Читать книгу Man of her Dreams - Debra Webb - Страница 10

Ring a-round the roses,

Pocketful of posies

Her mother watched from the kitchen window as six-year-old Christina Fairgate frolicked in the backyard. She clutched her favorite doll under one arm and skipped around the circle she had made in the grass with the other dolls and stuffed animals from her room. She sang the nursery rhyme over and over, as if she expected her audience to join her.

The autumn Louisiana sun hovered like a glimmering orange in the western sky. Its golden rays were still powerful enough to force a sweat even as it slipped downward in surrender to the coming dusk.

Christina’s mother smiled at the pleasant scene, then turned back to the oven to check on the special treat she had prepared for her daughter. One hand gloved with a thick mitt, she opened the oven door and removed the baking pan, allowing the delicious smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies to fill the air.

A sound of approval on her lips, she set the pan aside so the cookies would cool. After turning off the oven she poured her daughter, as well as herself, a cool glass of milk. A little snack this close to dinner wouldn’t hurt. Handling the still warm dessert gingerly, she loaded a small plate with cookies and placed it on a tray, along with the two glasses of milk. No need for napkins. Licking gooey chocolate from fingers was part of the fun of homemade cookies.

But neither of them would ever taste those lovingly prepared cookies for when she made her way to the backyard with the laden tray, her little girl was gone.

Days would turn into weeks and weeks to a month before the body would be found.

Ashes, ashes,

We all fall down.