The writing prompt this week was: Sitting on a round table in the entry of an expensive home are a half-empty pitcher of milk, a whisk, a bowl of three raw eggs, a small mirror in a picture frame and a vase of dead flowers. There’s one broken eggshell on the floor.
We received one entry this week by our own Carol R. Ward. Here is her story. Enjoy!
by C.R. Ward
“Please? Pleasepleasepleaseplease pretty please can I practice riding my bike?” Lori was dancing in place, her blonde pony tail bouncing up and down.
“Not right now,” Janice said absently, contemplating the empty pie shell centered on the counter. Pastry wasn’t her forte, but even Edwin’s mother would have a hard time finding fault with this one.
Knowing if she so much as glanced in her daughter’s direction she’d be snared by her patented blue puppy dog eyes, she said, “Lori, I don’t have time to watch you. I have to get dinner started, your grandmother is coming tonight.”
Specifically, her grandmother was coming for a light repast not something heavy and hard to digest. The salad was already made, just awaiting its sprinkling of balsamic vinegar and extra virgin olive oil.
“Can’t you mix the egg pie stuff on the front hall table? You can watch me from there.”
“The proper name is quiche.” Edwin was a big fan of proper names for things.
Janice sighed in exasperation. “All right. Fine! But I want you to promise to stay on the driveway where I can see you.”
“Yay!” Lori was off like a shot, racing through the house and out the front door, leaving it wide open.
Shaking her head at her inability to say no to her daughter, Janice put the eggs and whisk into the bowl to make it easier to carry, picked up the milk pitcher, and followed in Lori’s wake.
It was with a kind of puerile satisfaction she saw that the vase of wilted wild flowers Lori had picked earlier in the week had left a ring on the table in the front hallway. It was carved oak, Victorian gothic in style, a gift from her mother-in-law. In no way did it fit with the casual elegance of the rest of the house but Edwin had insisted she find a place of prominence for it.
Looking on the bright side she figured that maybe mixing the quiche filling out here was a good idea after all. If she just happened to spill milk or eggs on the table… Edwin wouldn’t want a damaged table cluttering up the entranceway, would he?
“Mommy, watch this!”
Lori’s voice came faintly through the open door and Janice glanced up to see her wobbling down the brick driveway on her bicycle. At Edwin’s insistence the training wheels had been taken off last week. Janice winced as Lori’s wobbling took her to the side where she tumbled off the bike. She still had a problem when it came to stopping.
“It’s okay,” Lori called as Janice took a step towards the door. “I landed on the grass.”
Undaunted, she picked herself up and brushed herself off, making Janice smile. She wished she had half of Lori’s spirit – so brave and fearless, rising to face any challenge head on. She was the glue that held their small family together. The smile faded and she made a mental note to make sure Lori changed her clothes before her father got home. Edwin disliked untidiness.
One by one Janice began breaking eggs into the bowl. Frowning, she muttered, “I thought I had four eggs.”
Glancing out the door again she saw Lori was now walking her bike up to the top of the driveway. With any luck she’d be ready to come in as soon as she put her bike away. Holding the egg shells in one hand she headed back to the kitchen for the other egg.
Yup, it was still on the counter. Leaving it there she searched the fridge for the pre-shredded cheese, the special Tex-Mex blend that Edwin preferred. He was getting more and more picky about his food lately, almost as bad as Lori. Maybe tonight would be a good night to bring up the subject of a full time cook. It’s not like they couldn’t afford it, and it would give her more time to… well, she’d find some way of filling her time.
Scooping up the egg on the way back to the entrance hall, Janice stopped in her tracks. From where she stood she could see a reflection of the driveway in the small, gilt framed mirror on the table. Lori was speeding down the cobblestones, headed toward the road, her bike for the first time holding steady.
The screeching of brakes barely registered. There was a flash of blue, then only Lori twisted up with her bike on the pavement, as fragile as the egg that fell from Janice’s nerveless fingers, breaking as it hit the floor.
Thanks for reading! Check back on Monday for the next weekly writing prompt.