Silence. Our aunt was never what you’d call chatty. But I’d never struck her speechless before.
“Aunt Em?”
“She could have called to let me know.”
I winced. “Yeah. I’m sorry. The thing is...” Another deep breath. “Toni’s going to stay awhile.”
“In Ireland.”
“For now.” Unless/until I could convince her to go back to school.
“And do what?”
“I’m not quite sure. She’s staying with me.”
“You can’t afford that,” Em said in the voice she’d used when I told her I wanted to buy my lunch from the school cafeteria instead of packing a sandwich.
Money was tight on a farm. Even if the weather and the markets cooperated, the cost of planting crops or an unexpected equipment failure could throw everything into the red. But Aunt Em had never touched a penny of our trust, except to pay our college tuition.
“We’ll be fine,” I assured her. “How are you?”
“Well, now, Dorothy, I’ve been out of my mind with worry, I’ve got a pile of your sister’s Christmas presents I don’t know what to do with, and a ham that’s too big for two people sitting in the fridge. Other than that, I’m dandy.” Another silence. “Does the school know Toni’s not coming back?”
“She finished the semester. She doesn’t need to withdraw officially. Not unless she registers for classes in the spring.”
Though if she skipped the whole semester, she would have to apply for readmission. I’d looked up the requirements online.
“What about housing?” Em asked. “Who’s going to pick up her things?”
Our aunt was always practical. Maybe I hadn’t appreciated that enough when I was growing up. Or maybe I was more like her than I realized.
“I don’t know. The residence halls are already closed for Christmas break.” I’d looked that up, too.
“She’s just like your mother. Taking off and leaving someone else to pick up the pieces.”
“Aunt Em...”
“Never mind.” A short, exasperated breath. “Guess I’m driving to Lawrence come January. You tell Toni her stuff will be here waiting for her when she makes up her mind to come home.”
There. Waiting. All those times our mother couldn’t find a friend or a nanny to look after us, and in the days and months after she died, Em was always there, the second choice, the backup plan. I hadn’t appreciated that enough, either. I was suddenly ashamed.
“Thanks, Aunt Em. We’ll call you on Christmas. On the cell phone. We can WhatsApp. Or Skype.” We’d done it with our mother often enough.
“What for?”
“Well. It would be nice to see your face. You and Uncle Henry.”
She made a sound that might have been assent. “Do what you want. Henry and I aren’t going anywhere.”
“I’m sorry about Christmas,” I said. “I didn’t know Toni was coming here.”
“Bound to take off sooner or later. At least she came to you.”
“Thanks, Aunt Em.” A pause. “I love you,” I added as if we were the kind of family that said that sort of thing to one another.
Another grunt, forGet off the phone. Or possibly,I love you, too.
—
