Page 269 of Summer Heat
Chapter Nineteen
Present
“Aunt Shelley,” I call out. “There’s a man here to see you.”
“Be right there,” she shouts back.
She’s been in the kitchen all morning, baking bread and cookies for tonight’s bingo guests. I can tell she’s exhausted today. The chemo has been dragging her down more than usual lately. Other than bingo, she hasn’t had the energy for many things. She hardly has the neighbor, Phoebe, over anymore. I think she’s embarrassed by her hair loss. If I was Aunt Shelley’s age and looked the way she did, not much would embarrass me. She’s never told me her age, but I know Phoebe and most of the bingo players are in their sixties, so I’m guessing she’s around that age. I’ve also come to that conclusion based on the music she listens to, which isn’t saying much because I listen to the same music—and I’m thirteen.
She doesn’t seem to know many people outside of the bingo realm, and those people are mostly Phoebe’s friends. The man that’s here to visit is younger than the others. I can’t tell how old, b
ut he doesn’t have wrinkles. He’s looking at me really funny, and it’s making me feel a little uncomfortable. I ask him to come in, but he says it’s best if he waits on the porch. I tell him I’m going to get Aunt Shelley for him since she still hasn’t come out. He takes a seat on the rocking chair out on the porch.
“Aunt Shelley, the man is still out there waiting,” I say when I walk into the kitchen.
“Oh, honey, I forgot all about that. Who is it? Is it Bob?” she asks.
Bob is one of the Bingonians—as I call them.
“Nope, this is a young guy,” I reply.
She furrows her eyebrows and looks a little panicked. “I’ll be right back,” she says throwing down her apron in a rush. “Watch the oven.”
I’m curious to know who the guy is, so I wait until I hear the screen door shut and tiptoe to the living room, hoping to hear something.
“Oh, baby,” I hear her cry.
“I know I shouldn’t be here, but I needed to see you,” he says, his voice choked up.
“I’m glad you came,” she replies quietly.
“She’s gotten so big. She looks just like her,” he says hoarsely.
“I know,” Aunt Shelley whispers. “It’s so hard sometimes,” she sobs.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” he says. “I know it is.”
I run back to the kitchen when I hear the sound of the timer go off. I put on a mitten and take the bread out to cool. I really want to hear more, but I don’t want to go back. I know Aunt Shelley heard the timer; it was really loud. I wonder why he called her “Ma.” I wonder how he knows me. He said I’ve gotten big, so he must have seen me small. I don’t remember seeing him though. And who do I look like?
The worst part is that anytime I ask Aunt Shelley anything, she gives me the run around. I wonder if she’ll invite him to stay for dinner. Maybe if he stays, I’ll find out who he is. I doubt he will though. He sounds like he isn’t supposed to be here. I sit down on one of the stools and prop my elbows on the wooden table and watch the bread cool. Aunt Shelley makes the best bread. She taught me how, but I don’t have the patience for it. She tells me that I need to learn to have patience. She also keeps preparing me for the day that she’s no longer here.
I hate to hear her say those words. I don’t want her to leave me. She’s the only person that I really have. I have my friends from school and dance, but I only see them in those two places. Our neighbors are all old and we live miles apart from most of them, except for Phoebe. She lives down the street and is only thirty-three steps away from us. I know because I count the steps whenever I go over to her house. It’s always the longest and shortest walk that I take around here. I used to go over to Thelma’s house, two miles down, when her grandkids used to visit. They stopped coming last year though. Now that they’re teenagers they’re too cool to hang out with their grandma. Either way, Aunt Shelley is the only family I have. This is the only home I have.
“Is the bread done?” Aunt Shelley asks when she steps back in to the kitchen.
When I look at her, I can tell she’s been crying. Her blue eyes are glossy, and her face is puffy.
“Are you okay?” I ask concerned.
She gives me a sad smile. “I am. I just haven’t seen my friend in a long time. He’s very dear to me.”
I frown. “Why hasn’t he come before?”
“He has, but work keeps him away sometimes.”
I nod even though I don’t understand.
The rest of the night is spent with the Bingonians cackling away at memories they have together. Aunt Shelley laughs along, and it makes me smile. She doesn’t smile too often. Well, she does, but it’s usually a sad smile as if she’s missing something-or someone. None of her friends bring up any family Aunt Shelley may have had. She doesn’t have any photos around her house—other than the ones of me and some of her when she was younger.
