Read Daughters for a Time for Free Online

as he poached the eggs in water and vinegar, cradling each one as gently as a baby bird. I shadowed Chef for two weeks, at which time he promoted me to the resident eggs Benedict maker. A perfect hollandaise was now my responsibility.
    After five years of going to school and working part-time, I was finally ready to graduate with a degree in accounting. When Claire and I met for lunch one Saturday, I told her what I’d been thinking about.
    “You’re going to think it’s stupid,” I said, feeling my heart thump. “I know you are.”
    “Try me,” Claire said, as calm as a career counselor.
    “I don’t want to be an accountant,” I said. “I can’t sit in an office all day.”
    “What do you want to be?”
    “I want to be a chef,” I said, and then turned away, waiting for Claire’s barrage as to why that was the stupidest career choice in history. How, with my luck, I’d end up stocking thesalad bar at Olive Garden or flipping pancakes at IHOP. How I’d never have health insurance, paid vacation, or a 401(k) this way.
    “At the country club?” she asked.
    “No,” I said. “Well, maybe. But I want to be a real chef, not an assistant.”
    “Okay,” she said slowly. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all. I know you hate to sit still. I actually think that’s a pretty good choice.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, really.”
    “They offer cooking classes right here at George Mason,” I said, growing more excited by the minute.
    “How about we dream bigger?” Claire said. “Maybe France? Or Italy?”
    “Are you kidding , Claire?” I gasped. “How on earth would we pay for that?”
    “I have some money set aside for your education, from Mom’s life insurance. Plus, Larry’s on the hook to cover some of it, too. I think you’d do really well to get out of Virginia for a while.”
    “Thank you, Claire!” I said, flying into her arms. “Thank you so much.”

     
    Claire started down the winding streets that led out of the neighborhood, and pulled onto a road that ran parallel to the Potomac River. “I ordered a bouquet from Flowers Galore,” she said. “It’s right down the road. There’s a coffee shop next door. We can grab the flowers, get a coffee, and then be on our way.”
    We got the flowers and coffee and then headed back to the car. I rested my coffee on the roof while I wrestled the giganticbouquet of flowers into the backseat. Claire was prone to overkill. The odiferous bunch stood taller than Maura’s booster seat. If it were up to me, I would have opted for a subtle bunch of wildflowers.
    The overly sweet scent of lilacs perfumed the air.
    “What are Ross and Maura up to?” I asked.
    “Ross took her to see the new Chipmunks movie. Promised she could have her own bucket of popcorn, plus gummy worms.” She smiled.
    “Tim fixed me breakfast this morning,” I said. “For Un-Mother’s Day.”
    “Any headway on the adoption?”
    “Since the last time you asked, two days ago?”
    Claire shot me one of her raised-eyebrow glares. “No need for sarcasm.”
    A half an hour later, Claire slowed nearly to a stop as we eased our way through the wrought iron gate that was the entrance to Oak Creek cemetery. Mother’s Day was a busy day for visitors. My sister and I shared a sigh before we looked at each other, said, “Ready,” and opened our doors. Claire carried the bouquet, and I carried the potted daffodils from her trunk, along with a hand shovel, gardening gloves, and a bottle of water.
    We climbed the hill that led to Mom’s gravesite. It was a good site, on the crest of a perfectly manicured hill that offered sweeping views—if such things mattered once you were dead and buried. Claire stood with her hands on her hips, taking in the view, and then bent down to pick a few weeds.
    “How do you want these?” I held up the tray of daffodils.
    “I’d say split them equally on either side of the headstone, don’t you think?”
    Claire was fond of ending sentences with