Dream 3 - Finding the Dream Read Online Free PDF Page B

life sitting in the sunshine.
    And, Laura understood, it would break his heart if she offered it.
    So she picked up the slack under the guise of wanting a hobby. When her schedule allowed, and often when it didn't, she would stand with Joe and discuss perennials and bonemeal and mulch.
    Today, as afternoon faded to dusk, she took stock. The gardens of Templeton House looked as they should in winter: quiet, waiting, the hardiest blooms splashes of defiant color. Her parents had given the house into her hands for tending, and for cherishing. Laura did both.
    She stepped out onto the skirt of the pool, nodded in approval. She maintained the pool herself. It was, after all, her indulgence. Whatever the weather, if she could squeeze in a few laps, she did so. She'd taught her children to swim in that pool, as her father had taught her. The water sparkled, a delicate blue, thanks to some of her recent dickering with the pump and filter.
    The mermaid lived beneath, a mosaic fantasy of flowing red hair and glossy green tail. Her girls loved to dive down and touch that smiling, serene face, even as she had.
    Out of habit, she checked the glass tables for smudges, the cushions of the chairs and lounges for dampness or dust. Ann would have already done so, but Laura didn't turn toward the house until she was certain everything was perfect.
    Satisfied, she walked down the stone path and chose the kitchen door. Scents assaulted her, made her taste buds yearn. Mrs. Williamson, ample of hip and bosom, stood at the stove, as she had done for all of Laura's memory.
    "Leg of lamb," Laura said and sighed. "Apple chutney. Curried potatoes."
    Turning, Mrs. Williamson smiled smugly. She was well into her seventies. Her hair was the hard glossy black of a bowling ball and approximately the same shape. But her face was soft, full of folds and wrinkles and as sweet as her own cream centers.
    "Your nose is as good as ever, Miss Laura—or your memory is. It's what you always want for your birthday."
    "No one roasts a lamb like you, Mrs. Williamson." Because she knew the game, Laura wandered the spacious kitchen, making her poking about obvious. "I don't see a cake."
    "Maybe I forgot to bake one."
    Laura expressed the expected dismay. "Oh, Mrs. Williamson!"
    "And maybe I didn't." She chuckled, gestured with her wooden spoon. "Now off you go. I can't have you around pestering me while I'm cooking. Get yourself cleaned up—you're carrying garden dirt."
    "Yes, ma'am." At the kitchen door, Laura turned back. "It wouldn't be a Black Forest cake, would it? Double chocolate?"
    "Just you wait and see. Scat!"
    Laura waited until she was well down the hallway before she chuckled. It would be a Black Forest cake. Mrs. Williamson might be a tad forgetful these days, and her hearing wasn't what it had been. But vital matters such as Laura's traditional birthday meal would be remembered in every detail.
    She hummed to herself as she climbed the stairs to bathe and change for dinner. Her mood had lifted, but it plummeted quickly when she heard the sounds of a sibling argument in full swing.
    "Because you're stupid, that's why." Ali's voice was shrill and bitter. "Because you don't understand anything, and I hate you."
    "I am not stupid." There were tears trembling on the surface of Kayla's retort. "And I hate you more."
    "Well, this is pleasant." Determined to lose neither her temper nor her perspective, Laura paused in the doorway of All's room.
    The tableau seemed innocent enough. In a girl's pretty mint-and-white room, dolls from around the world wearing their countries' traditional dress ringed the shelves that flanked the wide window. Books, ranging from Sweet Valley High to Jane Eyre , filled a case. A jewelry box with a twirling ballerina stood open on the dresser.
    Her daughters faced each other from either side of the canopy bed like mortal enemies over embattled soil.
    "I don't want her in my room." Her fists clenched, Ali whirled to face her mother. "This