strange glare of disapproval. “Well, we do need stuff done,” she whispered to him.
“I can think of a coupla other stuffs he could do to me.”
Katie rolled her eyes, tucking her chin deeper into her lace ruffled shirt with the matching navy blue turtleneck with a shiver. “Aunt Teeny! He’s just a kid.”
She shrugged her small, hunched shoulders with a cackle and a toothless grin of depravity. “Don’t make no difference to me, Lady Jane. It all looks the same when you hit the sack. We all still got the same parts, just some of us come extra wrinkled. But I’d be willing to let him iron me.” She dropped down in the seat opposite Katie with her mug of steaming coffee. “What happened to your hand?”
She averted her eyes to stare at Yancey, sprawled on the back of the living room sofa, without a care and, quite possibly, her kin. Katie winced, pushing herself to focus. “Sprained. From lifting some of the cages in the office. No big deal.”
Teeny crinkled one eye at her niece’s hand, the cigarette hanging from her sunken lips.
Katie set her mug down and snatched the cigarette from her aunt’s lips. “Where do you keep getting these? I’ve scoured every inch of this house and come up dry. Yet every morning, you have another one. You’d better not have a stash, Aunt Teeny. No smoking. Dr. Gladwell told you you’re one cigarette away from your grave.”
Under the shed in a hole she had me dig.
Katie’s eyes widened, then she frowned when she scanned the kitchen. Did cougars hear imaginary voices in their heads?
Teeny poked her hand, bringing her attention back to the table. “You take my smokes, I’m gonna flirt with your hired hand, and I won’t wear a bra when I do it.”
Her aunt’s outrageous remarks weren’t just the bane of her existence but one of the reasons she got up in the morning. Teeny made it possible for her to survive in this small town where scorn was dished out by the shovelful. “You don’t wear a bra anyway. No smoking. No negotiation. No more back talk.”
Teeny propped her hand in her chin, using the other to adjust the sound on her hearing aid. “Yeah, yeah. I don’t see how it can make anything any worse. I’m seventy-two. I’m gonna die next week anyway. Why can’t I just do it with my Camels, for Christ’s sake?”
“Who’d protect me from Willard Brown if you up and die?”
“Willard’s just a blowhard with a big piehole.”
“And if not for you, his piehole would have kept Irma Rycroft from bringing Susie-Q in to see me. As I recall, he told her I was the devil and God would rain his thunder down on her in the way of famine and poverty if she brought that poor cat to me for treatment. He told her paying me for my services was like paying the devil to buy your soul.”
Willard is a bad, bad shit of a man. He kicked me once.
Katie’s head whipped around at the echo of words in her head. What the hell was going on?
“He’s a fruitcake, old Willard is,” Teeny, oblivious to Katie’s concern, said. “He’s been alone with his crazy thoughts for too long. Best he stays out in that cabin of his and keeps his trap shut. Don’t you worry about Willard or any of the other old cronies in this damn town. They’re a suspicious lot who’re too set in their ways, thinkin’ Piney Creek’s gonna go all citified if they let outsiders in. Not much’s changed here because they won’t let it. You breathed new life into the town. They just don’t know it yet.”
Oh, she’d breathed and that exhale had brought with it not just scorn upon her but her aunt, too. Add in her prior legal troubles and it made for a whole lot of unease among the people in town. Katie gave herself a mental shake—no more dwelling. She’d done nothing wrong back in New York. “Has Magda-May invited you back to the quilting circle yet?” The group of senior citizens and one diehard thirtysomething Nazi-feminist old maid had booted Teeny out the second they’d decided
“I can think of a coupla other stuffs he could do to me.”
Katie rolled her eyes, tucking her chin deeper into her lace ruffled shirt with the matching navy blue turtleneck with a shiver. “Aunt Teeny! He’s just a kid.”
She shrugged her small, hunched shoulders with a cackle and a toothless grin of depravity. “Don’t make no difference to me, Lady Jane. It all looks the same when you hit the sack. We all still got the same parts, just some of us come extra wrinkled. But I’d be willing to let him iron me.” She dropped down in the seat opposite Katie with her mug of steaming coffee. “What happened to your hand?”
She averted her eyes to stare at Yancey, sprawled on the back of the living room sofa, without a care and, quite possibly, her kin. Katie winced, pushing herself to focus. “Sprained. From lifting some of the cages in the office. No big deal.”
Teeny crinkled one eye at her niece’s hand, the cigarette hanging from her sunken lips.
Katie set her mug down and snatched the cigarette from her aunt’s lips. “Where do you keep getting these? I’ve scoured every inch of this house and come up dry. Yet every morning, you have another one. You’d better not have a stash, Aunt Teeny. No smoking. Dr. Gladwell told you you’re one cigarette away from your grave.”
Under the shed in a hole she had me dig.
Katie’s eyes widened, then she frowned when she scanned the kitchen. Did cougars hear imaginary voices in their heads?
Teeny poked her hand, bringing her attention back to the table. “You take my smokes, I’m gonna flirt with your hired hand, and I won’t wear a bra when I do it.”
Her aunt’s outrageous remarks weren’t just the bane of her existence but one of the reasons she got up in the morning. Teeny made it possible for her to survive in this small town where scorn was dished out by the shovelful. “You don’t wear a bra anyway. No smoking. No negotiation. No more back talk.”
Teeny propped her hand in her chin, using the other to adjust the sound on her hearing aid. “Yeah, yeah. I don’t see how it can make anything any worse. I’m seventy-two. I’m gonna die next week anyway. Why can’t I just do it with my Camels, for Christ’s sake?”
“Who’d protect me from Willard Brown if you up and die?”
“Willard’s just a blowhard with a big piehole.”
“And if not for you, his piehole would have kept Irma Rycroft from bringing Susie-Q in to see me. As I recall, he told her I was the devil and God would rain his thunder down on her in the way of famine and poverty if she brought that poor cat to me for treatment. He told her paying me for my services was like paying the devil to buy your soul.”
Willard is a bad, bad shit of a man. He kicked me once.
Katie’s head whipped around at the echo of words in her head. What the hell was going on?
“He’s a fruitcake, old Willard is,” Teeny, oblivious to Katie’s concern, said. “He’s been alone with his crazy thoughts for too long. Best he stays out in that cabin of his and keeps his trap shut. Don’t you worry about Willard or any of the other old cronies in this damn town. They’re a suspicious lot who’re too set in their ways, thinkin’ Piney Creek’s gonna go all citified if they let outsiders in. Not much’s changed here because they won’t let it. You breathed new life into the town. They just don’t know it yet.”
Oh, she’d breathed and that exhale had brought with it not just scorn upon her but her aunt, too. Add in her prior legal troubles and it made for a whole lot of unease among the people in town. Katie gave herself a mental shake—no more dwelling. She’d done nothing wrong back in New York. “Has Magda-May invited you back to the quilting circle yet?” The group of senior citizens and one diehard thirtysomething Nazi-feminist old maid had booted Teeny out the second they’d decided
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