Thicker than Blood

by C. J. Darlington

  The few other memories she had of this place were filled with laughter and music. She remembered the time Aunt Edna invited her and May to spend the night and be her special guests. They’d nibbled on fancy petits fours while pretending they were royalty, baked cookies, and stayed up eating them watching old Disney movies huddled together on the sofa.

  Christy kept her jacket on and went to the library door, through the living room on her right, pausing in front of it. How selfish she was. She hadn’t cared enough to visit when Aunt Edna was alive. Only because there was something in it for her had she come today.

  She entered the room and stared at the beautiful sight. It was just like she remembered. The whole length of the wall facing her was lined with white built-in shelves, crowded with books. Stepping up to them, she gently fingered the spine of the nearest. It didn’t seem right to take these precious volumes from where they’d been lovingly displayed for so many years.

  Easing into a creaky rocker in the corner where she imagined Aunt Edna liked to relax and read, Christy tried to make sense of her thoughts. Regardless of her timeworn memories, she was a stranger in this place, and more than that, she would have been a stranger to Aunt Edna. Why had this pure old woman given her these books? Was it simply because she remembered the passion for reading Christy showed the few times they’d spent together?

  She rocked slowly in the chair. It pained her to think they might have had more in common than she’d ever realized, because now they would never have the opportunity to share their mutual passion for books and reading. All because of her.

  Originally, the plan had been for her to live with Aunt Edna too. That’s what everyone assumed would happen, including May. Christy told no one of her intentions to run away to Kansas with her boyfriend. She didn’t doubt she’d shocked and hurt both of her relatives by her disappearing act. The only contact she ever had with them was a postcard to let Aunt Edna know she hadn’t been abducted, and that was just because she didn’t want the cops on her trail. She’d moved back into the state five years ago, and she’d been careful to keep an unlisted phone number.

  Christy scanned the bookcase. Was this last loving gesture of Aunt Edna’s an attempt to reach out to her even after her death? Was the gift of these books supposed to, in a way, be Aunt Edna telling her she was forgiven? She wanted to believe that. For it was clear this library was a gift from one book lover to another.

  How ironic. Aunt Edna gave her the books she’d honestly accumulated over a lifetime, right when Christy was about to filch books right out from under her employer.

  “I would be an awful disappointment to you, Aunt Edna,” Christy said. “I wish you could know how much I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to do wrong. I don’t want to steal from Hunter.” Then she glanced up at the ceiling and raised her voice. “But what choice do I have?”

  She pulled out Aunt Edna’s now wrinkled letter from her jacket and reread the scrawl. Somehow she’d known she was going to die. Why had she chosen her last moments to write this? Why was it so important to Aunt Edna that Christy reconcile with May?

  The funeral was at three. Six hours from now. May would be there.

  Christy stuffed the letter back in her pocket and tried to stuff away her thoughts as well. She retrieved several boxes from the van and started taking books from the shelves. She would absorb herself in packing. So much could be learned about someone from what they read, and she suddenly wanted to know more about Aunt Edna.

  There was a section of classic children’s books like The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Winnie-the-Pooh, The Wind in the Willows, and Little Women, many in beautiful antique bindings. Almost all of them Christy remembered checking out from the library as a girl. She held Little Women a bit longer than the rest, realizing for the first time that it was here in Aunt Edna’s library room where she’d first dreamed of building castles in the air with Jo March.

  On one of the lower shelves she found a whole set of Nancy Drew books, several of the thick blue type, most with their dust jackets. She pulled out number five in the series, The Secret at Shadow Ranch, and before she knew it she’d read the first three chapters. She’d had a copy herself as a girl. The illustration on the cover pictured Nancy on a horse riding as expertly as everything else she did in her stories. This was one of the few books May borrowed from her more than once when they were growing up.

  Christy placed the set in two boxes all their own, thrilled to have them. She wondered how much time May had spent in this room when she lived with Aunt Edna. How many of these books had she read?

