I drank somemore.
The abruptsound of knocking at the door pulled me down from my mountain ofsorrow for a moment. The nearly empty bottle tucked neatly under myarm as I made my way toward the front door, with a slight wobble inmy step. The old brass deadbolt gave me grief as I fiddled with it,but the door finally opened to reveal my aunt.
“Oh, soyou are alive,” she said,eyeballing the bottle of rum under my arm as I leaned my entireweight against the door frame. In her hands was a large glass dishcovered in tin foil and the warm smell of home-cooked food waftedup across my nose. “Looks like you need this more than Ithought.”
I let her inand began to walk back toward the dining room, swigging back morerum. The liquid sat heavy in my stomach and warmed my veins. Iglanced at the clock and saw that I’d been there at the house fornearly eight hours. My aunt’s sudden arrival reminded me that,aside from the fruit cup, I’d been drinking on an emptystomach.
“Ibrought some leftover lasagna I made for supper, thinking you’d beback to the house. I bet you’re starving.” She cleared some spaceon the table and grabbed a couple of plates from the kitchen.“How're things going here, anyway? Makin’ a dent?”
I laughed andtook another mouthful from the bottle. “I have no clue what I’mdoing. There’s so much crap in that room. I should just throw itall in the trash and go back home.” Another swig. “Oh, wait. Ican’t go back home. My boyfriend is cheating on me and if I seehim, I may very well beat him to death.” I scooped up my fork andlobbed off a huge chunk of lasagna straight from the dish andshoved it in my mouth. “Better off staying here in my mountain ofgarbage,” I added, motioning around the house with my fork, piecesof food falling out of my mouth.
Aunt Mary justnodded, letting me vent, I didn’t even argue when she carefullyslipped the bottle out of my hand. “I didn’t know you had a man,”she said, sitting down to eat her piece of pasta. She eyeballed theside of the dish I’d been digging into. “Keep eatin’.”
Ishoveled in a few more bitesand chewed with one side of my mouth. “Correction. I did have aman. I told him to vamoose before I get home on Sunday.” My stomachprotested at the sudden influx of food I’d been heaping into it, soI put the fork down. “Although, at the rate I’m going, I may neverleave this house.”
Mary reachedacross the table, placed her hand over mine and gave it a littlesqueeze. “Dianna, I can help, you know? With everything. I didn’twant to dig too far, I didn’t…” she let go and leaned back in herchair, “I just didn’t know what you wanted to keep. What wasspecial to you. It’s been so long.”
I couldn’tlook her in the face. Staying away for so long was just as much myfault as it was Dad’s. He pushed me away, but I never pushed back.I wanted to go. Living in the pit of despair my father dug forhimself after my mother’s passing was torture for me. He shut meout, became depressed, completely ignored my needs as a child.Yeah, I was a teen, but I still needed my daddy. The only person Ihad that showed me love and compassion and cared enough to check-inwas… Mary.
I tore my gazeaway from the dark patio window then and looked at my great aunt.This wonderful woman who loved my mother dearly, kept my dad alivewhen he was sick, helped run my family’s business when no onecould… who nurtured my broken heart so many years ago. Staying awayfrom Dad was understandable. Staying away from Mary was wrong. Ihadn’t even realized until then.
“I’m sosorry, Aunt Mary. You’re right. It’s been way too long. I’mfreaking horrible.” My eyes began to pool with tears and I wipedone away as it tried to escape. “I promise to come back and visitmore, okay?” I let out a bubbly sigh and crossed my arms, leaningback in my chair. My stomach was doing strange things and I foughtback a belch. “Especially now that I have the house.”
She perked up,a smile spreading far a wide. “You mean, you’re not going to sellit?”
I shrugged.“Why would I sell it?” Another vomity belch attempted to make itsway up my throat. “Maybe the bakery. I mean, I can’t run it fromAlberta.”
“Youcould always move back home. Fix up the house. Run the bakery.”Mary made it seem as if this were a new idea, but something told meshe’d been mulling it over for a long time. She spoke with suchconfidence and practice. She looked at me then, eyes glisteningwith hope.
“Mary…”I heaved a sigh. I hated letting her down. “I can’t–I have a lifein Alberta. A job I’ve worked hard to get. You have noidea.”
“So,what?”
Her curt replycaught me off guard, I hardly knew how to respond.
“Yousaid yourself, your man is no good. If you’ve done nothing butfocus on your career, then I ‘magine you don’t got many friends up there.” Shewasn’t wrong about that. “Think about it. You could go from workingfor someone else to owning your own business. You can useyour God-given talentevery day.”
Her wordsstewed in my brain as I chewed my lip. It was hard to formulate anargument because everything Mary said made total sense. I’d becrazy not to do it. I’d been given a tremendous opportunity. Ahouse, a business, family to reconnect with, a community to call myown. I missed Newfoundland. We all did.
