Page 17 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“You do? So you don’t mind giving her sponge baths?”
Dear God in heaven.
Hold back the dry heave.
I glance over at Aunt Cindy, hiding the shiver that races up my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight into the air.
“As, uh, as tempting as it is to have such a deep-rooted bonding moment with someone so important in my life, I just don’t know how good I’d be at getting…all the crevices. But, hey, how about you take care of the bathing.” I point to my sister. “And then I will take care of the rest while you work tirelessly on becoming the Kringleton.”
“Christmas Kringle,” Aunt Cindy corrects me.
“Right, the Christmas Kringle.” I take my spoon and dip it into my soup. “Glad we settled that.”
“I’m afraid that can’t be the case,” Aunt Cindy says as I have my spoon halfway to my mouth. She leans over, pats my hand, and looks me in the eyes. “I love you, sweetheart, but unfortunately, I don’t trust you with my life.”
Wow!
Okay, that stings.
Uh, can we saya bit harsh?
Taran snorts but is smart enough not to make eye contact with me.
Keeping my expression controlled, I say, “As nice a compliment as that is to Taran, may I ask why?”
“Oh Storee, you’ve never been the caring kind.”
Now, there’s shocking someone with an opinion, and then there’s straight up insulting someone to their face.
Seems like Aunt Cindy chose violence today.
“I do too care. I’m here, aren’t I?” I ask. Ha! Got her there.
“Yes, and I appreciate that, but as you know, your sister is a nurse andjust…more equipped for taking care of me in a way that I need to survive this horrible tragedy.”
My God, she broke a hip while retrieving gingerbread cookies. It’s not like she got mauled by a bear and her body is being held together by stitches and glue.
“And I’ll be sure to give you the best of care,” Taran says.
Does that care include sticking your nose up Aunt Cindy’s ass? Because if so, show me the way to the Kringle award—I will not stoop to such levels.
“I know you will, dear,” Aunt Cindy says and then turns to me. “Which means you, my Storeebook, will be my protégée.”
Yup, don’t like the sound of that.
I check my nonexistent watch on my wrist. “Oof, as great as that sounds, I just remembered I need to—”
“You will do this for me,” Aunt Cindy says, using her stern, don’t-mess-with-me voice. The only other time I ever heard her use such a tone was when Taran and I accidentally chopped down her most prized potted poinsettia in her front yard. It took her a whole year to forgive us.
I let out a nervous laugh. “Um, okay, but you know, you will make it through this hip thing, and there’s always next year. Also, ever think about the sympathy you can garner from participating with a broken hip? It’s practically a fast-track right to first place.”
“I refuse to wait another year with the bias floating through this town—no one will believe I’m up for it next year if I don’t already have a representative on the throne. I need someone young, a whippersnapper who can lead the charge, impress the judges, flirt with them, pull out all the tricks to secure the title.” From the drop of spittle that flew out of her mouth onto the fine lace tablecloth, I’m getting the impression that this award means a lot more to her than I thought.
“I first want to say thank you for calling me young. Coming up on thirty has made me feel like I have one foot in the grave. So, bless you. But unfortunately, I don’t know anything about this Kringle thing.”
“That’s why you’ll be my protégée. While your sister cleans my crevices, you shall perfect the act of becoming the Town Kringle.”
The image of all of that is just too disturbing.
