LITMIR.BIZ

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in one of the flower arrangements filling the room, Brooke tried to think of something that her aunt would like to hear. “—I wish I’d interacted more with Humphrey during my other visits, so I wouldn’t feel like such a stranger to him, and an incompetent one at that.”

      “Silly, you could never be that, and it’s not your fault that you have your own interests that don’t include pets.” Marsha glanced out the window, her expression slightly pensive. “It’s just as well—your father would never have allowed you to have a dog or kitten in the house, and I wouldn’t have been able to bear it if you’d ached for one.” Forcing a bright smile, she changed the subject. “Listen to this. Today I managed to sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed without help from the nurse. I wasn’t sure I would make it—it hurt like blazes—and I was utterly exhausted afterward, but proud of myself.”

      “That’s terrific!” However, Brooke couldn’t help but worry, too. She thought her aunt looked quite drained—dear as ever, even with her short, permed, silver hair a bit mussed, and wearing her old-fashioned bed jacket over her hospital gown—but if trying too much too soon was the reason, how could that be a good idea? Grateful that they had the room to themselves, she spoke frankly. “Is that what your therapist wanted, Aunt Marsha?”

      The older woman patted the bed opposite from the table that bore her food tray. “You spoke with the surgeon. This was an extremely invasive procedure, and my muscles and tendons are as sore as everything else. Stop fretting and come sit down. You’re making me dizzy with all of your puttering and fussing. Have a bit to eat. I noticed that you didn’t bring anything tonight, and there’s way too much here for one person.”

      Although she had little appetite herself, Brooke did sit down. All that was on the dinner plate was a broiled chicken leg and thigh, a dab of sautéed spinach, a scoop of wild rice and a green salad. Even the bran muffin on the side was small, and the bowl of strawberry Jell-O wouldn’t keep a toddler happy for more than a minute or two. Hardly the excess Marsha suggested.

      Her aunt was still a pretty woman, despite the dark shadows that remained under her eyes. Her slender face showed few wrinkles for a woman who loved spending her free time away working in her yard. They shared the same large, doe-shaped brown eyes and petite build—as had Brooke’s mother. Brooke often wondered if this was what her mother would be starting to look like if she’d lived. Unfortunately, Marsha had long been taking her health for granted, and her doctor had cited concern over her low blood pressure and anemia, as much as the osteoporosis.

      “Don’t worry about me. You’re supposed to build up your blood as well as your strength,” Brooke said, and set to work opening the silverware packet, then pulled off the foil lid on the juice cup. “Take a sip of this apple juice. I’ll bet you haven’t taken enough liquids today to help dissolve all of those vitamins and medications they’re giving you.”

      “Please. The other half of my exercise is reaching for the call button to get a nurse in to empty my bag,” her aunt muttered. “At any rate, I don’t like juice, you know that. Too icky sweet. If I promise to drink some water, will you pour this down the sink?”

      “Fair enough.” Once Brooke returned, she said, “I was so eager to tell you about how good business was at the shop today that I forgot to tell you that I met the older gentlemen who spend the day at Gage’s clinic. They all asked about you and sent their best.”

      “How sweet. They can be such a bunch of characters.” Marsha halfheartedly broke off a bit of muffin and nibbled on it. “Isn’t it kind of Gage to let them roost there? That’s how I think of them—a motley group of roosters trying to still strut their stuff.”

      “Having come from a rather large family, I guess Gage misses having more people around,” Brooke replied without thinking. Belatedly intercepting her aunt’s look of amusement and unabashed satisfaction, she quickly regretted the comment.

      “You two have been visiting more,” Marsha said with a satisfied nod.

      “Not really. There’s been no time.”

      Looking unconvinced, her aunt pointed out, “You’ve been sharing details about family.”

      Brooke took great pains in cutting chicken off the bone. “I felt I had to make polite conversation while walking through the neighborhood with him to find Humphrey. It would have been rude not to, what with him donating his time and showing so much interest in how we’re doing.”

      “Yes, it would, and I’m proud of you,” Marsha replied. “Because, although I adore you, you can be a bit—”

      Brooke’s breath all but locked in her throat. “A bit what?” Her aunt was never anything but complimentary and supportive. Was she about to get criticized?

      “Insular.”

      “That’s an awful thing to say.”

      “I’m not being judgmental. It’s the place you’ve found yourself at this point in time. The sad thing will be if you stay like that.”

      Her aunt’s opinion stung because Brooke wasn’t stuck in any mode of behavior; she was unemployed, and that had happened because of decisions out of her control. She hated feeling like just another piece of flotsam as a result of “government regulation”—and her helplessness and the injustice of it made her all the less eager to talk about it. How did she explain this to her aunt when Marsha could barely balance a checkbook, let alone do quarterly reports for Newman’s Florist and Gifts? She was that clueless about how the financial world operated; never mind what it meant to be a young, single woman holding her own in such a male-dominated cutthroat world. Why, if Brooke wasn’t handling the accounting side of her aunt’s business, Marsha wouldn’t still be open today! What seemed “insular” to her was savvy and self-protective to Brooke.

      “Anyway,” Brooke said, forcing herself to put her aunt’s need for calm first, “Gage told me that he left Montana because he didn’t like freezing for that much of the year.”

      Marsha looked a bit dazed for a moment and then caught up with their conversation. “That’s what I remember, too. Having emergency calls in blizzards can’t be any fun.”

      As her aunt reached for the muffin again, Brooke sighed, scooped a bit of rice and chicken up with the fork, and held it up to Marsha’s mouth. “Try this.”

      “Oh, Brooke, I’m not totally incapacitated. You don’t need to feed me.”

      “Well, you don’t seem to want to do more than pluck at crumbs like a finch. Cooperate—and then I’ll let you hold the fork.” After her aunt obliged, Brooke set the fork on her side of the plate. “Now that I have your attention, there’s something else we really should discuss.”

      “That doesn’t sound fun at all.”

      Able to smile at her aunt’s childlike tone, Brooke launched into news she was sure her relative would like. “It’s about the store’s windows. Kiki offered to spruce them up and put in some Fourth of July decorations.” What Kiki had actually said was that it was embarrassing to still have the spring/Easter decorations up, and that even customers were asking when they were going to catch up with the calendar—and the rest of the shops on Main Street.

      “It’s still spring,” Marsha protested. She suddenly looked smaller and weaker as she sank deeper into the pile of pillows behind her. “This whole acceleration of holidays is getting out of hand. You watch, in August, they’ll have Halloween decorations on the same aisle as school supplies. Tell her to wait until after the fifteenth. By then I should be able to help her.”

      Incredulous, Brooke said gently, “Aunt Marsha...dear...you’ll be lucky if you’re moved to the rehab facility by then. Now, Kiki is more than capable of doing this. You taught her well, and she’s had good schooling in marketing and design. At least let her draft an idea for you about what she’d like to do.”

      “That sounds expensive. For once I’m taking your advice, Ms. Financial Expert. There shouldn’t be any spending on new things. There are

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