  By ten o’clock Christy had only filled eleven boxes and was in the middle of the twelfth. She couldn’t bring herself to go any faster. Some of the books had Aunt Edna’s handwritten notes, and she couldn’t resist reading them.

  She started on a new shelf and reached for the next book, a thick and heavy Bible concordance. They got them at the Barn once in a while, and she knew they weren’t cheap. She would probably sell this one. Flipping through the pages, she stopped at the gift inscription on the flyleaf. It read: Aunt Edna, I hope this will be a blessing to you as you study God’s Word. Love, May.

  Christy slowly packed the volume in her box. May gave it to her?

  She went for the next book, something called The Message. It also had an inscription from May. Auntie, this paraphrase really made the Bible come alive for me. Try reading your favorite Scriptures in it. Sometimes it can be a real eye-opener! Love in Him, May.

  She packed the book, digesting the meaning of the words. May was religious?

  When she’d considered the many ways May could have changed, she never factored that possibility into the equation. If May was into religion, it would give her all the more reason to be disgusted with Christy. Religious people had morals and rules. She’d broken every one.

  The entire next shelf contained more religious books—Bibles, study guides, devotionals. They took up several boxes, and many of them had May’s notes written inside. Apparently she’d never had a shortage of gift ideas.

  By the time Christy finished, the van was loaded with twenty-five boxes. With a sigh of relief and exhaustion, she locked Aunt Edna’s door and stared at the van. She couldn’t avoid thinking about it any longer. She had to decide. The funeral started in an hour. She could get to the church on the other side of town in ten minutes or she could go home. It would be so easy to chicken out.

  Maybe it was the letter or perhaps her growing curiosity about her sister. Maybe it would be her way to thank Aunt Edna for caring about her even when she was so undeserving, but Christy snatched her dress and heels from the front seat and ran back into the house to change.

  Chapter 8

  Christy slowly cruised past the church to scope it out. Was that Harvey’s Park Avenue? She wasn’t sure. After several laps around the block she mustered the courage to park at the edge of the lot beside another car. She’d keep the Barn’s van as inconspicuous as possible.

  Thirty minutes to go.

  She would wait. After this thing started she’d find a seat in the very back, honor Aunt Edna, then get out. In the meantime, she lit a cigarette with the van’s dashboard lighter. She wore her best outfit—a dark blue velvet dress and a comfortable yet dressy pair of black mules.

  As the parking lot filled, Christy tried to picture what kind of car May would be driving. She studied each vehicle, expecting her sister to be behind the wheel. What was she going to do when she saw her? It was nerve-racking to think how close they were to meeting. All these years she’d wondered what it would be like to see May again. Now that the experience was upon her, she found herself struggling with two entirely different emotions. One minute she wanted to flee like an unarmed soldier from enemy fire, the next she longed to see May’s face.

  But this religion thing was a concern. How much had her sister changed? The fact that May owned a ranch gave Christy some comfort. If that cowgirl thing was still a part of May’s life, maybe there was hope s
he hadn’t become a religious fanatic.

  She sucked her cigarette down to the filter, jammed it into the ashtray, then lit another. Two cars with old couples parked beside her on the right. Then came a minivan. Almost before it stopped, the sliding door opened and three kids, no older than ten, jumped from the running board. They latched onto their slower parents’ hands and disappeared through the church doors.

  How well did all these people know Aunt Edna? Were they casual acquaintances who said “hi” every now and then, or did they know her on a deeper level, like Christy wished she had?

  Twenty minutes.

  She ran a finger over the grimy furrows of the steering wheel horn. Why was she doing this? Aunt Edna was dead and gone. So she wanted her to contact May. Big deal. She’d never know if her wish was fulfilled. Christy could ignore it. No one was making her do this.

  She almost drove off right then, but a turn of her head brought her face-to-face with the overflowing boxes from Aunt Edna’s library. She leaned back in her seat. She did owe Aunt Edna something.

