The Four Seasons. Mary Monroe Alice
the breakfast but the obvious effort Rose extended to make her feel welcome, down to the use of a few common French phrases. She touched her shoulder, delaying her for a moment before joining the others in the kitchen.
“Rose, thanks for the flowers in the bedroom,” she said in a soft voice. “You remembered how much I love yellow roses.” Then with a crooked smile she added, “For that matter, thanks for putting me in my old room. It meant a lot.”
“I thought it might,” Rose replied in a conspiratorial whisper. Then, in a swift change of mood, she smiled brightly and said, “You’d better grab something to eat before Dennis devours everything.”
Dennis…Jilly reached up to smooth her hair with her palms, straighten her shoulders and make her entrance.
The kitchen was warm, bustling and smelled deliciously of hot coffee and rolls. Here, too, there was chaos. White bakery boxes were stacked high on the counters, plastic bags of fresh vegetables lay beside cutting boards and knives, ready for free hands, and there were dozens of plastic containers filled with all sorts of deli items. Nonetheless, at the table she found Dennis and Hannah sitting back in their chairs, leisurely munching croissants as though they had nothing in the world to do.
“Good morning to all,” she murmured, heading straight for the sink.
Hannah’s eyes widened at the sight of her exotic aunt whose legs seemed to go on forever under the short, sexy kimono.
“Good morning, Aunt Jillian.”
Jilly held up one finger to indicate that everyone should wait while she drank the water thirstily. Then, after a lusty “Ah,” she peered over at the pale, dark-eyed, rather plump teenager slouched in the chair across the room. Her red hair was the mark of a Season.
“Hannah?”
The girl nodded, eager.
“I wouldn’t have recognized you if not for the hair. You’ve grown!” She caught the nanosecond of anguish in the eyes and the faint blushing of her cheeks and instantly understood, as one woman does with another, that this was a teenager sensitive about her weight. “You’ve become a woman!” she amended smoothly.
Hannah’s face relaxed. “I’m fifteen, Aunt Jillian. Almost sixteen.”
“You must call me Jilly. We’re all adults here,” she replied, winking before sipping more water.
Dennis lowered his Chicago Tribune. His was a considerably cooler gaze than his daughter’s. He masked it with a politely rigid smile of greeting. The house suddenly felt several degrees colder. Jilly tightened the kimono about her neck.
“So, the prodigal sister returns,” he said, more as a pronouncement, folding the paper and placing it in his lap.
Jilly felt a stab of annoyance. How like Dennis Connor to pull some biblical quote laced with criticism as his greeting after ten years. She wasn’t hungry, but to mask how upset she was, she casually reached out for a croissant.
“Prodigal?” she replied, with an arch to her brow.
“Prodigal is apt,” he replied, crossing his arms. “The long-lost child returning to the fold from her wanderings.”
Jilly picked a corner from her croissant and delicately put it between her lips. “I wasn’t aware that I was wandering.”
“She lives in Paris, Daddy,” Hannah said, as though he were a dolt.
“In this family, living anywhere beyond a day’s drive is clearly exploring the wilds.” His countenance lightened. Then with a crooked smile he added, “And we do rejoice that you’ve returned.”
She cracked a smile, forgiving him a little.
Rose set a cup of coffee at the table beside a pitcher of fresh cream and a bowl of sugar. She clasped her hands, studying her table anxiously. “I know this isn’t as good as what you’re used to, but…”
Jilly gratefully accepted the steaming cup of coffee and ignored the cream. “Mmm, Rose,” she said with an appreciative groan. “It’s better.”
Rose’s chest swelled.
While she sipped, Jilly discreetly eyed Dennis as he returned to his paper.
Dennis Connor…He had aged exactly like she’d thought he would. He was always handsome, even in high school, in a mature, intellectual way that she’d once found attractive. Back then he’d worn his blond hair long to the shoulders and parted down the middle. His heavy eyeglass frames were a statement over his dark and piercing eyes and thick, arched brows. And that cleft in his chin. Lord, that dimple had turned quite a few heads back in high school. Hannah had his eyes and the cleft in her chin, she realized, amazed at genetics.
His hair might have thinned at the crown, his body thickened at the waist, but he’d aged very well indeed. She might even say he was more attractive now, having grown into his mature appeal. There was no denying that Birdie was a lucky woman.
“I can’t imagine living in Paris,” Hannah said with her chin in her palm. “How can you stand to come back to boring old Chicago? Or Milwaukee?” She rolled her eyes and reached for another croissant.
“Are you sure you want that?” Dennis asked his daughter from over the newspaper.
Hannah’s arm stiffened and she furtively glanced at Jilly. A faint red blush crept up her neck and ears. She slid her hand back into her lap, slumping her shoulders forward as though to somehow make herself smaller.
Jilly’s heart cringed for her. She knew Dennis was trying to be helpful, but men could be such idiots! The last thing he needed to do to an overweight teenager was draw attention to that horrid fact.
“Hannah,” Jilly said in a breezy manner, “pass me some of that grapefruit, would you? One of the first things I learned in modeling was to eat lots of fruit and drink gallons and gallons of water. It flushes out the system and leaves your skin glowing. It’s de rigueur. Here, darling, won’t you split a grapefruit with me? You know,” she continued, slicing through the fruit, “when I’m exhausted like I am now, I tend to pick at food all day without thinking. And I am absolutely exhausted now. So be my friend, would you? When you see me nibble, tell me to stop. I swear I won’t bite your head off.” She laughed, pleased to see Hannah’s frown lift to a shy smile. Lifting her spoon, Jilly dug into the grapefruit with relish.
Hannah’s dark eyes lost their dullness as she reached for the other half of the grapefruit.
Jilly was well aware of the lure modeling held for teenage girls. Her career gave her status. Eyeing Hannah, she thought her niece wasn’t so much fat as she was big, much as Birdie had been at that age. Except that Birdie was a champion swimmer with long, defined muscles as sleek and smooth as an otter’s. With her physique, coupled with her blazing confidence, she was magnificent. In contrast, Hannah was soft, slumped-shouldered and recalcitrant. That glorious sparkle of confidence that was such a hallmark of girls at this age was missing in this child.
Looking up she was caught by surprise to see Dennis leaning back in his chair looking at her intently. The disapproval she had seen in his eyes was replaced by open gratitude for her rescue. She smiled briefly, acknowledging.
The back door swung open and Birdie swept in with a gust of cool air. Her arms were overflowing with plastic bags and she was fired up with a sense of accomplishment.
“What a morning I’ve had!” she announced, her voice as blustery as the wind. “The sun is shining and melting the snow. Nobody will have a problem making it to the funeral. Come see. I’ve bought all sorts of paper products: plates, napkins and cups. And tons of plastic tableware.”
“Paper products?” Rose went directly to the bags and began sifting through them.
“Take a look at the pattern, Rose. The gray is somber but not too dark, don’t you think?” She wasn’t asking as much as thinking out loud. She came up for air, looking around the room.
Everyone