At Wits' End - Kenzie Reed Page 0,36

past her shoulders. She’s stopped wearing makeup, too. She never used to leave the house without drawing on her eyebrows and applying her signature rose-colored lipstick.

Every time I see her like this, it’s like a vise-squeeze to the heart. After my grandparents died – before I was born – Aunt Fernanda took over as family matriarch. She bossed everyone around and fussed over them, she was in charge of birthdays and holidays, she worked from sunup until long past sundown. She hates being like this, hates the slow pace of rehab, hates being away from home.

“Aunt Fernanda!” I hug her, and she hugs me back. I glance at the empty bed next to her. “Scared off another roommate?”

“Yep,” she says proudly.

I sigh. “You’re incorrigible. Anyone who’s here is already stressed out enough. Could you try to be a little nice?”

“I could, but I won’t.”

Well, at least she’s honest. I plop down in a chair next to her. “I took pictures of the vineyard,” I say, pulling out my phone. “It’s looking fantastic.”

I click on the photo app. She shakes her head, looking alarmed. “What is that? You know I don’t like those things. Take real pictures, with a real camera, and send them to me in the real mail. Or bring them next visit.”

I sigh. She’s been in a mood ever since she’s been here, but it’s understandable. “Okay. I can get these pictures on my phone made into prints.”

“I don’t want that. Take them with a real camera.”

I don’t even have a real camera. “Fine.” I shove my phone back in my purse.

“And don’t try to fool me with phone pictures. I’ll know.”

No, she won’t. “I will bring pictures next week.”

I dig into my purse and pull out the packet of soil, and open it.

“What’s this?”

“Soil from the vineyard!” I say proudly. “I can bring you a jar of it next week if you like.”

“Oh, no. I’m sure it’s fine.” She doesn’t even look at it. My heart does a painful thump in my chest.

“Never mind, then,” I say gently. But I’ve got so much I need to discuss with her – plans for the vineyard, questions I need to ask her about where she keeps some of the files – and we’re not going to get anywhere if she’s in this kind of mood.

I fold up the soil and slide it back into my purse. I sit there staring at the floor, not sure what to say. Everything’s changed. Aunt Fernanda was always my safety net. I always went to her for comfort and advice. And now I guess I’m the boss, and I don’t want to be. I want to curl up in her lap so she can brush my hair and French braid it the way she used to.

“How’s my Nuccio?” she asks suddenly, her voice so sad that it brings tears to my eyes.

I look up, blinking hard. “He’s doing very well,” I assure her. “We’re in the barn-house, and I have a big cat tower for him to climb on, and I keep the door closed so he doesn’t get out.”

“You’d better. Those coyotes would eat him for dinner.” She shudders.

“I know. That won’t happen, I promise. His appetite is great, he’s up to date on his shots, and he’s got plenty of energy.”

“Remember to make sure he gets enough roughage,” she says. “Make sure he cleans his dentures properly. And don’t let him watch those damn horror movies he likes so much. Gives him nightmares. And don’t put any garlic in his pasta puttanesca. I don’t care what he says. Gives him terrible gas.” She waves her hand in front of her nose in reminiscence.

“I promise I won’t.”

She breaks into a smile and pats my knee. “I know you won’t. You’re a good girl.” Then she glances down at my shoes. “Why are you wearing those ugly sneakers?”

Oops. My feet are still recovering from yesterday’s pinching, painful wedding shoes, so I’ve been wearing my sneakers all day. “I went running this morning.”

She looks at me suspiciously. “You hate running.”

“Oh, it’s a new thing I’m trying,” I say brightly.

She leans back in her chair, her eyes narrowing. “You really, really hate running.”

“Well, Pamela’s doing it. It’s a fun way to spend time with her.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Running like a fool? Running from nothing?”

I shift in my chair, hugging my purse to me. “I wanted to talk to you about the vineyard. We’ve got to get some cashflow coming in until the