  If only she had a drink. That would calm her right down. She should’ve stopped for one before coming here. Maybe after this was over she would reward herself with a visit to the White Horse, her favorite bar. Home was ninety miles away. If she planned it right, she could have a drink in hand within three hours.

  She almost missed the Dodge Ram. A man with a black cowboy hat was driving, and two women sat beside him. When she saw the woman in the middle, Christy straightened in her seat.

  Was that May?

  Despite her better judgment to keep a low profile, she craned to see better. She had to make sure. First the man at the wheel got out, a tall guy, probably in his forties, with a handlebar mustache. And then the woman in the middle slid across the bench seat after him. Christy could barely see her face, but something about the way she moved instantly told her it was May.

  Christy sucked at her cigarette without breaking her stare. It was actually happening. She was seeing her little sister after all these years.

  May turned away and started toward the church. The other lady with her, an older Hispanic woman with a long, salt-and-pepper braid, fell in step beside May, resting a hand on her shoulder. The cowboy-hat guy did the same on the other side. Was he May’s boyfriend? husband?

  She watched the back of the threesome the whole way, her pulse pounding in her ears. May had on a winter coat with a jagged tear in the elbow. A piece of white stuffing hung out of it, and Christy wondered if May knew the hole was there. No one noticed Christy until right before they disappeared into the building, and then it was only the man. As he opened the door for the ladies he turned in her direction and looked directly at the van. Did he see her?

  Her gaze dropped to the floor, hoping he hadn’t. By the time she looked up again they were gone. So much time had passed, but May still looked so much like that fifteen-year-old Christy remembered. That same dirty blonde hair, same lanky frame.

  Ten minutes.

  Christy spent the last moments before the service touching up her makeup. Only when it was five after the hour and the cars stopped arriving did she get out and walk inside toward the faint strains of organ music. Showtime. If she did meet May today she wanted to come across confident and successful, a woman who had her life together.

  ***

  May stared at the cheap pine casket. There was no viewing. Aunt Edna hadn’t wanted anything elaborate, just a simple service with her pastor sharing. But that hadn’t kept people from sending flowers. The sprays covered the altar and coffin with reds, greens, and yellows, a brilliant display of how much Aunt Edna meant to so many.

  May sat in the front row, flanked by Jim and Ruth. She knew everyone was watching her. They would be checking to see how she was taking her aunt’s death, most of them truly concerned. It was nice to know people cared, but it didn’t make getting up in front of them any easier. She’d never given any kind of speech before, not even in school.

  Clutching her Bible, she whispered to the Lord for strength. This was the church she attended with Auntie before she moved to the ranch. Some of these folks had even been witnesses at her baptism. She knew the fluttering in her chest wasn’t necessary. These people loved her, and they all missed Aunt Edna as much as she did.

  Only when she peeked at the crowd behind her to check how many people were here did she recognize the face of the woman sitting in the last row.

  ***

  There was no going back now. Christy slouched in the hard pew, already regretting her madness. Some hymn belched from the organ, and she pretended to sing along, repeating what words she could decipher in a quiet alto. At least her mouth was moving. No one would know she hadn’t set foot in a church for the past fifteen years.

  She searched the room for May and caught sight of her in the front row with the man and woman who’d come in with her. From this angle Christy couldn’t see any of their faces. When the hymn ended, the people sat down as a reverend took the stage. His muttonchop sideburns ran all the way down to his chin like some Dickens character.

  Christy shifted in her seat, not really listening to him. This was a stupid idea. She should’ve abandoned it when she had the chance. The family ties had finally been broken, and she was a fool to pick them up again. The door was only a few feet away. . . .

  “No one knew Edna like her great-niece May,” the reverend said, and she honed in on her sister’s name. “She wants to share a few words with you.”

  Christy couldn’t move and gripped the armrest at the end of the pew with a sweaty hand. Fine. She would stay long enough to hear what her sister had to say.

