At Wits' End - Kenzie Reed Page 0,74

and I don’t know how to fix it. I barely recognize the woman who raised me.

I’ve asked my family if she’s the same with them when they visit. Is it something I’m doing wrong?

They all kind of mumbled and shrugged in response. Nobody wants to speak badly of her, but she’s obviously being a real pill to everybody.

I hoped that over time, as her strength returned, her attitude would improve, but it’s early June and there’s no sign of her disposition growing any sunnier.

When I walk in, she’s wearing the same floral housedress she always wears. It’s starting to get dingy and stained. She has eight perfectly clean house dresses hanging in her closet here. I brought them for her. Her makeup lies in a tray on top of her dresser, coated with dust. I take a slow breath, then flex my mouth into a big, bright smile.

It doesn’t help. She looks up from her knitting and fixes me with a beady-eyed glower.

“Hello, Aunt Ferdie. I brought you some–“

“Lies?” she interrupts me. “You brought me some more lies?”

“I…you what now?” I choke out.

Her eyes have gone dark with anger. “I know everything.”

Oh God. This is the end. I’ve been praying she wouldn’t find out until she came home, and now she knows that I’ve done the worst thing I could have done, in her eyes. I’ve married a Witlocke and let him move in to her home.

I totter over to the chair facing hers and collapse, my knees gone weak.

“I can explain.” How can I explain a fake marriage to her late husband’s mortal enemies? The Montagues to our Capulets? Should I tell her it’s real? I don’

“How could you?” she demands.

All right, you’ve got this. You’re a strong, smart, capable, adult woman.

I think I just peed myself a little.

“Well, there was literally no other choice.”

“I suppose you enjoyed yourself,” she says bitterly.

“Well…”

My cheeks redden with embarrassment. I mean, yes, of course. I am continuing to enjoy myself with Donovan every night, with a nooner frequently thrown in. I’ve enjoyed myself on the kitchen counter, the sofa, the living room rug, the back porch – yes, Donovan enjoyed my back porch while we were on the back porch… Anyway, she doesn’t need to know details.

“It wasn’t too awful.”

“I can’t believe I raised you to betray me like this.”

“I didn’t betray you!” I protest. “I was doing it to save the vineyard and the farm. There was absolutely no other way. Do you want me to show you the paperwork?”

“What does the farm have to do with anything? Did you plant the new vines on Vito’s property too?” She flashes a look of deep hurt at me. “Did you think Minnie wouldn’t tell me? She blabbed all about how amazing they look.” Minnie’s one of the best friends that we swore to silence. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to tell her not to mention the fact that I’d done some planting.

“Ohhh.” Comprehension finally dawns. I went ahead with the project and planted the new blocks of wines in May, with the help of the vineyard manager and his sons. “The vines. Of course. I mean, no, I only planted them on your property.”

“What did you think I was talking about?” Fernanda demands suspiciously.

I reply with a weak smile. “The website.”

“We already discussed the website. It’s a waste of your time and my money. You weren’t talking about the website. Do you think I’m stupid?” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Of course not.”

“Then what are you talking about?” she yells. “You’re not too old to put over my knee!”

First of all, yes I am. If she tried to put me over her knee, I’d break her. And secondly, she’s never spanked me in her life.

“Aunt Fernanda. I’d appreciate it if you lowered your voice and didn’t yell at me.”

“Don’t you tell me how to speak!” she shouts, so loudly that her voice rings off the walls. A nurse’s aide pokes her head through the door.

“Everything all right?’

“Why don’t you ask her? She’s the one who knows everything!” There are tears of rage in Aunt Fernanda’s eyes. Actual tears.

I am struggling to keep my voice steady and calm, but I want to cry. Aunt Fernanda’s never attacked me like this before. “I never said I know everything.”

“Okay, so now I’m a liar?”

It finally hits me. There’s no way to drag my aunt out of her self-pity spiral. It’s like trying to push the Leaning Tower of Pisa back up straight. Either she’ll snap out