Page 103 of Stay Buried

FORTY-TWOASHLEY

October 18, 2016

It was nearly two o’clock when Ashley got to 84 Main Street.

“Ashley,” Josephine said with a wide smile. “I’m so happy to see you. Come in, come in. You arejustin time for lunch! Hope you’re hungry!”

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk,” Ashley said, looking behind her before slipping inside the house.

“Of course, dear. We can talk while we eat.” Before Ashley could argue, the old woman was leading her back to the cozy kitchen, where there was an old white farmhouse table and chairs. It reminded her of Gram’s kitchen: the ancient fridge and stove, white-painted cabinets, canisters of flour, sugar, and coffee on the counter. Malcolm was sitting at the table sipping iced tea.

“Hey, Ash,” he said.

At the center of the table was a basket of biscuits, a bowl of coleslaw, and a pitcher of iced tea, along with some pickles in quart-sized canning jars. A platter piled high with fried chicken sat next to a deep cast-iron frying pan on the stove, still making sizzling sounds. The kitchen smelled incredible, and Ashley realized shewashungry—famished, in fact.

“Ashley, why don’t you sit down at the table and help yourself to some iced tea,” Josephine said. “Be a dear, Malcolm, and get us some plates, will you? They’re in the cupboard to the left of the sink.”

Mal jumped up and did as he was told.

Josephine brought the platter of fried chicken over, taking the seat at the head of the table.

“Let’s dig in,” she said, and Malcolm didn’t need to be asked twice. He heaped his plate with food and started eating. They were all quiet a minute, serving themselves and taking their first bites.

“Oh my God, this is amazing!” Mal said around a mouthful of food. “Ash, you’ve gotta try these pickles,” he added.

Ashley looked at the jars of pickles on the table, saw a familiar red condiment. She picked up the jar, read the neat writing on the label:Maple-Spiced Pickled Crabapples. She showed them to Malcolm, giving him a significant look that he completely missed.

“Wow! That’s wild,” he said, taking the jar from her, turning to Josephine. “Our gram used to make this exact same thing.”

“Did she now?” Josephine asked, looking down at her plate.

“She always said it was an old family recipe,” Ashley added. She looked at Josephine. “But of course you’d know it, wouldn’t you?”

Malcolm looked from Ash to Josephine, then back to Ash, confused.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ashley said. “Why keep it a secret?”

“Um, what are you talking about, Ash?” Malcolm said.

There it was. Thatare you going crazy againlook. Slightly embarrassed. Slightly worried.

“Josephine and Gram are first cousins,” Ashley explained. “They grew up together, here in this house.”

“What?” Malcolm said, setting down his fork.

“That picture you pointed out at the pub yesterday? The girl that you said looked like me? It’s Gram. It’s a photo of her and Josephine.”

Josephine sighed deeply, pushed her plate away, looked at Ashley. “I hear you’ve been talking to my daughter.”

Ash nodded at the old woman, held her gaze.

“Poor Cheryl has her troubles,” Josephine went on. “I’ve done all Ican for her—even paid to have her sent off to a fancy rehab down in Brattleboro. But you can’t help a person unless they want to help themselves.”

“So wait,” Malcolm said, frowning as he tried to take it all in. “You’re Gram’s cousin? For real?”

Josephine looked from Ashley to Malcolm. “While my daughter isn’t always the most reliable source of information, in this case, she was telling the truth.”

“No way,” Malcolm said.