  May went up to the podium and stood next to the reverend, who hugged her, then stepped back. From May’s vantage point she would see Christy’s row clearly. Would her sister even recognize her?

  “I planned to talk about many things,” May said in a voice that was deeper as an adult. “I was going to tell you about her volunteer work and her faithfulness to this church, but as I was sitting down there—” she pointed to the front row—“I decided I wanted to share how she affected my life.”

  May was definitely taller, and even at this time of year, her face tan. But it was her expression that intrigued Christy. She couldn’t place exactly what made it different. She could tell May was doing her best to keep from crying by the way her lip twitched and by the long breaks between sentences, just like she used to do as a kid. But oddly there was no grief on her face. She was smiling as she wept.

  This service wasn’t anything like their parents’ funeral, where the heaviness of gloom was a vulture hanging over everyone.

  “I was fifteen when my parents were killed in a car wreck,” May said. “From that day, Aunt Edna took me into her home and treated me like her own daughter. In the beginning I had my days of hostility and anger, and I sometimes took it out on her, but it didn’t take long for Auntie’s gentleness and love to win me over.” She paused. “There were so many fun times.”

  Christy felt guilt’s cold hand on her shoulder. May didn’t mention why she’d been alone or angry. She didn’t say it was because her sister deserted her without even a good-bye, vanishing out of her life, as far as May knew, never to return again. Why should May want to see her now?

  “But the greatest gift my aunt gave me,” May continued, “was God’s love. She lived it out for me and helped me see Him for who He is, a Father who cares and loves all of us. I had some trouble grasping that because most of my life I’d experienced an earthly father who didn’t know how to give that to me or my sister.” May’s gaze landed on Christy.

  Christy wanted to melt into the floor.

  “Aunt Edna showed me that God hadn’t taken my parents, like I once believed, either. That just happened because of choices they made and because this is an evil world. Once I understood that, it helped me to accept God and His Son, Jesus. He used Aunt Edna to reach me in that hurting time.” May sniffed and looked around the room. “I’
m joyful today that she’s with the Lord. We certainly don’t need to weep for her.” Then with a grin she added, “Can you picture her now? Strolling down those streets of gold, finally home? Oh, people, when your loved one dies and they know the Lord, it’s not good-bye forever. We’re gonna see Auntie again.”

  As May took her seat, the people sang some upbeat song about heaven. This time Christy didn’t try to sing along. Not only had she left her sister when she needed her most, but by leaving, she’d driven May off the deep end.

  The moment the service ended Christy bolted, making it to the lobby before the crowd stood. She was leaning into the exit door’s crash bar when someone called, “Chris! Chris, wait!”

  She stopped. It had been years since anyone called her by that shortened version of her name. She revved herself again to leave, trying to ignore the voice, but she knew who was calling. Christy spun around to see May racing down the aisle, pushing past people and waving her arm. “Chris, please wait!”

  She froze, still poised at the door. Great.

  May made it to the lobby and ran over to her, grabbing her in a hug before she could react. Christy politely returned the greeting.

  “I am so glad to see you,” May muttered in her shoulder.

  When she finally let Christy go, they stood staring at each other, Christy looking up at May who was taller by a few inches.

  May dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “I don’t know what to say. I just can’t believe you’re here. I didn’t think you’d make it.”

  “I almost didn’t.”

  A smile stretched across May’s face as if she truly was glad, and small wrinkles appeared on her cheeks. It was strange to see them. The picture Christy had in her mind of May was still that of a teenager.

  “I’m sorry about Aunt Edna,” Christy said.

  “Thanks,” May said, then looked like she was groping for words. “Can we sit and talk or something?”

  Before Christy could hatch a response that would say no without hurting her sister, an official-looking woman in a business suit approached May. “Excuse me. I’m sorry to butt in like this, but we need you in the receiving line.” The woman, perhaps the funeral director, latched onto May’s arm to guide her back into the sanctuary.