Grave Secret Page 0,8

had based her character on being anti-Laurel. Laurel Howe Connelly Lang, my mother, had been Iona's only sibling, and older than Iona by almost ten years. In my mother's teen years and through her twenties, before her drug addiction, she had been fairly attractive, popular, and party loving. She had also made great grades, and she'd gone to law school. She'd married a man she met there, my dad, Cliff Connelly. My mother had been a little wild-well, more than a little-but she'd also been a high achiever.

To compete and contrast, Iona had gone the sweet-and-religious route.

Looking at Iona's face when she answered the door, I wondered when the sweetness had turned sour. Iona had always looked disappointed. Yet today, she seemed a little less sour than usual, and I wondered why. Usually, the arrival of Tolliver and me would make her look like she'd sucked a lemon. I tried to remember how old Iona was, and decided that she must be a little less than forty.

"Well, come on in," my aunt said, and stepped back into her living room.

I always felt like we were invited to enter only grudgingly, that Iona would have loved to shut the door in our faces. I'm five foot seven, and my aunt is shorter than I am. Iona is pleasantly rounded, and her hair is graying in a pretty way, as though her light brown hair was simply fading a little. Her eyes are dark gray, like mine.

"How are you?" Tolliver asked pleasantly.

"I'm feeling wonderful," Iona said, and our mouths fell open at the same moment. We'd never heard Iona say anything remotely like that. "Hank's arthritis is acting up," she continued, oblivious to our reaction, "but he can get up and go to work, thank God." Iona worked at Sam's Club part-time, and Hank was the manager of the meat department at a Wal-Mart Supercenter.

"How have the girls been doing in school?" I asked, my standard fallback question. I was still trying not to look at Tolliver, because I knew he was just as floored as I was. Iona was preceding us into the kitchen, where we usually had our conversations. Iona saved the living room for real company.

"Mariella's been doing pretty good. She's a middle-of-the-road-type student," Iona said. "Gracie, they always say she's a little behind where she ought to be. You two want some coffee? I've got the pot on."

"That would be great," I said. "I take it black."

"I remember," she said with a sharp edge to her voice, as if I'd accused her of being a bad hostess. That sounded more like the Iona I knew, and I felt a little more comfortable.

"And I take mine with some sugar," Tolliver said. While her back was to us, he looked at me and raised his eyebrows. Something was up with Iona.

In short order, a mug was in front of him, and a sugar bowl and a spoon and a napkin. I was served second, and I got the plain mug. Iona poured herself some coffee, too, and settled herself in the chair closest to the coffeepot in a way that indicated she was really, really tired. For a minute or two, she didn't speak. She seemed to be thinking hard about something. The table was round, and there was a pile of mail in the middle. I automatically scanned it: phone bill, cable bill, a handwritten letter protruding from its envelope. The handwriting looked sort of familiar in an unpleasant way.

"I'm wore out," Iona said. "I been on my feet at work for six hours straight." Iona was wearing a T-shirt and khakis and sneakers. Clothes had never been a priority for her the way they had been for my mother, until she'd stopped caring about anything at all but the drugs and where they'd come from next. I felt an unexpected flash of sympathy for Iona.

"That's hard on the body," I said, but she wasn't listening.

"Here come the girls," she said, and then my ears caught what hers had already registered: the sound of footsteps outside the garage door.

Our sisters burst into the room and tossed their backpacks against the wall right under a coatrack. They hung their jackets on the coatrack and took their shoes off to park beside the backpacks. I wondered how long it had taken Iona to establish those habits.

The next second, I was taken up with examining my sisters. They've always changed when I see them. It takes me a minute to absorb it.