Treasured Past Read Online Free PDF Page B

SIX
    I hadn’t been kidding when I’d told Annie that I didn’t cook very often. In fact, it had probably been an understatement. Maria had cooked nearly every meal I’d ever eaten until I was twenty-two years old. I had attended Wellesley College for my undergraduate degree, and living at home was just too convenient and easy for me to consider leaving. Not to mention the fact that between my parents and Maria, I had been spoiled rotten.
    Maria was a wonderful cook, and I had spent many hours in my youth atop a kitchen stool pulled up close to the counter while I watched her prepare our meals. I spent hours watching as she chopped, grated, mixed, and poured as she created delightful delicacies of every kind. Italian was my mother’s favorite, and Maria was a master. I had studied the way she layered lasagna noodles over ricotta cheese and meat sauce, and then added another layer before draping on the mozzarella.
    Now as I stood in my kitchen, I couldn’t quite remember the order that the different ingredients went into the dish. I was tempted to call Maria but decided that the order of the layers probably didn’t matter. The sauce tasted near perfect, and that was what really mattered. I tasted the sauce one last time before grinning and sliding the dish into the oven.
    Annie arrived right on time. She carried a bottle of Merlot in one hand and my candlestick phone in the other. Her smile was genuine as we greeted each other and awkwardly shuffled the wine and phone from her hands to mine.
    “I’m so excited about my new phone. You’ll have to help me decide where to put it,” I chatted nervously as I led her from the front hallway and into the living room. I placed the phone down on the coffee table and excused myself while I deposited the bottle of wine in the kitchen.
    When I returned, she was standing near the middle of the room, hands clasped behind her back as she tilted her head toward the ceiling. I followed the direction of her gaze and watched as her eyes trailed over the carvings of the molding that edged the ceiling.
    “Very nice design. Is it all original work?”
    I really had no idea what she was talking about. “I guess so. It was all there when I bought the place, so I can’t be certain.” The house was an old Victorian, with vaulted ceilings and intricate molding. It had been part of what had attracted me originally.
    “It’s exquisite.”
    I don’t think I’d actually ever heard anyone say the word exquisite before, and I smiled at the word, thinking it perfect from her lips.
    “Exquisite?”
    Her eyes met mine. “Yes. Incredible detail. Are you mocking me, or do you really not know what you have here?”
    I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret the question.
    “No,” I stammered. “I mean, it’s lovely to me, which is why I bought the place. But beyond that, no, I don’t know what you mean.”
    She glanced around the room once more, eyes narrowing before she brought them back to me. “If it’s all original, then you have a small fortune here. It’s remarkable work, really. You don’t see it very often anymore. Many people gutted their Victorians back in the fifties and sixties. Stripped everything down and modernized the rooms.” She stepped toward the glass pocket doors that separated the living room from what had probably once been a parlor or great room.
    Placing her hands on each door, she slowly pushed them apart and watched them glide smoothly open before disappearing into the walls. She stood back and shook her head. “This is wonderful.”
    “Thank you,” I told her, slightly embarrassed. I looked past her and the open doorway and into the great empty room before her. It was probably larger than many apartments, with oak flooring and tall, white walls. But it was completely empty of furnishings. I rarely went in that room. The truth was that I rarely went into any of the rooms besides the study and the bedroom.
    I had purchased my home many years before, just out of