Read Wash Me Away for Free Online Page B

dress in a pair of fresh pajamas on my still slightly damp body. Aunt Jane had gone shopping for me before I arrived, and, not knowing my size, decided large was a safe bet. When my petite frame arrived on her doorstep, she offered to rush out and purchase me an entire new wardrobe, but I assured her I liked things baggy, which is the truth.
    I retrieve a sweater from the back of my desk chair, slip it on over my pajamas, press my feet into slippers, and exit out the old wooden door, down the narrow corridor, to the rear steps that lead straight into the kitchen.
    “Alert the media, she lives,” Uncle Gil announces as I enter the room. There are sizzling pans and the bustle of cooking for a full house all around me.
    “Very funny,” I grimace. This banter and what I can only assume is healthy interaction is new to me. After Daddy died, and Uncle Gil came to Mississippi to retrieve me from social services, it was obvious the new relationship was just as foreign and uncomfortable to him as it was for me. Somehow, over the summer, it started to become natural. I actually had a family. In my previous life I would hide granola bars in my room so that waking up and eating breakfast wouldn’t require crossing paths with Daddy.
    I stretch my neck from side to side, cracking it. Don’t think about him. I’d become a master at avoiding thinking about my past. A master at pretending the life I’d once lived belonged to someone else and I’d only witnessed it on the flickering movie screen. A patron who would remark, how tragic for her.
    “Leave her alone, Gil.” Aunt Jane swatted a towel in his direction. When I look at Aunt Jane, I often wonder if she’s what my mother would look like, if she were still alive today. The ski slope slender nose, the high cheekbones, her curly hair that often would frizz over the hot stove of the inn. Her hips were wide, her middle slender.
    A song comes on the radio, and I don’t recognize it. Gil approaches Jane from behind, and wraps his arms around her. She presses her head back, smiling. “Remember this song?” he asks.
    “How could I forget? You ask me if I remember it every time it comes on.” Their bodies sway together to the rhythm. Jane is careful to watch the cooking food in the pans. Did Daddy love my mother like that? Somehow I think he never loved anything or anyone. Don’t think about him.
    Aunt Jane glances over at me. I grab a bowl and pull down a box of cereal.
    “Come on, we’re making her uncomfortable.” Jane nudges Uncle Gil.
    He looks at me, rushes over, and snatches the box of Chex from my hands. “Hey!” I protest.
    “Jane has a surprise for you,” he announces proudly. I look up at her, and she’s smiling, a plate full of muffins extended in my direction.
    “Blueberry!” she exclaims, unable to contain her excitement. One of the other things I wasn’t used to when I came to Churchill Inn was the fact that people actually cooked food. That’s right, they would mix ingredients together into a splendid batter, pour them into containers, and then a marvelous contraption called an oven would, like magic, turn them into delicious treats.
    I knew all of these things existed, but I never realized people actually still took the time. If it came in a box or shrink-wrapped package, or even better, a frozen container, it made it into the Buckley dining plan. The microwave was what we relied on 100% for sustenance. After I first arrived, I’d once moaned after biting into a blueberry muffin. I suppose Jane had found that as a way to bring her newly homeless niece a small piece of comfort.
    “Aunt Jane, you didn’t have to do that.” I grin. I don’t mean it. I’m thrilled she has. Snatching one of the muffins and sinking my teeth into it, with a full mouth, I mumble, “They’re still warm.” I close my eyes and allow the blueberries to explode in my mouth, popping with flavor, one after the next. I know my teeth are likely stained and my cheeks are dotted