Between Sisters - Kristin Hannah [8]
Those days were gone.
Slowly, he walked toward the nearest truck, pulling a pair of canvas gloves out of his back pocket as he moved.
It was time to move on.
Claire stood at the kitchen sink, thinking about the phone conversation with Meg yesterday.
“Mommy, can I have another Eggo?”
“How do we ask for that?” Claire said absently.
“Mommy, may I please have another Eggo?”
Claire turned away from the window and dried her hands on the dish towel hanging from the oven door. “Sure.” She popped a frozen waffle into the toaster. While it was warming, she looked around the kitchen for more dirty dishes—
And saw the place through her sister's eyes.
It wasn't a bad house, certainly not by Hayden standards. Small, yes: three tiny bedrooms tucked into the peaked second floor; a single bathroom on each floor; a living room; and a kitchen with an eating space that doubled as a counter. In the six years Claire had lived here, she'd painted the once moss-green walls a creamy French vanilla and replaced the orange shag carpeting with hardwood floors. Her furniture, although mostly secondhand, was all framed in wood that she'd stripped and refinished herself. Her pride and joy was a Hawaiian koa-wood love seat. It didn't look like much in the living room, with its faded red cushions, but someday, when she lived on Kauai, it would stop people in their tracks.
Meg would see it differently, of course. Meg, who'd graduated high school early and then breezed through seven years of college, who never failed to mention that she had buckets of money, and had the nerve to send her niece Christmas gifts that made the others under the tree look paltry by comparison.
“My waffle's up.”
“So it is.” Claire took the waffle from the slot, buttered and cut it, then put the plate in front of her daughter. “Here you go.”
Alison immediately stabbed a piece and popped it into her mouth, chewing in that cartoon-character way of hers.
Claire couldn't help smiling. Her daughter had had that effect on her since birth. She stared down at the miniature version of herself. Same fine blond hair and pale skin, same heart-shaped face. Although there were no pictures of Claire at five, she imagined that she and Alison were almost carbon copies of each other. Alison's father had left no genetic imprint on his daughter.
It was fitting. The minute he'd heard Claire was pregnant, he'd reached for his running shoes.
“You're in your jammies, Mommy. We're gonna be late if you don't hurry.”
“You're right about that.” Claire thought about all the things she had to do today: mow the back field; recaulk the showers and bathroom windows; bleach the mildewed wall in cabin three; unplug the toilet in cabin five; and repair the canoe shed. It was early yet, not even 8:00, on the last day of school. Tomorrow, they'd be leaving for a week of rest and fun at Lake Chelan. She hoped she could get everything done in time. She glanced around. “Have you seen my work list, Alison?”
“On the coffee table.”
Claire picked up her list from the table, shaking her head. She had absolutely no memory of leaving it there. Sometimes she wondered how she'd get by without Alison.
“I want ballet lessons, Mommy. Is that okay?”
Claire smiled. It occurred to her—one of those passing thoughts that carried a tiny sting—that she'd once wanted to be a ballerina, too. Meghann had encouraged her to dream that dream, even though there had been no money for lessons.
Well, that wasn't quite true. There had been money for Mama's dance lessons, but none for Claire's.
Once, though, when Claire had been about six or seven, Meghann had arranged for a series of Saturday-morning lessons with a junior high friend of hers. Claire had never forgotten those few perfect mornings.
Her smile faded.
Alison was frowning at her, one cheek bunched up midbite. “Mommy? Ballet?”
“I wanted to be a ballerina once. Did you know that?”
“Nope.”
“Unfortunately, I have feet the size of canoes.”
Ali giggled. “Canoes are huge, Mommy. Your feet are just really big.”
“Thanks.” She laughed,