâs Day.
Seven
Sam groaned under her breath, a trick she had learned within the first week of moving into Casa de Vida.
Much as she liked her homeâokay, after her summer stint at Berkeley in a two-window studio apartment above a Vietnamese restaurant, she could admit that she probably loved her home. And, yes, Livâs cooking was an added perk. But despite her homemade meals, the matriarch of the Casa wasâ¦
Well, she was impossible to describe. Something about her bugged the living daylights out of Sam. If they had to speak on a daily basis, Sam doubted she would have lasted for the past four years. She might have smothered to death by all the groaning under her breath.
There Liv was now, dragging in yet another stray off the street, introducing her to
Jasmyn approached the doorway, now open, where Liv waited alone. Keagan was nowhere to be seen.
The woman spread her arms wide and grinned. âWelcome to the Casa de Vida.â She pronounced it casa day veeda . âThe House of Life.â
Uh-oh. House of Life? Jasmyn was walking into some wacky cult place.
âCome into the courtyard and meet my other neighbors.â
Cringing at the image of herself as Gretel, Jasmyn followed Liv through the gateway, stopped in her tracks, and gasped.
Liv chuckled. âEveryone does that the first time they come inside. Isnât it lovely?â
Lovely did not begin to describe the festive paradise before her. It looked like a movie set. Actors would have Italian accents.
Plants grew everywhere, absolutely everywhere she looked. There were green leaves, from tiny to huge jungle-like. There were palms, tall and squat, strung with patio lights. There were pots of every size and color.There were blossoms of every size and color, up high and down low, giving off scents so sweet and thick she tasted honey.
Several people sat or stood near a trickling fountain or at patio tables shaded by red umbrellas. Everyone talked and laughed.
Almost hidden behind the garden and the people were the cutest little cottages she had ever seen. They were connected side by side, each one white and flat roofed with colorful window boxes. They sat in a crooked circle around the courtyard.
Oh, she hoped it wasnât a cult. âWhat is this place?â
Liv laughed. âAn apartment complex.â
âAn apartment complex? In Valley Oaks thatâs a three-story brick schoolhouse built in 1926.â
âIs that where you live?â
âSort of.â Yes, she did live in that building where everyone in town over the age of seventy had gone to middle school when it was a middle school. The building still smelled of chalk dust and glue and musty books. But it wasnât where she was supposed to live. It was not her house. Not her home.
âSort of?â Liv asked.
Jasmyn shrugged, her throat too tight to speak.
âWell, dear, it sounds full of history, like this place. The Casa was built in the 1920s too by a one-armed World War I veteran. All sorts of people have lived here. War heroes, television stars, movie stars, world champion surfers, a senatorâs mistress, a gangster on the lam, an admiral with amnesiaâwell, the list goes on and on. Are you hungry? You arrived just in time for our Labor Day potluck picnic. Letâs put your bag on this bench here for now.â She lifted the bag from Jasmynâs shoulder. âWeâll get you settled into number Eleven in a bit, okay?â
Jasmyn glanced over her shoulder. The gate was still open. It could be her last chance to hightail it out of there.
Suddenly it didnât matter. She had no idea what she was walking into, but she sensed that with Liv McAlister, everything was going to be all right.
And she hadnât felt that since the morning of St. Patrickâs Day.
Seven
Sam groaned under her breath, a trick she had learned within the first week of moving into Casa de Vida.
Much as she liked her homeâokay, after her summer stint at Berkeley in a two-window studio apartment above a Vietnamese restaurant, she could admit that she probably loved her home. And, yes, Livâs cooking was an added perk. But despite her homemade meals, the matriarch of the Casa wasâ¦
Well, she was impossible to describe. Something about her bugged the living daylights out of Sam. If they had to speak on a daily basis, Sam doubted she would have lasted for the past four years. She might have smothered to death by all the groaning under her breath.
There Liv was now, dragging in yet another stray off the street, introducing her to