Page 18 of Our Crooked Hearts
Aunt Fee, then. At least her phone rang. When that call, too, went to voicemail I cursed so loud and long the ponytailed fudge shop employee sucking on a vape a few sidewalk squares down said, “Whoa.”
I flipped her off and got back on my bike. I could hear her laughing as I rode away.
Aunt Fee lived in a two-story cottage at the end of a street lined with them, suburban starter homes for one-kid families. Her driveway was empty. When I peeked in the windows of her garage, that was empty, too. I tried the bell, but no one answered.
I was standing on the step, considering whether to check for unlocked windows, when my phone chimed.
Sorry I missed your call. Talk soon okay?
Aunt Fee. The fist around my heart loosened as I dropped onto the steps.
I went to the shop,I replied.What’s happening? Where are you?
The house was at my back. Empty, but as I waited for her reply my neck started to itch. The feeling pushed me off thestoop and onto the grass, turning to keep the house’s windows in my sights.
Sorry,she texted.Dealing with something but we’re fine. I’ll call you soon, Ivy-girl.
I read and reread her words, trying to source my unease. I breathed out slow. Rubbed a hand over my prickling neck.
Does this something have to do with the rabbits?
This time she didn’t reply. I stood another minute on the grass, waiting for her to get back to me, but she never did.
