My mouth fell open. I could think of nothing to say. My aunt asking for help? From me? From anyone? Her button clattered to the floor. I picked it up and handed it to her. She held it in her open hand toward me.
“You ran the store without me for years,” I told her.
“I don’t mean that.” Aunt Maddie swallowed hard. “I need you. Stay with me.”
I blinked back tears. No tears. Not now. Not ever.
Her chin came up. “Just because running away is a family tradition doesn’t mean you have to follow it.”
“I’m not running,” I said and realized as I said it that I told another lie.
“You always had the courage to stay. Not run, like Rupert. Not rage, like Lester. Not give up, like me. Don’t run. Stay.”
“Aunt Maddie, I can’t stay.” I shivered. I’d never get warm again. “I’m sorry. I’m being selfish, I know.” My chest tightened so I had to squeeze the words out. “But I can’t bear to stay in Starke. Not after what I did. It hurts me too much.”
“Leaving me won’t make it hurt any less,” Aunt Maddie said, tears in her voice.
“I’m not leaving you, I’m—” My knees buckled. I dropped my suitcase.
“Oh, my sweet dear girl.” Aunt Maddie threw her arms around me.
I buried my face in her old coat and smelled decades of good garden loam and long winters of smoky attempts at fireplace fires. The heady scent of home. “I did a terrible thing,” I sobbed into the old fabric.
“Oh Dora,” Aunt Maddie said. “Terrible things happened.”
“I killed a man. A friend. A father.”
“Yes.” She patted my back with a strong stroke I remembered from my childhood, not too soft, not too hard.
“I killed Lester. I can’t take that back. I can’t make it right.”
“No, you can’t.” She squeezed me tighter. “All you can do is continue. Even with terrible grief. Even with terrible guilt. As best you can. That’s why Buddhists call life ‘practice’.”
I leaned back and looked at my aunt. “Since when did you become such a good Buddhist?”
“Since I started listening to you.” Tears ran down my aunt’s face.
In Aunt Maddie’s eyes I saw my agony reflected. How could I abandon her? I reached out and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I guess I’ve got to get started on better karma sometime.” I wiped away my own tears.
My aunt smiled with all of her soul.
“It’s about time,” Mama Chin said as she banged out of the kitchen, a tray in her arms. “These are best warm.”
On the tray, plates of cinnamon rolls and mugs of coffee rested resplendent. I smacked my lips. My appetite twinged.
Mama Chin pushed aside the money and set down the tray. “Vegan. I promise.”
Mrs. McGarrity opened the front door again. She’d shortened Bark’s leash to where he stood so close to her to be almost hidden under her bulk.
Mama Chin’s hands became fists.
Mrs. McGarrity held up a little bag of small brown bits. “Fresh baked homemade rat treats?” she said with a world of question in her voice. She gave the bag a shake.
Freddy sat up in his cage.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. McGarrity said in Freddy’s direction. “Truce?” she asked of Mama Chin.
Mama Chin pointed at Bark. “The dog—”
“Will stay right next to my side, under my control, every moment.”
Mama Chin rubbed her chin. Freddy gave a hopeful squeak. Mama Chin shrugged. “Why not? There’s plenty of cinnamon rolls for everyone.”
The Widows Brigade piled in, with Mallard bringing up the rear. Mrs. McDay picked up the errant bills on the floor. She started stacking them, humming under her breath.
Tony’s car slowed to park outside Mama Chin’s. He leaned out the driver’s side window, took a look at the party, gave a grin and a wave and drove off.
I snatched the last roll off the platter. “So,” I said to Aunt Maddie, “I figure we can repair Charles’ paintings first—”
“No,” my aunt said.
“What?”
My aunt shook her head. “You were right about Charles, Dora. He’s never coming back.”
“But—”
Aunt Maddie shrugged. “It’s okay, I’ve accepted it.” She looked at me. “Or as you would say, I’ve moved further down my path.”
“But—” I took a bite and chewed before I said more.
The front door opened again.
“For heaven’s sakes,” Mama Chin said, “this restaurant is busier now than when it was open. We’re closed,” she said to the tall, lean older man who stood in the doorway.
With his long lantern jaw and his long grey hair pulled up into a topknot the man looked familiar. What man wore his hair in a bun on top of his head? What man that I knew?
“Charles?” Aunt Maddie gasped.
Double ohm.
ABOUT AUTHOR CONDA V. DOUGLAS
Growing up in the ski resort of Sun Valley, Idaho, provided Conda crazed but delightful fodder for her Starke Dead mystery series. Whenever she was falling off the ski lift or on the ice rink, Conda made up stories about the wacky, delightful people from her wacky, delightful hometown. The first in Conda’s new mystery series, Starke Naked Dead was inspired by her love of the art world, ski resorts and the unique but universal life of small town Idaho. Conda hopes that that you find Starke Naked Dead a delicious slumgullion stew of a read!
She also loves to travel and her short story, The Dogs of Ubud in Dreamspell Nightmares comes from Conda’s one visit to the island of Bali, a place seemingly vulnerable, yet with a surprising resilience. Conda yearns to return there sometime soon. Conda received the inspiration for Making It Last in Dreamspell Horror II from the last and far too recent recession.
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