Tea and Primroses Read Online Free

trays and offer delectable little treats like shrimp and those bacon-wrapped dates you’re so fond of. Gosh, it sounds lovely and so civilized! My mother would have hated it. But she’s dead too so we don’t have to worry about her. Anyway, the party is a way for me to say I’m sorry to all the good people of Legley Bay for never hosting any parties at the house—completely selfish of me, I know, but I hate all the mess and fuss and the small talk—please, kill me now. Ha! I’m already dead, so that’s really not so funny. Clearly I don’t really think there’s any chance I’m dying this year since I make such light of it in this letter. Remember, I’ve been doing this for six years and I haven’t died yet. After the party, invite the gang over and play darts and dance in the basement like you all used to in high school. Sometimes at night when I’m here alone I think I can hear you all down there but then I realize it’s just the wind.
Don’t marry Roger. You don’t love him. He’s weird. I never understood one thing he’s ever said.
Call Declan. Get him to come home. You love him and always have. For Heaven’s sake, this whole nonsense between the two of you has gone on too long.
Invest some of the money I left you. I was surprised how it grew over the years and you will be too. That said, please don’t hesitate to spend a small amount frivolously, like on lovely clothes or a trip somewhere or even a ridiculous little sports car. I want you to have whatever you want. I did it all for you anyway.
     
    I know you won’t mind how much I left for Declan. He was like a son to me, as you know. But, as it turns out, there was so much to go around. We have the thirteen bad movies to thank for that.
    Okay, I must close. I have to get my word count in before 4 or I don’t get to have a glass of wine. Love you, always, Mommy
     

C HAPTER T WO
    SUTTON ARRANGED FOR HER MOTHER to be cremated, per her wishes. Four days after Constance’s death, Sutton had a memorial at the house, arranged with Louise’s help, complete with food and drink and buses.
    That afternoon, as the house filled with townspeople paying their respects, Sutton wandered out to Constance’s yard in an attempt to breathe. Since the news of her mother’s death, Sutton’s chest was tight and she felt breathless, like she’d run a hill. She stood for a moment at the bottom of the deck’s stairs, taking in the view and the air into her lungs. It was then she saw him.
    A man, a stranger, stood at the fence, his long, delicate fingers holding a petal of one of the yellow primroses he must have plucked from the tidy row planted along the white fence. The sea and sky were a mass of blue beyond the fence.
    How often her mother had stood in the exact same spot, her eyes fixed on the water. “The plots come to me in the sea breeze,” she’d said to Sutton more than once. And Sutton knew her mother’s expression when she was in the mist; it was a look of contemplation, yes, as one might expect, but also of languid peace, an easing of sadness permanently etched in the lines of her face.
    Sutton’s gaze returned to the man. Who was he? Legley Bay was a small town. She knew everyone, at least by appearance. But not this man. No, he was not recognizable to her. She walked toward him. When she was near, he turned from the water to meet her gaze. She held out her hand. “Thank you for coming. I’m Sutton.”
    He enclosed her hand in his own for a brief moment. His palms were rough and callused. “I know who you are.” He smiled in a way that reached his sad eyes, as if her identity delighted him. “I’m Patrick Waters.” He was tall and slender, startlingly handsome despite the rugged lines in his face and forehead, and dressed in a beautiful black suit, the jacket of which hung on his arm. His eyes were green and intelligent.
    “Did you know my mother?”
    He glanced toward the ocean before returning to her. “Yes. I was your mother’s first