Page 16 of Tangled Up

“Of course not,” I answer fast. “I’m here to take care of Aunt Viv not see him.”

“Well, technically, you’re here hiding out, but it’s nice that you’re able to take care of your aunt as well.”

“He said he came to check on Mr. C. That wreck in Tampa was worse than we knew. Beck said he coded.”

“Coded… that means his heart stopped?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“No shit.” I rip off my shirt and cutoffs and take a thin tank-dress from my closet.

It’s light, flower-print cotton, and it’ll let the air flow around my body. Dropping into the small chair in front of my mirrored vanity, I tap a powder puff over my nose.

When I was a teen, I’d rest my cheek on my hand and gaze dreamily into the mirror imagining myself asMrs. Beck Munroe. “God, I was so dumb,” I grumble.

“I wouldn’t go that far. We all believed whatever Mr. C told us. How could you know?”

“Oh.” Shaking my head, I stand and walk away from my childhood ignorance. “I was just… remembering something.”

“Tell you what, I get off at five. Why don’t you head over here, and we can walk over to the Salty Brewnette and grab a Hammie Sammie or something.”

Chewing my lip, I nod. “That’s a good plan. I’ll see you in a bit.”

We disconnect, and I open my text app to check in with Ronnie.Any word on the suspect?

I want to add,Can I come home now?But I don’t.

While I wait for him to respond, I walk into the living room where Aunt Viv is in her power chair watchingThe Andy Griffith Show.

“You feeling okay?” I kiss the top of her head before dropping onto the couch.

“As good as can be expected. It’s all downhill once you hit seventy.” Her voice has a little tremolo in it, and I squint an eye at her.

“You know, Aunt Viv, I remember when you used to be pretty fierce at knitting. I bet the church could use some help with their NICU outreach. You know, making little hats and blankets for premature babies?”

“I’m well aware of what the church’s NICU outreach does, Caroline.” Now she’s fussy, and she lifts her chin as if she’s offended. “Last time I checked, they had more knitted garments than they could use. I don’t think they want my help anymore.”

“How long ago was that?” I turn last week’s church program over on the coffee table. “I bet they might need more now. Babies are born all the time, and you love to knit.”

My phone buzzes, but my aunt is still frowning at me. I don’t want to walk away while she’s considering my suggestion. The best thing for older people is to be involved in the community. Hell, it’s the best thing for anybody feeling lonely or depressed. Volunteering gives one a sense of purpose, and it’s a prescription I often give my patients.

If Aunt Viv will let me help her, I want to make the most of it.

“Since you won’t take my word for it, I’ll let you check. You know Thelma Prune as well as I do.” Her tone is annoyed, but I’m happy she’s at least softening.

“I didn’t know Mrs. Thelma still worked at the church. Gah, she must be eighty.”

“Well, none of us are getting any younger!”

“I’ll call her.” Hopping off the couch, I pull out my phone. “I bet she says yes. You’re one of the best yarnies in town.”

“I am not a yarnie.” She sniffs, turning back to the television. “I’m a knitter.”

“Be right back. I have a text from work.”

She fusses after me about how there’s so much texting and so little conversation nowadays, but I ignore it. I’ll call the church once I’m off the phone with the chief.

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