September Canvas Read Online Free PDF Page B

turned the faucet to cold and pulled Faythe close to the sink. “This hand?”
    “Yes. It’s not bad—”
    “Cold water.” Deanne held Faythe’s hand under the running faucet. “You don’t want it to blister.”
    “No, you’re right.” The cold water took the sting out of the small burn. Faythe was more aware of standing in such close proximity to Deanna than any residual pain. “Jeez, you must think I’m a complete disaster,” she murmured. “I’m usually cool and collected.”
    “I’ll take your word for it.”
    “You have to, don’t you?” Faythe wrinkled her nose and sighed. “I haven’t actually given you any proof.”
    “You seem trustworthy.” Deanna kept hold of Faythe’s lower arm.
    “Don’t you think this is good enough? The water’s really cold.”
    “You need a few more minutes to cool the skin cells properly. Trust me. My…sister burned her leg once and I had her in a cold shower for more than half an hour. The doctors said that was why she didn’t even get a scar.”
    “Okay, I believe you.”
    “Good. Stand still.”
    Faythe’s hand was completely numb by the time Deanna finally let her pull it back. Reaching for a clean kitchen towel, she dabbed it dry.
    “Let’s check on the spaghetti and see if it’s ruined or done.” Feeling irritated with herself, Faythe avoided looking directly at Deanna and peered into the pot instead. “Looks like it’s time to drain it.”
    “Let me do it.” Deanna grabbed the pot and poured the contents into a large colander sitting in the sink. Faythe handed her some olive oil to dribble over the pasta.
    “What? You don’t trust me to do it? Do you think I’m so undependable I can’t even drain my own spaghetti?” Deanna gave her a strange look that made Faythe realize she sounded like an idiot. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said, and eyed the amount of spaghetti and meat sauce.
    “I am, actually.” Deanna sounded surprised. “It smells wonderful.”
    “Thanks. It’s a meat-sauce recipe from Aunt Nellie’s cook. She put up with me in the kitchen when I was a kid.”
    “You enjoy cooking?”
    “I do, but I rarely have—I mean, make the time. Guess that’s part of being a workaholic. Want to grab those for me?” Pointing at the pasta bowls, Faythe took the salad from the refrigerator. “It’s just lettuce and tomatoes.” She filled the bowls and carried them over to the dining table by the window. “I love eating here. The view is amazing. But you have the same view so that’s hardly news to you, is it?”
    “I never get tired of it.” Deanna followed with their wineglasses and the bottle. “Should I pour?”
    “Yes, please.”
    The red wine reflected the soft light of the lamps in the room. Dusk was settling and soon it would be pitch black outside. Faythe raised her glass and gazed at Deanna over the rim. Her dark blue eyes were amazing, and her eyelashes were long and sooty black, without a trace of makeup. Nobody ever went without makeup at the network station on Manhattan, and many of her friends and coworkers had annual nips and tucks to stay young and attractive. Deanna had tiny crow’s-feet at the outer corners of her eyes, and her eyebrows, black and unplucked, gave her features additional strength.
    Faythe raised her glass. “Here’s to the rowboat. May it rest in peace at the bottom of the lake. Rather it than me.” Deanna returned the smile with the smallest of angling of the corners of her mouth. “To the rowboat.” She sipped the wine slowly and nodded. “Not bad.”
    Faythe followed suit. “Not bad at all. It’s obviously been sitting well in your basement. Dig in, now.” Faythe gestured toward the pasta and salad and twirled her fork in her spoon, fishing out a mouthful of the spaghetti. She chewed it carefully, relieved that her aunt’s cook’s recipe hadn’t failed her this time either.
    “Very tasty,” Deanna said. “You did very well, despite the mishap with the