Escape Claws. Linda Reilly
a voice that came out shakier than she intended, Lara said, “I came because I want to help you. Because I care about you.”
“You care about me,” Aunt Fran said flatly. “Isn’t it strange, then, that I haven’t seen or heard from you in sixteen years.”
Her aunt’s sudden vitriol surprised Lara. Feeling tears push at her eyelids, Lara snatched up her crumpled napkin and blotted her eyes. “I don’t know what else I can say, Aunt Fran. I care and I want to help. Can we talk about this back at the house?”
Aunt Fran looked suddenly flustered. “Of course we can. I shouldn’t have brought it up here.” She reached into her purse for her wallet, but Lara quickly covered her hand.
“No, Aunt Fran. It’s my treat, remember?”
“Actually, it’s our treat,” Sherry said, coming up to the counter. “When you walked in together, I was just…so glad to see you both.”
“Thank you, Sherry,” Lara said.
Since Aunt Fran hadn’t eaten her mummy cookie, Sherry slipped it into a paper bag and handed it to her. “You’ll both come back tomorrow, right?”
“You bet,” Lara said.
Aunt Fran only smiled. “I’ll try.”
Lara helped her aunt off the stool. Just then, Brooke, the teenager, excused herself from the book club and dashed over to them.
“Hey, are you Lara?” she asked, beaming as if she’d spotted a rock star.
“I am, and I understand you’re Brooke.”
“Yup. Guilty as charged. Your hair is like, so gorgeous. Is that the natural color?”
Lara laughed and fingered a coppery strand. “It is,” she said, charmed by the girl’s bluntness. “I’m glad you like it, but I wouldn’t mind doing with fewer curls. By the way, I have something for you.” Lara handed her the napkin sketch.
Brooke pushed a strand of aqua hair behind one ear. “You drew this?” she asked, gawking at the napkin. “It looks just like me!”
“Lara is an artist,” Aunt Fran put in. Lara detected a hint of pride in her aunt’s voice.
“Can…I mean, may I keep it?”
“You sure can.” Lara smiled at her. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Brooke.”
“This is so cool!” She gave it back to Lara. “Would you bring it back to the house for me? If I put it in my backpack it’ll get wrinkled.”
“Um, yeah, sure,” Lara said, perplexed.
“Thanks!” And then to Aunt Fran, “See you in a few, Ms. C.”
Chapter 2
Back at the house, her aunt had insisted on tidying up the kitchen counter, and Lara didn’t argue. She knew Aunt Fran needed something to make herself feel useful, in spite of the strain it put on her knees. Lara took that opportunity to explore her favorite room—the room where she’d spent so many hours as a kid.
The smaller of the two parlors resembled a playroom more than a parlor. Thick brocade curtains, somewhat faded now, hung from black, wrought iron rods. The room’s papered walls were lined with shelves crammed with children’s books. One entire corner, Lara remembered, had once been devoted to books that taught children how to draw. Curious, she went over to that spot, the special place where those treasured how-to books once sat. But they weren’t there. They’d all been removed. She knew it was silly, but a tiny bit of her heart felt empty.
Through one of the windows, Lara spied a short, yellow school bus rumbling up High Cliff Road. It chugged along slowly, its engine idling for a minute or so before turning around at the end of the road and motoring back down the hill.
In front of one of the windows, a low table painted cherry red was strewn with books. Lara smiled when she saw The Jungle Book, a childhood favorite of hers. She started to pick it up when she heard the kitchen door open and then close again. The low murmur of a child’s—no, two children’s voices—drifted into earshot. She returned to the kitchen, and was surprised to see Brooke Weston and a little boy of about eight or nine. Ah, so that was why Brooke asked her to hold on to the napkin sketch. She’d planned to pay a visit later.
“Hey, Brooke.” Lara retrieved the napkin from atop the fridge and gave it to her. “Here it is, safe and sound. I put it in a clear plastic bag for you.”
Brooke lowered her turquoise backpack to the floor. “Hi, Lara. Thanks for this. It really does look like me!”
Aunt Fran slid an arm around the boy’s shoulder. His chocolate-brown eyes were only a shade lighter than his straight, dark hair. “Lara, this is Darryl Weston, Brooke’s younger brother. He and I practice reading aloud every day. Darryl, this is my niece, Lara. Lara is an artist from Boston.”
Lara grinned at the boy and stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Darryl.”
Darryl took her hand shyly, then quickly withdrew it. His face lit up. “You’re a real artist?”
Brooke waved her sketch in his face. Her brother slapped it away.
“As real as it gets,” Lara said with a laugh.
“Lara, if you don’t mind,” her aunt interrupted, “Darryl is going to spend some quiet time reading in the small parlor while Brooke does her homework. He’s asked if he can practice without me today, so I won’t be joining him.”
“But I will,” Brooke sniped, “so you’d better not try to slack off, dork face.”
Darryl stuck out his tongue at his sister. “You’re not the boss of me. I’m—”
“Brooke. Darryl.” Aunt Fran spoke with a sternness Lara suspected was only half-serious. “Please go into the parlor and do your schoolwork. I’ll bring you both a snack in a few minutes.”
The siblings argued and picked at each other as they made their way into the parlor. Lara followed them to be sure they got settled without killing each other. She watched as Brooke dumped the contents of her voluminous backpack onto the floor. The girl then dropped down next to it all and plucked an algebra textbook from the jumble in the pile.
Lara noticed that the edges of the books were damp, and stained with something purple. “Oh wow, what happened to your books?” she asked Brooke.
“After you left the coffee shop I spilled my grape soda. The whole bottle went, like, right into my backpack. What a mess it made. I had to dump out all my books on the table so Dora and Mary could help me wipe them up. I’m such a klutzo sometimes.”
“Nah. Everybody spills things.”
Brooke dug a pair of earbuds from her pocket, stuck them into her ears, and started fiddling with her smartphone. She threw a dark look at her brother. “Do not bother me while I’m studying, Darryl, or you’ll be sorry.”
The boy stuck out his tongue behind his sister’s back and then snatched up The Jungle Book. Chuckling softly at their antics, Lara closed the door nearly all the way and went back into the kitchen.
“I’ll make the kids a snack, if you’d like,” she told her aunt.
Aunt Fran looked pale. Lara knew she needed to sit for a while. “Thank you. I would appreciate that. That way I can take a few minutes and skim through the paper.”
Her aunt sat at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out before her. Lara took a box of salty crackers from the cupboard and hunted around for the peanut butter.
“In case you’re wondering,” Aunt Fran explained, “Darryl struggles with reading. I’ve been helping him after school. It also helps his mom, who has a day job. I guess I’m sort of a tutor-slash-babysitter. As for Brooke, for some reason she likes doing her homework here. On Wednesdays, when she has