River’s End

thought. Now was different. “I have to learn sometime. I’ll get the rest, Grandma.” She started out, then turned back. The anger was inside her, didn’t want to stay locked up. It wanted to leap out, she realized, and slice at her grandmother. And that was wrong. Deliberately, she walked over and gave Val a fierce hug. “I want to learn to cook like you.”
    While Val blinked in stunned pleasure, Olivia hurried outside for the rest of the bags. What had gotten into the girl? Val wondered as she unpacked fresh tomatoes and lettuce and peppers. Just that morning she’d whined about fixing a couple of pieces of toast, all but danced with impatience to get outside. Now she wanted to spend her free afternoon cooking.
    When Olivia came back in, Val lifted her eyebrows. “Livvy, did you get in trouble at the campground?”
    “No.”
    “Are you after something? That fancy new backpack you’ve had your eye on?”
    Olivia sighed, shoved the damp hair out of her eyes. “Gran, I want to learn how to cook spaghetti. It’s not a big deal.”
    “I just wondered about the sudden interest.”
    “If I don’t know how to cook, I can’t be independent. And if I’m going to learn, I’d might as well learn right.”
    “Well.” Pleased, Val nodded. “My girl’s growing up on me.” She reached over, brushed Olivia’s cheek with her fingertips. “My pretty little Livvy.”
    “I don’t want to be pretty.” Some of the fire of that buried anger smoked into her eyes. “I want to be smart.”
    “You can be both.”
    “I’d rather work on smart.”
    Changes, Val thought. You couldn’t stop them, could never hold a moment. “All right. Let’s get this stuff put away and get started.”
    With patience Val explained what ingredients they’d use and why, which of the herbs they’d add from the kitchen garden and how their flavors would blend. If she noticed that Olivia paid almost fierce attention to every detail, she was more amused than concerned.
    If she could have heard her granddaughter’s thoughts, she might have wept. Did you teach my mother how to make the sauce? Olivia wondered. Did she stand here with you when she was my age at this same stove and learn how to brown garlic in olive oil? Did she smell the same smells and hear the rain beating on the roof?
    Why won’t you tell me about her? How will I know who she was if you don’t? How will I know who I am?
    Then Val laid a hand on her shoulder. “That’s good, honey. That’s fine. You’ve got a real knack.”
    Olivia stirred the herbs into the slow simmer of the sauce. And for now, let the rest go.

Six
    Because the first night Jamie and David came to visit was always treated as a special occasion, the family ate in the dining room with its long oak table set with white candles in silver holders, fresh flowers in crystal vases and Great-Grandma Capelli’s good china.
    Food was abundant, as was conversation. As always, the meal spun out for two hours while the candles burned down and the sun that had peeked out of the clouds began to slide behind the trees.
    “Livvy, that was just wonderful.” Jamie groaned and leaned back to pat her stomach.
    “So wonderful, I haven’t left room for any tiramisu.”
    “I have.” Rob twinkled, giving Olivia’s hair a tug. “I’ll just shake the spaghetti into my hollow leg. She’s got your hand with the sauce, Val.”
    “My mother’s, more like. I swear it was better than mine. I was beginning to wonder if our girl would ever do more than fry fish over a campfire.”
    “Blood runs true,” Rob commented and winked at his granddaughter. “That Italian was bound to pop out sooner or later. The MacBride side was never known for its skill in the kitchen.”
    “What are they known for, Dad?”
    He laughed, wiggled his brows at Jamie. “We’re lovers, darling.”
    Val snorted, slapped his arm, then rose. “I’ll clear,” Jamie said, starting to get up.
    “No.” Val pointed a finger at her daughter. “You don’t catch KP on your first night. Livvy’s relieved, too. Rob and I will clean this up, then maybe we’ll all have room for coffee and dessert.”
    “Hear that, Livvy?” David leaned over to murmur in her ear. “You cook, you don’t scrub pots. Pretty good deal.”
    “I’m going to start cooking regularly.” She grinned at him. “It’s a lot more fun than doing dishes. Do you want to take a hike tomorrow, Uncle David? We can use my new backpack.”
    Olivia slanted her grandmother