Breathless

Chapters 2 and 3

2

Leesa had met her aunt only once, when Aunt Janet and Uncle Roger spent a week in San Diego almost five years before. Not much time, especially in the life of a thirteen-year-old girl who’d been a bit too busy—and a bit too frightened of forming any real attachments—to allow herself to bond with two virtual strangers.

Aunt Janet was the woman her mother could have been, Leesa thought as she studied her aunt out of the corner of her eye while a skycap piled her four worn black suitcases onto his cart. The woman her mother could have been and should have been, if not for that crazy day in the woods so very long ago. Aunt Janet looked like her mom should have looked, sounded like her mom should have sounded, and felt like her mom should have felt.

Aunt Janet was forty-eight, pretty in a plain kind of way, and slightly plump and lumpy like an aunt ought to be. She had sparkling blue eyes and a warm smile. Her dark blond hair was cut medium short, styled casually with loose curls framing a round, still pretty face.

It was not Aunt Janet’s inviting appearance that drew Leesa so strongly, however. What pulled her in was her aunt’s obvious care and concern, her thoughtful consideration, so different from what Leesa was used to from her mom. “How was your flight?” “You must be tired.” “Are you hungry? We can stop somewhere for a quick bite if you want.” Leesa could tell Aunt Janet was not just making small talk, but that she genuinely cared. And better yet, she actually listened to Leesa’s replies.

In truth, the flight had been wonderful. Her first time in a plane—what was not to like? She told Aunt Janet it was a trip, no pun intended. From watching the beaches of San Diego shrink away as the plane rose into the sky—“scary at first”—to skirting the totally amazing Grand Canyon—“wow, that thing is sooo big!”—to crossing the famous Mississippi—“very cool, but I didn’t expect it to be so brown.” She loved it all and joked that there was probably an imprint of her nose indented in the plane’s window. And yes, now that Aunt Janet mentioned it, she was a bit hungry—a couple of tiny bags of peanuts and three Diet Pepsis went only so far—but she could wait until they got to Aunt Janet’s to eat. How far was it to Meriden, anyway? Forty-five minutes? Not a problem.

*          *          *

 “We’re almost there,” Aunt Janet said as she guided the Ford off the interstate onto a long exit ramp. She turned left at the top of the ramp, crossing back over the freeway. “Most of Meriden is back behind us, but our house is this way, just up the road a bit.”

“The road” turned out to be a rolling two-lane highway flanked by tall oak and ash trees with an occasional house or store tucked among them. Aunt Janet followed it for about a mile before turning onto a narrow side street.

“If you keep going straight, it’s less than ten miles to Weston,” Aunt Janet explained. “We’ll never be far away when you want to come by for a home-cooked meal.”

The mention of food made Leesa’s stomach rumble. She was pretty sure the phrase “home-cooked meal” meant something very different from what she was used to, on those rare occasions when her mother prepared a meal at all, usually with help from the microwave. “I’ll be taking you up on that, Aunt Janet, for sure.”

They turned into a long driveway in front of a pale yellow Colonial house set way back from the street. Four broad maples shaded the front lawn, and a row of pointy spruce trees lined the side of the house, looking almost like a row of giant dark green candles. Small gardens filled with bright red and white impatiens and pansies circled each of the maples, and an even more colorful garden fronted the house.