My Great Aunt lived in the first floor apartment of a grand brownstone in Park Slope. As I rounded on her block, I was struck by the defined difference between her street and ours. Finely manicured trees lined the sidewalk. The foul smell of garbage I had avoided in my own neighborhood was absent here. I climbed the stone steps of her building, smiling at the Medusa-head bust carved above the doorway - she seemed the perfect guardian to the old shrew’s home. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable confrontation with Henriette, and entered.
There she sat, in her over-sized recliner, a proud pout on her maroon painted lips. Her dark skin was practically unblemished despite her seventy-seven years. My mother’s aunt had barely a wrinkle, except for the deep crease between her eyebrows formed from years of scowling - much as she was doing when I walked through the door. Vicky was busy fumbling around in the kitchen nearby - I could hear the clanging of pots and cups over the blaring radio where a Russian pop song thrummed through the apartment.
“Why is that child here?” Henriette grumbled. Despite the noise, Vicky heard her and quickly made her way into the livingroom with two cups in hand. One she set on the small table beside Henriette’s recliner - most likely Great Aunt’s favorite tea with lime and honey. The second cup she held out to me - fresh and hot, black coffee with sugar.
“I told you that she was coming.” Vicky said softly, nodding to me as I took the cup from her and plopped myself down on the plastic-covered couch across from Henriette’s recliner.
As un-aged as my Great Aunt appeared, her health was failing. Her face looked like someone in her late forties, but her body was swollen and she needed the assistance of a walker to get around. I spied the walker covered in blankets, hiding in the bottom of the open closet. Guess we weren’t going anywhere today.
“I don’t want her here - she aggravates me.” Henriette said, picking up her tea with delicate hands and blowing across the steaming surface. Her eyes were glued to me.
“How about you not talk about me as if I’m not sitting in the same room as you.”
“Get out.” She snapped blandly.
“Would love to, but Vicky needs a break from your crazy-ass.” I smirked at her, watching her deep brown eyes widen in shock. I heard Vicky suck her breath as she hurried back into the kitchen, the tenseness of the air coming down like a fog - choking and thick.
“Vicky!” She called, her voice taking on a desperate tone, “You’re not going to leave me alone with this devil-child!”
Vicky peered around the corner from the kitchen. Her light green eyes found mine. I could see the pleading even before she spoke.
“Miss Denora?”
I smiled reassuringly.
“It’s fine, Vicky. Just get ready to go. I can handle her.”
Henriette sipped her tea and picked up the newspaper sitting on the side-table, her mood suddenly calm.
“Where is Whiskers? Vicky, put out some milk for Mister Whiskers.” She ruffled through her newspaper, her attention suddenly engrossed in the murders and political scandals of the week. It was as if she had completely forgotten I was there. I took a slow sip of the bitter coffee. No amount of sugar could disguise its awful flavor. The cup was delicate porcelain with a floral motif and gold around the rim but the lip of the cup was chipped and there was a dark stain ring around the inside of the cup that refused to be scrubbed out, despite Vicky’s diligent washings. I focused my attention on the bottom of the cup. The sudden silence of the room felt unnatural - the hostility from moments before still hanging in the air.
Small black coffee grinds swirled around the bottom of the cup and I held my breath, gulping down the remaining liquid. I found myself staring at the grimy little specks as they settled on the bottom of the cup in an odd shape.
“Looks like a bird.” I muttered to myself as I rose and headed towards the kitchen.
Henriette’s head jerked up, her eyes furious.
“What?”
“Nothing. I was talking to myself.”
“What looks like a bird?” Where moments before she was forgetful and irritated - now she seemed so intense, so focused. For a brief instant, I could picture the strong beautiful woman she once was, before age cut her down - physically and mentally.
I held out the cup so she could see the odd shape the coffee grinds had left at the bottom. Tilting the cup down slightly for her to see into it caused the grinds to slosh across the bottom - the image of a bird in flight was smeared away. She squinted into the dingy porcelain.
“Gone. Must have been meant for your eyes alone.” She tipped her head to the side, her shiny black curls bobbing around her face. As suddenly as it appeared, the mask of clarity and beauty that had settled over her was gone and the scowl perched itself back between her eyebrows. “See Vicky? The Devil is leaving her messages in cups now!”
“Crazy old bat.” I laughed, turning back towards the kitchen.
Vicky had turned off the radio and was sitting at the small round kitchen table, fastening the tiny buckles on her shoes. I set the cup in the bottom of the sink and noticed the empty cat bowl.
“Where is Mister Whiskers, anyway?” I liked Mister Whiskers. Where Henriette was cranky and insulting, her little black tomcat was comforting and warm. He would always snuggle up in my lap, his big dazzling green eyes blinking lazily.
“Haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.” She said, not looking up from her shoes as she rubbed a cloth across the newly shined leather.
