"Yes?"
She stared at the woman she'd seen once in her life when she was no more than seven years old. She looked like a hippie, a colorful scarf wrapped around her long, curling, dark hair, huge gold hoops dangling from her ears, her skirt ankle-length and painted all in dark blues and browns. She was wearing blue sneakers. Her face was strong, her cheekbones high and prominent, her chin sharp, her eyes dark and intelligent. Actually, she was the most beautiful woman Sally had ever seen.
"Aunt Amabel?"
"What did you say?" Amabel stared at the young woman who stood on her front doorstep, a young woman who didn't look cheap with all that makeup she'd piled on her face, just exhausted and sickly pale. And frightened. Then, of course, she knew. She had known deep down that she would come. Yes, she'd known, but it still shook her.
"I'm Sally," she said and pulled off the black wig and took out half a dozen hairpins. Thick, waving dark-blond hair tumbled down to her shoulders. "Maybe you called me Susan? Not many people do anymore."
The woman was shaking her head back and forth, those dazzling earrings slapping against her neck. "My God, it's really you, Sally?" She rocked back on her heels. "Yes, Aunt."
"Oh, my," Amabel said and quickly pulled her niece against her, hugged her tightly, then pushed her back to look at her. "Oh, my goodness. I've been so worried. I finally heard the news about your papa, but I didn't know if I should call Noelle. You know how she is. I was going to call her tonight when the rates go down, but you're here, Sally. I guess I hoped you'd come to me. What's happened? Is your mama all right?"
"Noelle is fine, I think," Sally said. "I didn't know where else to go, so I came here. Can I stay here, Aunt Amabel, just for a little while? Just until I can think of something, make some plans?"
"Of course you can. Look at that black wig and all that makeup on your face. Why, baby?"
The endearment undid her. She'd not cried, not once, until now, until this woman she didn't really know called her "baby." Her aunt's hands were stroking her back, her voice was low and soothing. "It's all right, lovey. I promise you, everything will be all right now. Come in, Sally, and I'll take care of you.
That's what I told your mama when I first saw you. You were the cutest little thing, so skinny, your arms Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
and legs wobbly like a colt's, and the biggest smile I'd ever seen. I wanted to take care of you then.
You'll be safe here. Come on, baby."
The damnable tears wouldn't stop. They just kept dripping down her face, ruining the god-awful thick black mascara. She even tasted it, and when she swiped her hand over her face it came away with black streaks.
"I look like a circus clown," she said, swallowing hard to stop the tears, to smile, to make herself smile.
She took out the green-colored contacts. With the crying, they hurt.
"No, you look like a little girl trying on her mama's makeup. That's right, take out those ugly contacts. Ah, now you've got your pretty blue eyes again. Come to the kitchen and I'll make you some tea. I always put a drop of brandy in mine. It wouldn't hurt you one little bit. How old are you now, Sally?"
"Twenty-six, I think."
"What do you mean, you think?" her aunt said, cocking her head to one side, making the gold hoop earring hang straight down almost to her shoulder.
Sally couldn't tell her that though she thought her birthday had come and gone in that place, she couldn't seem to see the day in her mind, couldn't dredge up anyone saying anything to her, not that she could imagine it anyway. She couldn't even remember if her father had been there. She prayed he hadn't. She couldn't tell Amabel about that, she just couldn't. She shook her head, smiled, and said, not lying well, "It was just a way of speaking, Aunt Amabel. I'd love some tea and a drop of brandy." Amabel sat her niece down in the kitchen at her old pine table that had three magazines under one leg to keep it steady.
At least she'd made cushions for the wooden seats, so they were comfortable. She put the kettle on the gas burner and turned it on. "There," she said. "That won't take too long."
Sally watched her put a Lipton tea bag into each cup and pour in the brandy. Amabel said, "I always pour the brandy in first. It soaks into the tea bag and makes the flavor stronger. Brandy's expensive and I've got to make it last. This bottle"-she lifted the Christian Brothers- "is going on its third month. Not bad. You'll see, you'll like it."
"No one followed me, Aunt Amabel. I was really careful. I imagine you know that everyone is after me.
But I managed to get away. As far as I know, no one knows about you. Noelle never told a soul. Only Father knew about you, and he's dead."
Amabel just nodded. Sally sat quietly, watching Amabel move around her small kitchen, each action smooth and efficient. She was graceful, this aunt of hers in her hippie clothes. She looked at those strong hands, the long fingers, the short, buffed nails painted an awesome bright red. Amabel was an artist, she remembered that now. She couldn't see any resemblance at all to Noelle, Amabel's younger sister.
Amabel was dark as a gypsy, while Noelle was blond and fair-complexioned, blue-eyed and soft as a pillow.
Like me, Sally thought. But Sally wasn't soft anymore. She was hard as a brick.
She waited, expecting Amabel to whip out a deck of cards and tell her fortune. She wondered why none of Noelle's family ever spoke of Amabel. What had she done that was so terrible?
Her fingers rubbed over the white band where the ring had been. She said as she looked around the old kitchen with its ancient refrigerator and porcelain sink, "You don't mind that I'm here, Aunt Amabel?"
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"Call me Amabel, honey, that'll be just fine. I don't mind at all. Both of us will protect your mama. As for you, why, I don't think you could hurt that little bug that's scurrying across the kitchen floor."
Sally shook her head, got out of her seat, and squashed the bug beneath her heel. She sat down again. “I just want you to see me as I really am," she said.
Amabel only shrugged, turned back to the stove when the teakettle whistled, and poured the water into the teacups. She said, not turning around, "Things happen to people, change them. Take your mama.
Everyone always protected your mama, including me. Why wouldn't her daughter do the same? You are protecting her, aren't you,
Sally?"
She handed Sally her cup of tea. She pulled the tea bag back and forth, making the tea darker and darker. Finally, she lifted the bag and placed it carefully on the saucer. She'd swished that tea bag just the way her mother always had when she'd been young. She took a drink, held the brandied tea in her mouth a moment, then swallowed. The tea was wonderful, thick, rich, and sinful. She felt less on edge almost immediately. That brandy was something. Surely she'd be safe here. Surely Amabel would take her in just for a little while until she figured out what to do. She imagined her aunt wanted to hear everything, but she wasn't pushing. Sally was immensely grateful for that. "I've often wondered what kind of woman you'd become," Amabel said. "Looks to me like you've become a fine one. This mess-and that's what it is-it will pass. Everything will be resolved, you'll see." She was silent a moment, remembering the affection she'd felt for the little girl, that bone-deep desire to keep her close, to hug her until she squeaked. It surprised her that it was still there. She didn't like it, nor did she want it.
"Careful of leaning on that end of the table, Sally. Purn Davies wanted to fix it for me, but I wouldn't let him." She knew Sally wasn't hearing her, but it didn't matter, Amabel was just making noise until Sally got some of that brandy in her belly.
"This tea's something else, Amabel. Strange, but good." She took another drink, then another. She felt warmth pooling in her stomach. She realized she hadn't felt this warm in more than five days.