tomorrow… unfortunately,” Greta said as she resumed filing her nails.
“What? You don’t like Aunt Addie?” Either, I thought to myself.
“No, Addie’s fine. She’s a big drunk—and I should know.” She laughed.
Greta looked small and stylish as she helped me cook. I use the word helped loosely, because all Greta did was file and polish her nails and whine about mosquitoes. I don’t think she had ever made a meal in her life.
She removed a decorative silver and black case from her purse, opened the lid and glanced inside. There were three joints left, and one of them was broken. She put one in her mouth and lit a match, touching the yellow flame to the tip. She inhaled deeply before holding it out to me. I kept looking at it, like a hungry jaguar eyeing something warm and meaty.
“You gonna take it, darlin’, or not?”
I shook my head after a moment of indecision, my eyes lingering on the joint. “I’d better not. I haven’t touched it in two months.”
She shrugged and took another haul. “I quit twenty years ago. Luckily, I have a very loose definition of the word quit .” She exhaled a steady stream of grey smoke. “So what in the hell were you doing last night, anyway?” She looked like a ballerina with her silver-knotted blonde hair, but she talked like a trucker.
“What do you mean?” I asked, perplexed by this complicated woman.
“Well, I peeked in on ya around ten when I got here. You were sleeping sound as a baby with a clean bottom. And then I woke to this godawful screaming around three. I can only assume it was you, since I sent your friend home when I got here. I was gonna come and check on ya, but I didn’t want to be nosey.”
“You sent Leslie home? I thought she just left me.” I stared accusingly. Then, suddenly, I caved. I snatched the joint from her hand and inhaled deeply. She watched me exhale with obvious interest, green eyes round and mischievous.
“What?” she twanged, waving her hands dismissively. “She had to work today, and I’m sure she got a better night’s sleep in her own comfy bed, unlike me, who woke to a screaming banshee. So what in the hell happened? Did you stub your toe or somethin’?
“I’m sorry. I’m having trouble understanding you.”
“Oh, is it the accent?”
“No, it’s not the accent.” You’re from Canada, not Texas, you prissy bitch. “I’m having trouble understanding the fact that you heard me crying and you didn’t come to console me.”
The cottage went quiet, and I could hear the ticking of the clock. I closed my eyes for a minute, thinking of this past week, and I let the exhaustion wash over me. I sighed, thinking how strange it was that I had descended from her. It was even stranger that this vain yet exotic creature had been born of Gigi’s warm heart.
“Well, I just figured we barely know each other. I didn’t want to be rude if you were just havin’ a moment. I mean, we all miss Mama.” She caressed her temples as if I annoyed her. Right, that’s why you hung around, I thought.
“So what was the matter?” she asked, a little more sympathy in her voice this time.
“I must have been having another nightmare.” I sat down quietly across from her in a kitchen chair and bowed my head in prayer. Something Gigi and I always did.
“That makes sense. My therapist says dreaming is a coping mechanism. It’s probably protecting you from the pain of Mama’s death.”
“Actually it’s a recurring dream,” I said, handing her back the joint.
“Do you have them often?” she asked, a little more interested.
“Yes, for as long as I can remember.”
“What are they about?”
“It’s all kind of a blur. It usually involves murder, jewels and this one crazy maniac who’s hell-bent on slaughtering anyone who gets in his way. Sometimes there’s a cop, and he’s strangling this girl. Other times I arrive too late and only find the body.”
I didn’t bother telling her it felt like somebody was
“What? You don’t like Aunt Addie?” Either, I thought to myself.
“No, Addie’s fine. She’s a big drunk—and I should know.” She laughed.
Greta looked small and stylish as she helped me cook. I use the word helped loosely, because all Greta did was file and polish her nails and whine about mosquitoes. I don’t think she had ever made a meal in her life.
She removed a decorative silver and black case from her purse, opened the lid and glanced inside. There were three joints left, and one of them was broken. She put one in her mouth and lit a match, touching the yellow flame to the tip. She inhaled deeply before holding it out to me. I kept looking at it, like a hungry jaguar eyeing something warm and meaty.
“You gonna take it, darlin’, or not?”
I shook my head after a moment of indecision, my eyes lingering on the joint. “I’d better not. I haven’t touched it in two months.”
She shrugged and took another haul. “I quit twenty years ago. Luckily, I have a very loose definition of the word quit .” She exhaled a steady stream of grey smoke. “So what in the hell were you doing last night, anyway?” She looked like a ballerina with her silver-knotted blonde hair, but she talked like a trucker.
“What do you mean?” I asked, perplexed by this complicated woman.
“Well, I peeked in on ya around ten when I got here. You were sleeping sound as a baby with a clean bottom. And then I woke to this godawful screaming around three. I can only assume it was you, since I sent your friend home when I got here. I was gonna come and check on ya, but I didn’t want to be nosey.”
“You sent Leslie home? I thought she just left me.” I stared accusingly. Then, suddenly, I caved. I snatched the joint from her hand and inhaled deeply. She watched me exhale with obvious interest, green eyes round and mischievous.
“What?” she twanged, waving her hands dismissively. “She had to work today, and I’m sure she got a better night’s sleep in her own comfy bed, unlike me, who woke to a screaming banshee. So what in the hell happened? Did you stub your toe or somethin’?
“I’m sorry. I’m having trouble understanding you.”
“Oh, is it the accent?”
“No, it’s not the accent.” You’re from Canada, not Texas, you prissy bitch. “I’m having trouble understanding the fact that you heard me crying and you didn’t come to console me.”
The cottage went quiet, and I could hear the ticking of the clock. I closed my eyes for a minute, thinking of this past week, and I let the exhaustion wash over me. I sighed, thinking how strange it was that I had descended from her. It was even stranger that this vain yet exotic creature had been born of Gigi’s warm heart.
“Well, I just figured we barely know each other. I didn’t want to be rude if you were just havin’ a moment. I mean, we all miss Mama.” She caressed her temples as if I annoyed her. Right, that’s why you hung around, I thought.
“So what was the matter?” she asked, a little more sympathy in her voice this time.
“I must have been having another nightmare.” I sat down quietly across from her in a kitchen chair and bowed my head in prayer. Something Gigi and I always did.
“That makes sense. My therapist says dreaming is a coping mechanism. It’s probably protecting you from the pain of Mama’s death.”
“Actually it’s a recurring dream,” I said, handing her back the joint.
“Do you have them often?” she asked, a little more interested.
“Yes, for as long as I can remember.”
“What are they about?”
“It’s all kind of a blur. It usually involves murder, jewels and this one crazy maniac who’s hell-bent on slaughtering anyone who gets in his way. Sometimes there’s a cop, and he’s strangling this girl. Other times I arrive too late and only find the body.”
I didn’t bother telling her it felt like somebody was
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