Snowflakes and Coffee Cakes Read Online Free Page A

when her young daughter steps close to the door to watch them, they send along a happy wave to her, too.
    But rating scarecrow astronauts, and a fireman climbing a ladder to a stuffed cat on a branch, and a police officer writing a ticket merely fuels Brooke’s job ideas. “Maybe you should look into another line of work.”
    “What. Like a police officer?”
    “No.” She sips her coffee, thinking. “I don’t know, something with writing … like a job in advertising?”
    “Bossy Brooke,” Vera answers with a wink. “Always looking at my life through one of these.” She reaches into her tweed jacket pocket and pulls out a mini-magnifying glass.
    “Dad’s been at it again, I see.” Brooke pulls her own magnifier from her denim jacket pocket. “You always know when snow season is around the corner.”
    “Yup. New magnifying glasses for all.” Vera slips hers back in her pocket. “Dad’s been up to other stuff, too. He’s checking at the station to see if they can use me as a reporter there.”
    “Really, Vera? Dad’s going to line up a job for you now? And you’re freelancing with fluff articles? Plus fixing up an old home to boot and maybe renting a barn? Do you hear how chaotic your life’s become? There’s no pattern to your days, no routine. No plan.”
    Vera sighs, then moves on to the scarecrow horses in front of the small stable a block away. Beyond the stable, Addison’s covered bridge is framed with tall maples brilliant in red and gold foliage. The bridge is a pretty time machine; when you pass through it, it brings you into historic Olde Addison and its vintage antique homes, wide tree-lined streets and the silver expanse of the cove, the destination of so many long-ago ship captains returning from trade at sea.
    But here in the present, Brooke’s right, in a way. Vera’s hand slips into her pocket for her voting ballot and feels the magnifier there. Her father never wants her to miss a chance to see a snowflake up close, including a perfect icy specimen that might fall gently from the sky onto her sleeve.
    The thing is, if she’s learned anything about snowflakes from her father, it’s this: Their pretty patterned shapes of star-like crystals and hexagonal plates might seem random, but they’re not. Specific scientific conditions that seem arbitrary—from physics to math to chemistry—combine to determine each one’s precise formation. There’s nothing random about the shape of a snowflake that tumbles from the clouds. And that’s the beauty of looking at them up close. Each delicate flake tells a unique and complex story about its form and pattern.
    That’s all she wants, really. Some of that distinct, snowflake structure in her own life. A structure that brings what looks like random choices and arbitrary wishes together in a very certain pattern.
    *  *  *
    Derek sweeps the sanding powder into a dustpan and dumps it in Vera’s kitchen trashcan, brushing the sheetrock dust off his denim shirt, too. He hears her car door slam and figures he’s got a minute or two to throw his tools together and be on his way. As he’s carrying the toolbox to the kitchen, Vera breezes in through the side door in a rush of cold air and packages and hurries to drop them on the round pedestal kitchen table.
    “Hey, Derek. Finished?”
    “I am, you’re all set to paint the wall now.” He sets down the toolbox and resettles his cap backward on his head.
    “Terrific! Let me pay you before you leave then.” She pulls a checkbook from her shoulder bag and quickly writes out a check, which he folds in half and tucks in his shirt pocket. “I really appreciate it,” she says while slipping out of a tweed jacket and hanging it on one of the white-painted mismatched chair backs: a Windsor, a couple ladder-backs, a cottage and a café style.
    “No problem, Vera. Any time.”
    “Seriously?” she asks, her hazel eyes squinting at him.
    “What?”
    “Are you serious about any time? Because I