Paper Thin

I watched as he smoothed his wet hair away from his eyes. “I should get going. It was nice seeing you again. I’m sure I’ll run in to you later.” A hint of a smile graced his lips, but not the one I wanted. Where was the sexy one that always used to make my knees weak? The genuine one from earlier at the gas station? This one was standoffish and awkward, leaving me questioning what had changed the mood between us.

“Yeah, sure. Bye.”

Dawson walked away, his feet leaving wet marks across the weathered wood of the dock. I pursed my lips together, thinking of how that could have went a heck of a lot better.

Another text came through.

Has fate finally caught up with you, Miss Charlotte Rose Montgomery?

I twisted my lips together, and glanced at Dawson’s retreating form. I hoped so, but I couldn’t be sure.

THE NEXT MORNING I woke to the shrill sound of a smoke alarm going off somewhere in the house. I practically jack-knifed out of bed and darted out my bedroom door. The horrible scent of something burning wafted to my nose, tickling the back of my throat as soon as I started down the hall. The bathroom door swung open and Emma ran out, slamming into me. We butted heads. Both of us stumbled backward from the impact.

“Damn it!” Her hand went to her nose, which was what my forehead had collided with. “What the hell is going on?”

“You tell me. I was sleeping,” I shouted, rubbing where she hit with the palm of my hand.

“Mom!” Emma pushed past me, heading toward the kitchen.

I followed after her, not knowing what the problem was. Mom was in the kitchen. So what? When I rounded the corner, I realized how big of an issue that was. Smoke billowed out of the toaster, and something in a pan on the stove seemed to be burning. Mom stood in front of the stove with her hands cupped against her ears, her eyes squeezed shut, looking like a small child. It took me a moment to realize she was crying.

Emma turned off the stove and reached to unplug the ancient toaster. “Open the door! Let some of the smoke out so that thing will shut up!” She was talking to me, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from our mom in her fragile state. “Charlotte! Open the freaking door!”

I snapped out of it at the sound of her voice, and rushed across the kitchen. When I opened the door, cool air blasted me awake.

Mom had nearly burned down the house! Holy hell.

I moved the door back and forth like a fan, hoping it would help get the smoke out faster so the alarm would go off. Glancing back, I noticed Emma standing next to Mom. She was soothing her by rubbing her hands over Mom’s arms. The sight scared me more than I cared to admit.

Abruptly, the alarm stopped its incisive beeping, and it was almost as though the entire scene in front of me froze. Emma stopped her soothing motions, and Mom dropped her hands from her ears. None of us spoke. Emma’s sigh of relief was the only noise heard through the kitchen.

“Thank God,” she muttered under her breath.

I stopped fa

“What were you doing, Mom?” Emma asked her in an exasperated voice. “I told you, I don’t want you cooking anymore.”

“I wanted to make breakfast for my girls,” Mom answered in a small voice. I watched her as she walked out of the kitchen and cut down the hall with her head in her hands.

A few seconds passed. When I finally walked away from the door, leaving it open, I moved to the toaster. “Has she done this before?”

“Yes.” The harshness in her tone surprised me.

I clamped my lips together. If I didn’t, I would mention moving her to a home again. I reached for a butter knife and attempted to get the burnt fragment of toast out, but it wasn’t working. It crumbled each time I stabbed at it and dissolved into dust when I gripped its edges. Giving up, I flipped it over to dump its contents into the trash can. The sight of it turning to dust before it made its way to the trash had me laughing.

“What’s so fu

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, struggling to gain control over my hysterical laugher. “I was just wondering how many times Mom had to clean up our similar messes in the kitchen.”

“A gazillion for you.” Emma cracked a smile. “You never could cook.”

“I still can’t,” I insisted, laughing a little harder. “Remember that one Mother’s Day when you put me in charge of the toast?”

A laugh burst past her lips. “Yes! I still can’t believe I couldn’t even trust you to make toast of all things!”

“I don’t know how I screwed it up so badly.” I picked up a piece of Mom’s toast from on top of the trash. “It was like this, maybe even worse.”

“Worse. It was like bread dust!” Emma laughed even harder. “Remember how she ate it anyway?”

“Oh my God, you know how horrible that must have tasted?” The thought of eating something so dry nearly made me gag.

“I know! I watched her chug orange juice after.” Emma rinsed the pan in the sink and set it down. “Mom didn’t care though. She ate all she could; it was like three tiny bites. That was all that was salvageable.”

We both laughed.

“Remember what she said?” Emma asked, once we had managed to contain ourselves.

“A little burnt toast never hurt anyone,” we said in unison.

“And then she smiled and gave me a kiss.” I could remember the moment as though it were yesterday.

Silence bloomed between us as I thought about how much I missed the way our mom used to be, and how much I wanted her back. Everything about life was different now, even burnt toast.

I spent the rest of the morning trying to stay out of the kitchen while Emma cooked for her party. The sound of the mixer going nonstop and nineties music floating from the kitchen had been the soundtrack of my morning. If it were my party, I would have had everything catered, even if it cost enough to max out a credit card. It was one more thing added to my sister’s already heightened stress level. Again I was reminded of how strong Emma was.

A little after lunch, Emma finally took a break. She came into the living room with some sort of white substance crusted along one of her cheeks, and sprinkles of flour peppering her brown hair.

“Jeez.” I trailed my eyes over her. It had been so long since I’d seen her look so chaotic. “Who won in the war against the flour?” I popped another pretzel into my mouth, and paused the show I’d been watching.

“Oh my God!” she shouted. “What are you doing?”

My eyes widened at her sharp tone. “I’m eating and watching TV...”

“I can see that. Why haven’t you decorated?” She flailed her arms around in full freak-out mode.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to decorate.” Wrong answer. I knew the second the words slipped past my lips I shouldn’t have said them, because her hazel eyes grew dark and wild as they narrowed on me.

“I told you hours ago the decorations were in the hall closet!”

“I remember.” I rolled up the bag of pretzels, realizing now why she had mentioned where they were. “You meant you wanted me to get them out and decorate, right?”

“Yes! I did!” She smoothed her hair away from her face. The sound of her inhaling slowly and deeply let me know how frustrated she was. “Please, Charlotte. This is really, really important to me. I want everything to be perfect. There’s only a few hours left until everyone starts showing up. Help me get this place together. Please,” she said once she had composed herself.