“It was a bit of both.”
“Maggie, stay out of this. I’m warning you.” Her normally bubbly tone was sharp. Harsh, even.
“We’ll discuss this later.” My annoyance was back. What was Vera hiding, and why?
Jack clapped his hands together. “Why don’t we eat?”
# # #
We didn’t discuss Gene for the next two hours. Instead, Jack talked about his book, and Vera and I filled him in on the town, the nearby blue spring, and all things alligator. My sister and I laughed and joked over dessert as we swapped stories and entertained Jack with Wahoo lore and tales of our wacky family.
“So Uncle Bert and Aunt Lolo, they’re the ones who live nearby?” Jack asked. It seemed like he was trying to get a handle on the local eccentrics.
I nodded. “Uncle Bert looks like an aging member of an eighties band, with long hair and a gray beard. And Lolo...”
Vera chimed in. “You’ll see Aunt Lolo on her hot-pink adult tricycle. She has a portable radio on the handlebars and blasts classic rock. There’s a basket in front. She takes her chihuahua in the basket and rides around town. Oh, and she wears a neck fan, because of menopause.”
We fell silent for a second, absorbing that image.
It was almost like old times with us, and I was beginning to think I’d read too much into Vera’s strange behavior. Maybe it was me who had changed. After all, I was the one who’d been gone for seven years, if you counted my time at college.
Jack reached for his second cupcake. “Mind if I have another?”
“Not at all,” Vera said. “I got the cupcakes at this bakery downtown. Big Sugar. You should try it, and yes, have all you want. Take some home.”
I stared at Vera. “Isn’t that where Gene’s wife works? Amos at the country club told me her name is Barbie and that she’s trying to buy that place.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Why does every conversation lead back to Gene?”
“I dunno. Maybe because I found him dead and you’re a prime suspect in his murder?” And I was, too. Possibly.
“Why can’t you just let it go? Everything’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that. We can’t be in denial about this, Vera.”
“You can’t control everything,” she spat.
I reared back, shocked at the harshness in her tone. This was totally unlike my sister.
She stared at her cupcake wrapper. “Listen, I’m going to go upstairs and take a bath and try to relax. It’s been a difficult day. Sorry that I’m not in a better frame of mind, Jack,” she sighed.
“Totally understandable,” he said, seemingly nonplussed by her change of mood. Since his arrival, he sure did roll with the quirky that we’d put on display.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have a skin disease,” she said, pointing to her face, then her forearm. White spots were interspersed with light tan skin and freckles. “I have an autoimmune condition called vitiligo. It’s not contagious and it’s not painful. Well, physically. Emotionally it takes its toll, especially when I’m under stress. I’m getting new patches on my feet.”
We all looked down at her feet, which were in red flip-flops.
“You’re so pale you can’t even notice,” Jack said.
“Exactly. You should be less self-conscious, Vera. You’re gorgeous.” I’d told her this a thousand times over the years, but obviously my words hadn’t gotten through.
She rose from the table. “Inotice,” she said softly.
“Vera, I’m sorry,” I pleaded. “Please stay. I’ll make coffee.”
She squeezed my shoulder. “It’s not you. I can feel a migraine coming on from the chocolate. I’m just under a lot of stress. I’m the one who should be sorry. I love you, Mags.”
Jack and I were silent as she walked out. I reached for another delicious cupcake.