Seven Tears into the Sea Read Online Free Page B

my bedroom. From where I stood by the front door, I could see the staircase leading up to the sleeping loft my parents had shared.
    Every wall in the place was painted white and the windows had pale gauzy curtains. I’m surprised Dad wasn’t fussing about them being transparent.
    The couch was adobe-colored, faded but not ratty. I could very clearly see myself lounging with a book and a can of soda. My sandy beach towel would be draped over a chair pulled up to the round kitchen table. My curtains would billow like sails, and I could hear my seashell wind chimes tinkling in the breeze.
    Of course, there weren’t any wind chimes in the window or beach towels yet. And, far from fussing about my thin curtains, Dad was chuckling with pleasure because Cook’s Cottage still had a dead bolt on the front door and latches on the windows.
    Was he thinking of keeping me in or keeping trouble out?
    I carried Gumbo’s cage and followed Dad on his inspection tour. Mandi and Jill were right behind me.
    When Gumbo gave a throaty growl, I peered in at her usually good-natured calico face. Her ears were pressed flat and the gold of her eyes barely showed through the angry slits.
    â€œHad enough, baby?” I asked, then hid her carrier behind the couch, where it would be relatively quiet. As soon as it was just the two of us, I’d let her out to explore.
    Dad paused in his scrutiny, hands in pockets. Henodded to himself, as if this just might do for his daughter. Then he continued walking around, checking lamp cords for frays, sniffing the burners on the gas stove, shouldering a tall bookcase full of old hardbacks to see if it would topple in an earthquake.
    â€œLooks like I’m safe from everything but paper cuts,” I teased.
    â€œI’d be happier if there was a phone, but you’re only a two-minute sprint from the Inn,” he muttered.
    â€œNo phone?” Mandi gasped as if he’d said there was no oxygen. “What will you do?”
    â€œUse the one at the Inn,” I said, and because I could see she was about to resurrect the cell phone issue, I shook my head.
    Dad had read that you could spontaneously combust if you used a cell phone while pumping gasoline. Now that I had a car of my own, he found this to be a serious concern.
    I had forgotten the no-phone part of living at the cottage, but I wasn’t freaked out about it.
    I flicked the light switch beside the door. A porch light, pale in the sunshine, came on. At least I had electricity. I wondered if the birds had built there because the porch light kept them warm.
    Of course that was unlikely, since no one lived here.
    â€œDon’t forget where these are.” Dad opened akitchen cabinet full of candles and held up a box of matches. “You probably don’t remember that whenever there’s a storm, nine times out of ten it knocks out the power.”
    I remembered candles flickering all around me. From the mantle, the coffee table, everywhere. I remembered picnic dinners of salami and cheese and French bread and butter on a blanket in front of the fireplace, and the three of us going to bed at the same time instead of Mom and Dad staying up late.
    â€œPower failures were fun,” I told him. Dad’s musing expression said he remembered too.
    â€œThey were,” he admitted. “But if you have one this summer, hightail it over to the Inn. Mom still doesn’t have a generator, but they’re set up for living in the 1800s.”
    Jill and Mandi stood close together, looking bored and a little unsure of me. I’d totally ignored them for about ten minutes.
    â€œMake yourselves at home. Explore,” I encouraged them. “Investigate.”
    With a shrug and a smile, Mandi headed for the refrigerator and swung the door open wide.
    â€œOh yeah, this is what I’m talking about!” She grabbed a soda, passed one to me, then Jill, and began reading neatly labeled containers.