Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [105]
“How are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine—now that I’m … home. Aunt Sarah, thank you for allowing me to come. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this—ever since I left at Christmas, actually.”
“Let’s gather up your bags and get outta here.”
Waiting for luggage to be unloaded, Sarah and Michal stood side by side, obviously kin. They were the same height, holding themselves and moving in similar ways, and though Sarah’s hair was tucked beneath her straw hat, the escaping wispy curls were identical in color to Michal’s—only specked with white. They watched the proceedings intently with matching light grey eyes. Smiling and laughing easily. The only minor difference was the evidence that Sarah lived and gardened in Florida: Her freckles had blossomed in the bright sun and nearly covered her face. But anyone observing the two would’ve assumed they were mother and daughter.
Unbeknownst to Michal, her similarity to Sarah disappointed her parents. They disapproved of Sarah for numerous reasons, so Michal’s resemblance to her aunt—in physical appearance and personality—was a constant reminder of the family’s “black sheep.” The two shared easy laughter, outspokenness, and stubbornness in holding on to bad habits. Like chewing nails. (A closer look at the two women would show both had short, uneven nails and a raw cuticle here and there.)
So it wasn’t willingly that Michal’s parents sent her to Sarah’s over Christmas and spring break. Rather, it was a fait accompli … a consequence of their being far away in Africa, while Michal was in the States. The Reverend and Mrs. Michael McHenry would be spending the week fervently praying any influence Sarah had on their daughter would be minimal and short-lived.
Suitcase finally in hand, Michal was delighted to see the convertible’s top down. Sarah tossed her hat and Michal’s suitcase into the trunk and asked, “Did I guess correctly you wouldn’t mind your hair getting blown?”
Michal grinned back. “What do you think?”
They laughed together, ripples sounding like echoes of each other as Sarah gunned the powerful car and steered into the line of heavy traffic. If Dad and Mom could see us now, Michal thought as they passed others like they were mere ants, attracting attention from the males they left in their dust.
After dinner, Sarah and Michal sat contentedly in the Florida room, sipping iced tea.
Sarah reached over to put her hand on Michal’s. Uncharacteristically, she had tears in her eyes. “Thank you for humoring a dried-up old woman, Michal. For keeping me company this week.”
Michal put her other hand on top of her aunt’s, squeezing it. “Oh, Aunt Sarah. I love being with you. And you are not an old woman.”
“Ha! You’re only saying that because I have a hot car. Makes you and me ‘eye candy’ for men.”
“There is that.” Michal giggled but then grew serious. “But you also teach me so much, Aunt Sarah.” She felt her aunt’s calico cat, Mr. Grits—who’d been named after one of Sarah’s favorite dishes—rub against her ankle. She reached down to pet him, but he ran off, meowing indignantly.
“So … you said earlier you were fine. But how are you really doin’, Michal?” Sarah peered into her niece’s eyes, head cocked at an angle.
“How do you do that?”
Sarah took a sip of her tea. “Do what?”
“Take one look at me. And know stuff.”
Sarah watched Michal smile warily—and yawn widely.
“Oh, now there’s my keen ability to know stuff, eh? Keepin’ you up when you’re dog tired.” The thought suddenly dawned on her, “What time did you get up this morning anyway?”
Michal stretched. “Wasn’t too bad. Three.”
“Oh, gracious.” Sarah was immediately on her feet, gathering up dishes. “Leave ’em now, just leave ’em be,” to Michal’s attempts to help. “We need to get you to bed.”
Michal nodded, sleepily.