Passing Through Paradise Read Online Free PDF

it felt strange to do something as normal as making tea when nothing was normal anymore. But that was the nature of life; everything didn’t simply stop and hang suspended at the top of the Ferris wheel while you sorted out your problems. Everything kept turning. Everything kept going.
    “How were the roads?” she called from the kitchen.
    “Icy. But traffic wasn’t bad.”
    “Mom, you know I ‘m always glad to see you. But you didn’t have to come,” she said, carrying the teapot into the living room. Sandra pictured her driving the Grand Marquis down from Providence over slippery roads. “I love having you visit, but I can’t expect you to come running every time the local news pounds another nail into my coffin. Since Victor died, I’ve been teaching myself to cope on my own.”
    “Of course you have, dear.”
    “At the very least, you should’ve had Dad drive you.” Picking up the large copper kettle from the plate on the stove, she poured boiling water into the pot, then set the lid on it to brew.
    “I’m fine driving myself. Perfectly fine.”
    Sandra set out the sugar bowl and filled the cream pitcher. Putting everything on a tray, she carried it into the parlor.
    “That’s lovely,” her mother said, patting the sofa beside her. She sent Sandra a warm smile.
    Sandra sank down next to her mother and leaned her head on Dorrie’s shoulder, inhaling the faint, comforting scent of Keri lotion, Aqua Net and cigarettes. “Sorry about the lecture, Mom. Thanks for coming, really.”
    Dorrie patted her knee and then leaned forward to pour tea through a strainer into their cups. “How are you?” she asked, then predictably answered her own question. “You’re too thin.”
    “I’m fine, Mom.” With ritualistic precision, Sandra measured sugar and milk into her cup. The lighthouse foghorn let out a long, mournful blast that rattled the windows.
    Sandra shivered at the sound. Turning sideways on the sofa, she tucked her feet under her, sipped her tea and said, “So I guess you saw the news.”
    Her mother’s gaze remained fixed on the tempered glass door of the woodstove, and the dancing flames within were reflected in the lenses of her glasses.
    “What did you think of the broadcast?” Sandra prodded.
    Dorrie turned her head to look at Sandra, blinking as though she had just awakened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What was that?”
    Sandra hesitated. Lately her mother had seemed a bit distracted. Was it the mess with Victor, or something else? Perhaps her mother was getting hard of hearing, or maybe something worse was going on. The thought made Sandra’s blood run cold, but she didn’t dare broach the topic with her mother. Dorrie tended to get defensive about medical matters.
    “I was just wondering what you thought of the news,” Sandra said. “You did see
Providence Daybreak,
didn’t you? Courtney Procter. I swear, she was gloating all through the story. I could hear it in her voice.” Sandra pulled her knees up to her chest and stretched her sweater over them. “How does it feel, being the mother of the Black Widow of Blue Moon Beach?”
    Dorrie laced her fingers together, squeezing hard. Probably craving a cigarette. “That woman is a clown. The whole news show is made up of sensational garbage.”
    “That’s why she gets such good ratings. What makes me crazy is that people around here believe her.”
    Dorrie took a thoughtful sip of her tea and set down her cup. “When something this bad happens, folks need to blame somebody. Or else they have to accept that God can be cruel. And you ought to know that no Winslow from the beginning of time could ever think such a thing.”
    Sandra pictured Victor’s parents, heartbreaking in their dignity as they sat listening to the medical examiner. Their son was officially and legally dead, even though there was no body to make the conclusion real. He had died in an accident—that was the part they didn’t accept. Accidents simply