Passionate History by Libby Waterford Page A

but the air was heavy and hot. There was no traffic sound here, only the crunch of sticks and leaves under their feet and the pleasant summery sounds of birds and bugs going about their business. The air smelled distinctly of New England—thick, wet, earthy.
    “Mom, how did you know Dad was the guy for you?”
    Her mother didn’t break stride. “Hmmm. Well, we were together for three years before he proposed. I had a lot of time to think about it.”
    “I know, but there must have been a time before he asked you to marry him when you decided marriage was something you wanted.”
    “I suppose it would have been on our second date. On our first date, I’d mentioned I hated moths, and when he dropped me off after our second date, there was a moth fluttering by the porch light. He killed it so we could have our first kiss in peace. I knew someone who would kill a moth for me was someone I could love. Plus, the kiss was fantastic.”
    Bree smiled. “That fast, huh?”
    “I think if it’s right, you know, and if it’s not right, you know that, too. Circumstances might be difficult, but they don’t change the essential rightness of two people who belong together.”
    Bree considered this. When she was with Aidan, all her molecules seemed like they were finally aligned and pointing in the right direction. She’d never felt more right about anything. It was worth figuring out the circumstances and making sure they could be in one another’s life.
    The skies suddenly broke overhead. The clouds were much darker than she realized and the rain, while not freezing, chilled her and came down quite hard. She and her mother picked up the pace. They were probably ten minutes from the parking lot. She hoped her grandmothers had kept their pace up and were back in the shelter of the car by now.
    She heard Grandma Lucy’s voice cry out shrilly, and the cold shot all the way to her core.
    “Erica!”
    Bree’s mother started running, and she followed, the rain plastering her hair to her head and running into her eyes.
    They came around a curve in the path. Grandma Billie sat in the middle of the path, looking suddenly small, her walking stick abandoned by her side. Grandma Lucy hovered over her, wringing her hands.
    “I tripped, and I think it’s my ankle,” Grandma Billie said. She was stoic, but Bree could hear the pain in her voice.
    “Not your hip?” Erica asked sharply.
    “No.” The answer was definitive, and everyone relaxed marginally.
    “Even so, I don’t think we should move you,” Erica said. She pulled out her cell phone and called her husband. “Dean, my mother fell and hurt her ankle. Where are you?” She listened a moment. “Can you call for an ambulance? We’re maybe a quarter mile up the trail. I’ll send Bree and Grandma Lucy ahead and wait with Mom.”
    She snapped the phone shut. Bree could tell she was stressed, and her own tension increased noticeably. There was nothing more disconcerting than your parent being worried.
    Three pairs of eyes looked to Erica for guidance. The rain continued to fall steadily, and Grandma Lucy, mostly skin and bones, shivered.
    “We’ve got to get out of the rain,” Erica said. “Bree, you and Grandma Lucy get back to the car.”
    “Here,” Bree said, peeling off her waterproof. “You can make a little tent for Grandma Billie.” Her mother was wearing adequate rain gear, but standing stationary in the rain was different from hiking through it to a dry, warm car.
    “All right,” she said. “Hurry now.”
    Bree nodded and ushered Grandma Lucy down the path. The older woman was stronger than she looked, and they made good time, talking little, but Bree was soaking wet by the time they reached the parking lot. With relief, she saw the ambulance pulling into the lot. Her father and sister were snug in their car, and she turned Grandma Lucy over to their care. She met the paramedics and explained the situation. The path was too narrow for a vehicle, so the two