The back porch light clicked on at the Peterson house, and she was reminded of her promise to herself to look in on them. She walked to the kitchen doorway and listened down the hall for signs of stirring from Bennett or Harper. All was quiet, so she went back into the kitchen and set about baking sugar cookies. Gran had taught her how to cook when Nest was still a girl, and she had made it a point to stay in practice even after she was living alone. She baked all the time for the church and the neighbors. There was something comforting and satisfying in baking; it always left her feeling good about herself.
The cookie sheets went into the oven, and the sweet, doughy smell wafted through the kitchen. She took down the red and green sprinkles and set them on the counter. Hawkeye came in through the cat door and padded to his food bowl, pointedly ignoring her. He ate noisily, tossing bits of food around as he nosed about his bowl, chewing each bit loudly. When he was done, he left the way he had come without so much as a glance in her direction.
Moments later, Harper Scott appeared in the kitchen doorway, all sleepy-eyed and lost-looking. “Mommy?” she asked.
Nest walked over and gathered her up. “Mommy’s taking a bath, pumpkin. She’ll be right out. How would you like a fresh-baked sugar cookie while you’re waiting?”
Great dark eyes regarded her solemnly. A small nod followed. Nest sat her down at the table, poured milk into her baby cup, and went to work on the first batch of cookies, taking them from the oven and off the cookie sheet, stacking them on a plate. She gave one to Harper when it had cooled enough to hold and watched the little girl nibble around the edges as she held the cookie carefully in both hands.
Oh, child, child.
Fifteen years ago, she had saved Bennett Scott’s life when the feeders had lured the frightened sleepy child to the top of the bluffs at the turnaround. When Pick and Nest found her, she had been close to walking off the edge of the cliffs. Terrified and confused, the little girl had barely known where she was.
That was a long time ago, Nest thought, watching Harper eat her cookie. Bennett hadn’t been much older than her daughter then—just a little girl herself. It was hard to reconcile the grownup with the child. She remembered how Bennett had looked back then and how she had looked an hour earlier when Nest had helped her step into the old bathtub. How had Bennett gotten so far away from herself? Oh, it was easy to rationalize when you factored in drug usage and child abuse. But it was emotionally jarring nevertheless; the memory of who she had been was not easy to dismiss.
By the time Harper was working on the last few bites of her sugar cookie, Bennett reappeared, wrapped in the old terry cloth robe Nest had left for her by the tub. She gave Harper a hug and sat down to share a cookie with her. Her pale skin looked translucent in the kitchen light, and her dark eyes were sunken and depthless. Beneath the robe, needle tracks walked up and down her arms and legs; Nest had seen them, and the image flashed sharply in her mind.
She smiled at Nest. “You were right about the bath. I feel a lot better.”
Nest smiled back. “Good. Stick Harper in the tub next. Borrow anything you need in the way of clothes. There’s a casserole in the fridge for dinner; just heat it up. I have to go out with the church youth group, but I’ll be back around eight or nine.”
She finished up with the cookies, shutting down the oven and washing up the metal sheets. She glanced at the clock. Five-fifty. Allen Kruppert and his wife, Kathy, were picking her up in their big Suburban at six-thirty. She had just enough time to take a plate of cookies over to the Petersons.
She picked up the phone and called to see if they had started dinner, which they hadn’t.