Stars Go Blue Read Online Free PDF Page A

here with Dad. He should stay. Travel will confuse him. But where do you want to go? A cruise? A flight? What would you like to do on your own? Besides this ranch? What makes you happy?”
    Renny turns away from the honey—something about it is so beautiful that her heart hurts—and looks down at the dog on her kitchen floor. The last time she was single and free was nearly fifty years ago, back when she’d enrolled at the university, was studying agricultural sciences, even a little Spanish, helped out at the 4-H club, and met Ben, and she can’t remember that younger hopeful version of herself, can’t remember what it felt like, can’t remember when she noticed that all those doors had closed, can’t fathom how it will be to be single again. The truth is, she has no idea what she wants to do now. It’s not that she hasn’t thought about it. It’s just that nothing seems right.
    The dog is on its back, its belly exposed, its front teeth bared, wanting a belly rub. “Your dog is a mutant,” she says, and then she takes the pork chops from the refrigerator and starts to trim the fat off. “The only good thing about my life is the fact that I have a Cutco knife.”
    Carolyn glances at the knife and then at the pork chop. “Okay. Where’s Dad?”
    â€œHe’s getting dressed. Take him on a walk. I think your oven probably works fine. You’re just coming up with excuses to come over here so you don’t have to live your own life. You think you’re checking up on us. But really, you’re just bothering us, Carolyn. I don’t want to watch your dog. I’m busy . My hands are full .”
    â€œMom, come on . Anton is coming over to feed the cattle and everything, and he’s got Ruben as backup. Satchmo can’t stay alone in the house all day. That’s cruel. I’ve got everything elsetaken care of. And believe me, Mom, my oven is broken . I want to make granola and my oven is broken. I don’t know why you won’t leave , Mom. Go with a tour group. Go with me. Go alone. You’re acting like a martyr.”
    Renny snorts. “I wish. That would be a luxury.”
    â€œA martyr who is roasting at the stake. But every once in a while you take hunks of burning logs and fling them at people.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œIt means you’re a mean and bitter martyr.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake. I am not.” And then, because Carolyn’s comment has made her cranky, she adds, “At least I’m not mean with silence, like Jess.”
    â€œJess’s silence is not mean, Mom.”
    â€œAll silence is mean.”
    Carolyn tilts her head. “Mainly, I agree with you. But her silence is simply watchfulness. She’s eighteen. She’s like Satchmo. She’s young. She’s been through a lot. Cut them both some slack.”
    â€œNo,” Renny says, throwing out a few more spice cans. “I will not.” She turns from the pork chops and watches Carolyn stir the melting honey-oil-vanilla in with the oats, and she can see that Carolyn is also delighted at the simple beauty of liquid honey. That’s one nice thing about Carolyn that Renny has always liked: her simple curiosity and appreciation for small wonders. Rachel never had that, even as a child. Rachel demanded too much. She expected things to be beautiful, or perhaps just didn’t even notice if they were or were not. But Carolyn noticed, noticed from the very get-go.
    â€œLook at that,” Carolyn raises her spoon, watching the honey fall in a cascade down into the pan, and smiles a calm smile. “Mom? I had a nightmare the other night. I couldn’t get any words out, my throat wouldn’t work, and I was so scared.I just needed to say something and I couldn’t and so I was trapped, really trapped. I woke up and thought, ‘God, is this what he feels like?’ Does he