Between Two Mountains

Chapter 2

I walk into the kitchen of our one-story cabin an hour or so later to the sight of my Auntie Clara franticly peeling potatoes and dicing carrots over the sink. I can see the pot of boiling water on the wood burning stove ready to bubble over the edge and rush around the central island to reduce the heat and avoid an accident waiting to happen. A small smile begins to form on my face as I take in the hectic state of the kitchen, slowly pushing back a bowl of diced tomatoes about to fall off the kitchen counter.

"Can I help with anything Auntie?" I ask, as Auntie Clara grabs another carrot and begins rinsing it thoroughly. As if only just now noticing my presence in the kitchen, Auntie Clara gives a little yelp and clutches her chest when she hears my voice coming from the general stove area. Her hair-cut in a chic bob just below her chin-shifts as she turns her head to face the disembodied voice.

"Oh, Adelaide. Where did you come from all of a sudden? You scared me shitless," she states, tucking her hair behind her ear revealing several small studded earrings outlining her earlobe and resuming the carrot washing.

"Sorry Auntie," I laugh, "But I've been standing here for a little bit. The water was about to boil over again."

"Darn. Why do I always do that? You'd think I could handle at least cooking dinner for you kiddos after all these years. I hate being out of my element," she says, shaking her head.

"It's okay," I say as I begin chopping up the chicken breasts for her famous stew. "I don't mind helping at all you know that. Besides, I'm getting pretty good at this cooking thing."

"You take after your mom," she states with a somber smile, "but anyways, how are you feeling. That's more important. Declan came in earlier looking all worried." Her eyes fixate on mine and she gives me one of her more serious looks.

"Better now, but the hot-flash sure put a damper on my peaceful afternoon. And just when I was supposed to find out what happened between Mr.Bingley and Jane in that book you gave me too!" I say frustrated. I nod my head in a gesture of reassurance and she returns to peeling the carrot in her hand.

I can never lie to Auntie Clara, but I do not want my burdens to spill onto her shoulders too. She already gave up her adventurous life to take Declan and me in when our parents died. Before their accident, she had been traveling the world researching anthropology, diplomacy, and humanitarian intervention as part of her doctoral thesis. She was studying the functioning of the Wolf Pack structure and the insurgence of transnational factions advocating for the further purification and cleansing of the Werewolf genus. It only took one phone call on an evening like any other evening for a globetrotter to drastically change the trajectory of her life.

As I watch her dance around the kitchen now, pouring bowl after bowl into the large pot, I can still see the remnants of a nomad badass set on understanding and saving the world. Her short black hair cropped in a modern bob sways softly with her quick movements. The several rings and bright red nail polish on her fingers glisten as she stirs the pot over the burner. Her outfits always emulate elegance, but fierceness and she has her signature combat boots on, which take her from our small backyard vegetable garden to her classroom at the local university with ease. 

She still looks like she's ready to stare injustice right in the face and, with her hands on her hips, will it into submission. However, even after all these years, Auntie Clara is still not in-sync with the domesticated life.

She loves us unconditionally; there is no doubt about that. But, there is a slight sadness in her eyes that has never really gone away since that fateful night. It is the same sadness that I often recognize in myself and in Declan as well.