Tea and Primroses Read Online Free PDF Page A

seemed to never fade, instead of the Oregon coastline where they’d grown up walking arm in arm, dreaming of the days when Gigi would make her escape from the little gray town of Legley Bay. Gigi was plump in those days and wore glasses over her deep brown eyes; her face was covered with acne and she wore her thick, brown hair long and layered around her face. But that was a long time ago. Now Gigi was slender and well dressed, sophisticated and successful with contacts instead of glasses and skin clear of blemishes, her hair long and glossy. Sutton teased her that she looked like a shampoo commercial. Yes, Gigi had made her escape, just like the rest of their group of friends. Sutton was the only one who had never thought of home as a place to escape from. She thought of it as a place she was lucky enough to live.
    Gigi was currently escorting the latest guests over to the pasta bar. Sutton caught her eye and mouthed, “Thank you.” She could always count on Gigi to take care of things. This was the type of girl Gigi had been—intellectual, a leader, with a partial scholarship to college (the rest paid by Constance) to study business and chemistry, and fiercely independent, with concrete opinions and an attitude of scorn at any hint of conformity. Now she was an executive at some pharmaceutical company in Florida, which according to her was like hell on earth. The job or Florida, Sutton had asked her over email last week? Both, she’d replied.
    Sutton turned to Mr. Waters. “Can you excuse me for a moment? I have a headache and need to grab an aspirin from the kitchen. Will you order me a white wine from the bar?”
    “My pleasure,” he said.
    The kitchen, normally pristine and almost startlingly white except for a few splashes of yellow, bustled with activity. Servers filled trays from sheets of food spread over the kitchen island, counters, and table. Sutton nodded to the head caterer, who was taking a pan from the oven, and went into the walk-in pantry. Her mother always kept a bottle of pain reliever on the top shelf, near the box of bandages. The pantry was large and nearly empty. It was once full of everything good: flour, sugar, spices, loaves of bread, jars of tangy beans. But since Roma’s death, her mother kept little food in the house, living on frozen dinners and whatever Sutton made on the two nights a week she came for dinner.
    Sutton unfolded the utilitarian two-rung step stool; her mother was so short she hadn’t been able to reach the top shelf. I’ll sit for only a moment , she thought. She just needed a few minutes to collect herself, to gain enough courage to go back out and continue to greet guests.
    She was about to get up when she heard Louise talking with her mother, Aggie. “There were whiskers in the sink, like someone had shaved. I’m telling you, someone was here. A man someone,” said Louise.
    “Impossible,” said Aggie. “We would’ve known. Constance told you everything.” Sutton didn’t need to see her to know how Aggie pursed her lips and shook her head. Despite her eighty-one years, Aggie was all spit and fire.
    “But you hadn’t seen her for months. You don’t know for sure.” Louise paused. “I should’ve come home more often. Especially with Sutton in France. We were all she had.”
    They moved away from the pantry because Sutton didn’t hear what Aggie said in reply. A man? At the house? Aggie was right. It was impossible. Her mother lived almost like a recluse. There were no men. Ever.
    She went back out to the front room. Mr. Waters was near the bar, holding a glass of white wine in one hand and a whiskey in the other. Greeting him with a smile, she took the wine. Someone had turned on the big television in the front room, with a DVD of one of Constance’s rare interviews.
    Sutton glanced at Mr. Waters. His eyes were fixed on the television. “Have you seen this one before?” she asked him.
    “Yes. Many times. She’s lovely in it, isn’t she?”
    “She