Page 55 of The Shell Collector
The wooden spoon that was balanced across the boiling spaghetti fell into the pot, sending her skittering backward.
Her hand on her heart, she laughed as she realized what had happened and fished the spoon out of the pot and set it aside.
The kids seemed happy enough playing in the sandbox in the backyard today, so she left them to their own imaginations while she cooked a family-size batch of baked spaghetti to split between them and Maeve. It wouldn’t be right to have tempted her with the mention of it and never deliver on it. Who didn’t love spaghetti? The best part was it got better each time it was reheated.
It was nice to have an excuse to use her fresh herbs. She pulled down an Italian blend she’d dried last week and sprinkled it over the pot of simmering vegetables. The herbs changed the aroma in the kitchen.
She lowered the temperature on the stove to let the sauce bubble and padded to the living room, where she sat at the end of the couch. Tucking her feet beneath her, she reached for the journal Maeve had given her. There was an ink pen inside. She pulled it from the leather loop and clicked it. With slow, intentional movements, she wrote her name at the top of the second page.
Amanda Whittier
She closed the journal and reached up to tuck it on top of the row of paperback novels on the shelf behind her. At the last moment, she pulled it back, opened it, and wrote:
I will not be afraid to ask for help.
15
Amanda lifted her hand toknock on Maeve’s front door. Popping in on Maeve had seemed like a wonderful thing to do when she was cooking. Now as she stood there with the casserole dish—a dreaded casserole dish—with Jesse and Hailey at her side, she hoped the visit would play out like it had in her mind.
She knocked, hoping for the best but feeling more awkward the longer she stood there. A cheerful flip-flop wind sock rippled in the air. On a really breezy day, it probably looked like a giant ready to step on the awning of the huge house.
A wind chime made from shells hung by the handrail.
Jesse and Hailey played on the stairs. “You two be careful.”
The door opened, and Maeve’s face lit up. “What a wonderful surprise!” She clapped her hands.
“I made that spaghetti I was talking about.” She waved the kids to hurry up.
“You are too sweet. Hello, Hailey and Jesse. Thanks for visiting.”
“Don’t kill me. I brought food, but I promise it’s not a nine-by-thirteen casserole dish of it.” She held it up in front of her. “See? Just an eight-inch. And you can freeze it if it’s too much for this week.”
“No worries. We know all about those, don’t we?”
Amanda held out the pan wrapped in a dish towel.
Maeve took it and lifted the foil from the corner. “My favorite. Spaghetti. This smells good. And to think I was going to eat tuna and crackers tonight. Not anymore.” She motioned Amanda and the kids inside.
“This is for you too,” Hailey said, raising the muslin-wrapped lavender and salts to Maeve.
“Thank you. What a beautiful gift.” Maeve balanced them on top of the covered dish. “Come on in.”
“I would’ve called,” Amanda explained, “but I never got your last name or asked for your phone number. I hope we didn’t interrupt anything.”
“Not a thing. My last name is Lindsay, by the way. Come meet Methuselah.” The kids hurried to catch up with Maeve, who had disappeared into the kitchen with the spaghetti but was now sweeping through the living room toward the full wall of windows and doors.
Amanda stopped. “Wow! This is a million-dollar view.”
Maeve paused, as if she’d never noticed. “Well, I guess it is. Thanks for reminding me. I should appreciate it more.” She stepped outside and Methuselah leaped to his feet, his tail wagging against the rocking chair. His nose sniffed the air.
“He’s friendly,” she said, sitting down in the rocker.
The kids dropped to their knees to play with him.
“Isn’t he cute?” Hailey said.
“He’s a mess,” said Maeve. “Needs his nails cut. Be careful. Don’t let him scratch you.”
