Page 32 of Persephone's Curse
“Thanks. Although I didn’t really do anything besides being descended from Persephone and her weird, weird daughter.”
She got quiet then, and I looked at her face, remembering the black eye, how it had swollen and blossomed over a few days, then slowly faded again. There was no trace of it now, not even the faintest shadow or smudge. Bernadette’s skin was porcelain, unblemished, framed by her very excellent pixie cut. I would have loved to say I couldn’t imagine Bernadette in a fistfight but… I could.
“Good morning, girls,” Mom said from the doorway. We hadn’t realized she’d been there. “Bernadette, it’s nice to see you.”
“It’s nice to see you, too,” Bernadette said. “But are you here to take me even farther north? To, like, Canada or something?”
“I don’t have any relatives in Canada, honey,” Mom said. “You’re safe.”
I thought I should give them a few minutes alone, so I snuck out of the bed and went to the bathroom. The house smelled like coffee and warm bread. After I peed I went downstairs to the kitchen, where Aunt Bea was taking a baking sheet full of croissants out of the oven.
“Morning,” she called over her shoulder, though she hadn’t seen me and I didn’t think I’d made any noise.
“Morning,” I said. “Did you make those?”
“Oh, hell no. Just warming them up. Wait until you taste this, honey, you’re gonna cry true tears of joy.”
“Looking forward to it,” I said. I poured myself a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker Aunt Bea had probably had for thirty years, then sat at the kitchen table as she transferred the croissants to a plate. She brought them over still steaming and set them in front of me, then got a jar of some locally made jam and stuck a spoon in it.
“You don’t need anything on them, I’m telling you, they’re phenomenal on their own,” she said. “But I also love this jam. Blackberry. Who doesn’t love blackberries? Show me a person who doesn’t love blackberries.”
“I can’t think of anyone,” I said.
“Exactly.”
She grabbed her coffee and took a seat, putting her elbows on the table and staring me full in the face until I took one of the croissants, so warm it was almost too hot to hold, and had a bite.
“Howy thit,” I said, my mouth full of flaky, buttery goodness.
“I know,” she said. “I told you. Now try the jam.”
The croissant was maybe the best thing I had ever tasted in myentire sixteen years on the planet. The jam was a close second. I was on my second one by the time Bernie and Mom came downstairs; Bernie’s eyes lit up when she saw the croissants and she fell into the seat next to me, sighing dramatically.
“These croissants are why I forgive you for dropping me off in the middle of nowhere,” Bernadette told Mom.
“This is hardly the middle of nowhere,” Aunt Bea said.
“Yesterday I went for a run and I didn’t see another person for three miles,” Bernie said. She was slicing open her croissant for better jam application.
“You are absolutely full of it,” Aunt Bea said.
“You run?” I asked.
“I run,” Bernadette confirmed. “My captor said I must do one physical activity per day. So I run three miles, then collapse and cry on the front lawn until she comes and drags me into the shower.”
“That’s more or less accurate,” Aunt Bea said. “Except, sometimes we go hiking.”
“Wow, two weeks in Vermont and you’re a regular athlete,” I said.
“Has it been two weeks?” Bernie said with some surprise. “My captor also doesn’t let me use my phone or watch the news, and she blacks out the date on the newspapers with Sharpie.”
“None of that is true,” Aunt Bea said, ripping a small piece off her croissant and throwing it at Bernadette’s face. “Tell them about all the nice things we’ve done, you monster.”
“Oh, there’s a great vintage store,” Bernadette said, perking up. “My captor has given me a small allowance, with which I’ve bought some seriously cool new swag.”
“We’ll pay you back,” Mom said to Aunt Bea.
Aunt Bea waved her hand, like she was swatting a bug away. “Tish, tosh,” she said. “Best two weeks of my life. You should send all the girls here, one by one. But send them on the bus next time. Less driving for you.” She winked at Mom. Then, to me, she said, “Would you like to stay here? During the summer maybe?”
