River's End by Nora Roberts

hands, she closed the book, carefully replaced it along with the others in the chest. She shut the lid, then rose to go turn off the lights. She walked down the stairs, through the empty house to the back porch.
    Sitting there, she stared out into the rain.
    She didn’t understand how she could have buried everything that had happened, how she could have locked it up the way her grandmother locked the boxes and books in the chest.
    But she knew she wouldn’t do so again. She would remember, always. And she would find out more, find out everything she could about the night her mother died, about the trial, about her father.
    She understood she couldn’t ask her family. They thought she was still a child, one who needed to be protected. But they were wrong. She’d never be a child again.
    She heard the sound of the Jeep rumbling up the lane through the rain. Olivia closed her eyes and concentrated. A part of her hardened, then wondered if she’d inherited actingskills from either of her parents. She tucked the hate, the grief and the anger into a corner of her heart. Sealed it inside.
    Then she stood up, a smile ready for her grandmother when the Jeep braked at the end of the drive.
    “Just who I wanted to see.” Val tossed up the hood of her jacket as she stepped out of the Jeep. “We’re loaded here, Livvy. Get a jacket and give me a hand, will you?”
    “I don’t need a jacket. I won’t melt.” She stepped out into the rain. The steady drum of it was a comfort. “Are we having spaghetti and meatballs for dinner?”
    “For Jamie’s first night home?” Val laughed and passed Olivia a grocery bag. “What else?”
    “I’d like to make it.” Olivia shifted the bag, then reached in for another.
    “You—really?”
    Olivia jerked a shoulder and headed into the house. The door slapped shut behind her, then opened again as Val pushed in with more bags. “What brought this on? You always say cooking is boring.”
    That had been when she’d been a kid, Olivia thought. Now was different. “I have to learn sometime. I’ll get the rest, Grandma.” She started out, then turned back. The anger was inside her, didn’t want to stay locked up. It wanted to leap out, she realized, and slice at her grandmother. And that was wrong. Deliberately, she walked over and gave Val a fierce hug. “I want to learn to cook like you.”
    While Val blinked in stunned pleasure, Olivia hurried outside for the rest of the bags. What had gotten into the girl? Val wondered as she unpacked fresh tomatoes and lettuce and peppers. Just that morning she’d whined about fixing a couple of pieces of toast, all but danced with impatience to get outside. Now she wanted to spend her free afternoon cooking.
    When Olivia came back in, Val lifted her eyebrows. “Livvy, did you get in trouble at the campground?”
    “No.”
    “Are you after something? That fancy new backpack you’ve had your eye on?”
    Olivia sighed, shoved the damp hair out of her eyes. “Gran, I want to learn how to cook spaghetti. It’s not a big deal.”
    “I just wondered about the sudden interest.”
    “If I don’t know how to cook, I can’t be independent. And if I’m going to learn, I’d might as well learn right.”
    “Well.” Pleased, Val nodded. “My girl’s growing up on me.” She reached over, brushed Olivia’s cheek with her fingertips. “My pretty little Livvy.”
    “I don’t want to be pretty.” Some of the fire of that buried anger smoked into her eyes. “I want to be smart.”
    “You can be both.”
    “I’d rather work on smart.”
    Changes, Val thought. You couldn’t stop them, could never hold a moment. “All right. Let’s get this stuff put away and get started.”
    With patience Val explained what ingredients they’d use and why, which of the herbs they’d add from the kitchen garden and how their flavors would blend. If she noticed that Olivia paid almost fierce attention to every detail, she was more amused than