Chapter 6

I knew nothing about the niece and nephew, not even their ages. There was not, however, a kids’ table.

I was in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Poor Dad had to answer it himself, having failed to hire a butler. The cook’s name was Mrs. Gomez and I wanted to sit on her lap and let her feed me morsels of everything. The kitchen had never smelled so good, unless it was way back in memory when Mom had filled it with lilacs from the garden. I’d always associate that smell with Mom, and in the springtime is when I missed her the most; usually. Now that it was summer and the lilacs’ bloom had gone, the roses that Chris nurtured almost took their place, at least scent-wise, but they would never quite bring the feeling of Mom back as the smell of lilacs did. Lilacs and roses, her two favorite scents.