Page 5 of All We Could Still Have

Chapter 3

Tears stung my eyes as I noticed the single set of snowshoe tracks leading from Aunt Izzie’s driveway to the woods behind her house. There should have been another set, my mother’s. When she was alive, the two sisters always went together. Even five years later, the little reminders sprinkled through everyday life still sneaked up on me, making me think about all I had lost.

For a moment, I stood on Aunt Izzie’s front steps with my eyes closed, breathing in the homey smell of a fire and imagining my mother in her orange ski jacket emerging from the woods with her infectious grin, teasing her big sister, Aunt Izzie.

Inside, my aunt sat at a card table by the roaring woodstove, working on a puzzle I had given her for Christmas a few weeks before. Her head whipped around at the sound of my boots on the hardwood, and her hand went to her chest. “Lord have mercy, Nikki. Are you trying to give me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that?”

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked.”

“Sit down and help me with this.” The border of the one-thousand-piece puzzle was complete, but none of the interior had been filled in yet. The image on the box showed a hummingbird feeding on a flower. Aunt Izzie slid me a pile of pieces, all with traces of pink. Before I started trying to fit them together, I pulled off my sweater. The woodstove threw off a ridiculous amount of heat, and the low ceilingtrapped it all in place, making the room feel like a sauna. Aunt Izzie didn’t seem to notice. A Bruins ski hat covered her salt-and-pepper hair, and she wore a turtleneck covered by a thick zip-up black sweatshirt. I tried to imagine my mother in a similar outfit but couldn’t. She’d worn trendy sweaters and stylish jeans, often borrowing them from my closet. Although my mom was three years younger than Aunt Izzie and eighteen years older than me, when the three of us had gone out together, people sometimes thought Mom and I were sisters and Aunt Izzie was our mother. Strangers could never believe my mom was old enough to have a daughter in her thirties. Not only did she look young, but she was young. She’d given birth to me less than a year after her high school graduation.

For a few minutes, Aunt Izzie and I sat without speaking, working on the puzzle and listening to country music on the radio. Every so often, Aunt Izzie hummed along. On the mantel behind her, black-and-white images of my great-grandparents and great-aunts and great-uncles watched us. The house used to be my grandparents’. Besides filling a glass hutch with a collection of frog figurines, my aunt had done little to make the place her own.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I have leftover chicken parm that’s out of this world.” She leaned over the table, closer to me. “It’s from Pendleton 88.”

Like Dana, Aunt Izzie wanted me to reconcile with Hank.

“Did you and Dana have a good time last night?”

“It was a wonderful evening. Nadine came, too, because I made the reservation for three.” She playfully slapped my hand. “Hank charmed the pants off her.”

I rolled my eyes, imagining Hank flirting with the recent widow, teasing her with his deep baritone voice. I couldn’t deny the man was charming. After all, he’d charmed my parents’ restaurant out from under me and my sister.

“Hank asked about you. He always does.”

I fit two puzzle pieces together and searched my pile for another piece that might go with them. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about me with him.”

“He would like to see you. Nadine and I are going back this weekend, and he said he hopes you’ll join us.”

“I’d rather starve.” I snapped another piece of the puzzle onto the flower I was building.

Aunt Izzie pulled it off. “It looks like it belongs there but doesn’t.” She eyed my pile and pulled out a piece. “Try this.”

The tab slid into the slot. I smiled at her, wondering if I should worry about her ability to identify two pieces that fit together. How much time did she spend doing puzzles?

“It’s not healthy to hold on to anger, Nikki. Your mother would be so upset to know that you and Hank were at odds. He was a true friend to her, and she wanted the two of you to have a good relationship.”

My head snapped up. I met my aunt’s eyes. “Well, then he should have kept his word.” I would never understand why Dana and my aunt weren’t bothered by the changes Hank made to DeMarco’s. He’d said he would preserve the diner, and now there was nothing left of it.

My aunt bit down on her lip and averted her gaze. I had a feeling she was debating whether to continue this old argument. Her hands fluttered over the table, and she accidentally knocked a pile of puzzle pieces to the floor. “It’s his restaurant now. You need to let it go.”

I said nothing and ducked under the table to retrieve the fallen pieces.

When I popped back up, my aunt’s expression hardened. “It’s one dinner.”

I shook my head. She sighed as she stood and stomped off toward the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and closed. Cabinets banged shut. The microwave beeped a few times. Several minutes later, Aunt Izzie returned with two plates of the leftover chicken parm. She handed one to me.

“I don’t want any.” The smell of tomato sauce filled the air. My stomach grumbled.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Hank won’t even know you ate it.”

The aroma and the sight of the gooey mozzarella over the golden bread crumbs made my mouth water. I gave in and cut off a small bite. Damn, it was good, the chicken juicy and the tomato sauce sweet on my tongue.

Aunt Izzie grinned as I finished all the food on my plate. “The recipe is from Dominic DeMarco’s family,” she said.

Shortly after my parents’ death, my aunt had started referring to my father by his full name when she spoke about him to me. I thought she blamed him for the accident and avoided sayingyour dadorDomas a way to distance him, but I never asked about her reason. I didn’t want to hear anything bad about my father, and he and Aunt Izzie hadn’t gotten along since I was a child.

She cut off a piece of chicken from her plate and transferred it to mine. “So this chicken is proof that Hank did carry on some of the traditions of DeMarco’s Diner,” she said.

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