Missing Pieces Read Online Free PDF Page A

really are?”
    Jo Lynn stared at me, green eyes narrowing, orange mouth pursing, as if she were giving serious thought to leaping across the table and wrestling me to the floor. Then suddenly her eyes widened, her lips parted, and she was laughing again, only this time the laughter was genuine and expansive, and I was able to join her.
    “That was funny,” she said, as I basked in her unexpected goodwill.
    The phone rang. It was our mother. As if on cue. As if she’d been privy to our conversation. As if she knew our most secret thoughts.
    “Tell her we were just talking about her,” Jo Lynn whispered, loud enough to be heard.
    “How are you, Mom?” I said instead, picturing her on the other end of the receiver, already showered and dressed, her short tightly curled gray hair framing her narrow face, dark brown eyes sparkling with expectation for the day ahead.
    Her voice filled the room. “Magnificent,” she trilled. That was what she always said. Magnificent. Jo Lynn mouthed the word along with her. “How are you, darling?”
    “I’m good.”
    “And the girls?”
    “They’re fine.”
    “I’m good too,” Jo Lynn called out.
    “Oh, is Jo Lynn there?”
    “She dropped by for a cup of coffee.”
    “Give her my love,” our mother said.
    “Give it back,” Jo Lynn said flatly in return.
    “Sweetheart,” our mother continued, “I’m calling becauseI can’t find that wonderful recipe I have for poach crumble, and I wondered if you had a copy of it.”
    “Poach crumble?” I repeated.
    “Yes,” she said. “Remember? I made it for you a few weeks ago. You said it was delicious.”
    “You mean the
peach
crumble?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Isn’t that what I said?”
    “You said … Never mind. It’s not important. I’ll look for it later and call you back. Is that okay?”
    There was a moment’s silence. “Well, don’t wait too long.” A hint of agitation crept into her voice.
    “Is something wrong?” I mentally crossed my fingers. Please don’t let there be anything wrong, I prayed. The day was already disintegrating around me, the sky steadily paling, leaking blue.
    “No, nothing’s wrong,” she assured me quickly. “It’s just Mr. Emerson next door. He’s mad at me for something. I can’t imagine what, but he’s been quite unpleasant these last few days.”
    “Unpleasant? What do you mean?” I pictured old Mr. Emerson, charming, slightly stooped but still debonair, with a full head of thick white hair. He’d lived in the apartment next to my mother’s for the two years she’d been a resident at the Palm Beach Lakes Retirement Home, a community for independent seniors. Mr. Emerson had always been an ideal neighbor, thoughtful, friendly, in possession of all his faculties. Of course, he was also closing in on ninety, so anything could happen.
    “I thought I’d make him a peach crumble as a sort of peace offering,” my mother continued. “But I can’t find the recipe.”
    “I’ll look for it and call you later,” I told her. “In the meantime, don’t worry about it. Whatever it is, he’ll get over it in time.”
    “How much time does he have?” my mother quipped, and I laughed.
    “Tell her I’m getting married,” Jo Lynn said loudly as I was about to hang up the phone.
    “What’s that? She’s getting married again?”
    “You’re gonna love him,” Jo Lynn said, as I whispered hurried assurances to our mother that it was all a joke.
    Jo Lynn became visibly indignant, the green eyes narrowing once again, the orange lips disappearing one inside the other. “Why did you tell her that? Why are you always trying to protect her?”
    “Why are you always trying to hurt her?”
    We stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, our unanswered questions suspended in the air between us like particles of dust in the sunlight. What’s the matter with you? I wanted to shout. Can you really be serious about Colin Friendly? Aren’t you tired of being abused by