“You look nice, Vicky. I’m sure your daughter is going to be very impressed.”
“I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s like, I dream about her because I miss her so much. Now I get to see her and it’s like I’m dreaming.”
I could hear my Great Aunt shuffling around in the other room. She wasn’t being very subtle about her eavesdropping. “If you’re going to abandon me then get going, you useless witch!” She hissed.
“Miss Henriette!” Vicky gasped, her big eyes welling with tears, making her mascara start to bleed.
I mouthed silently to her, “Just go”, and watched as she hurriedly pushed her arms through her jacket sleeves, all the while holding back stinging tears.
“Stupid nurse. I’ll be dying by the time you get back. Just watch! This evil child is going to kill me and it will be your fault - you heartless woman!”
“I’ll be back by dinnertime.” Vicky assured me.
“Take your time. Try to enjoy yourself.”
“Go on! Leave me! Get out!” Henriette wailed from her chair. I heard the tea cup clatter to the floor in the other room followed by the sound of the television remote smacking against the wall.
Great, the crazy old woman is throwing things. This is gonna be a rough day.
Vicky ran to the door, her purse clutched in her white-knuckled fist and I followed her, closing the door gently behind her.
“Lock it. Call the man to change the locks. I don’t want that useless bitch in my house. Would serve her right, leaving me like this. Call the locksmith.” There was another loud crash against the wall.
“Shut up Henriette.”
“You have a lot of nerve, talking to your elders like that. I always said you were no good.”
“You’re probably right - but Vicky’s not, and despite your crazy shit, that woman loves you and takes care of you. You treat her like crap. You’ll be lucky if she bothers to come back at all.”
Henriette had stopped talking.
I took a deep breath and held it as I re-entered the livingroom, preparing myself for the next onslaught. She sat in her recliner, perfectly still, her eyes glued to the window. A small picture frame lay broken on the floor, glass shards and broken bits of wood clung to an old photograph of Henriette smiling and Vicky hugging her from behind. Her nurse had been with her a long time. Curled in Henriette’s lap was Mister Whiskers, his saucer-like eyes flashing. I had never realized how old he must have been. The picture was taken when I was a child.
“Look what you made me do.” She said, although her voice was small and distant. I knelt and started picking up the larger of the broken pieces by hand and then went to the kitchen and got the dustpan before sweeping up the smaller slivers. “Don’t cut yourself, dear.” She chided softly. I turned and stared at her. The sudden shift in her mood felt strange. I can’t even remember the last time she used a term of endearment with me. I decided to stay quiet and hope that was enough to keep her docile.
When I had finished, I went to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove to make her more tea. She remained sitting in the livingroom, staring out the window. The quiet made me uneasy. She was never this quiet. I pulled my phone from the back pocket of my jeans - no missed calls.
I tried dialing Julian again. Hopefully they were home now. “You’ve reached Julian… please leave a message at the tone…”
I tried to keep my voice low so she couldn’t hear me from the other room. “What the fuck is going on, Julian? I’m with Henriette. You guys are starting to worry me. Call me back.”
They had to have been arrested. There was no other explanation for it… but what the hell could they have done to land in a cell overnight? It didn’t make sense, especially Oliver. I couldn’t picture Oliver doing anything that would get him in that kind of trouble. If they were in the hospital, someone would have called me by now… child services would have come looking for me, at the very least.
“Is that your brother on the phone?” She called sweetly from across the apartment, “Where is he?”
The kettle started whistling. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and flipped off the burner. There was a small orange and gold tin sitting on the counter. The label read “Henriette’s Tea” in Vicky’s chopping script. I popped open the lid and the earthy-citrus smell of herbs assaulted my nose. I filled the colander and poured the hot water through it into her cup.
She smiled at me as I carried the cup over and set it on the table beside her chair.
“Is Julian coming over?”
I stirred the spoonful of honey slowly, letting it dissolve in the hot liquid.
“No. I got his voicemail.”
She was staring out the window again.
“So many crows. It’s a bad omen.”
“What are you talking about, Henriette?”
“You forgot the lime.” She snapped, her hands shooing me away from her cup with a sudden violence that left me staggering backwards. “You ruined it. I don’t want it.”
I rolled my eyes, lifting the steaming cup and carrying it carefully back to the kitchen.
The lack of sleep was catching up with me - I could feel my patience with her draining. I grabbed a slice of lime from the bowl Vicky kept on the table and squeezed hard over the cup.
“There, you crazy old bat. Happy now?” I said under my breath as I made my way back to her. She sat in her recliner with her arms crossed.
“It’s cold in here.”
“Drink your tea and warm up.” I offered, hoping she was calm again.
“He’s probably off doing drugs.” She responded.
“What?” Shit, she’s fucking losing it.
“He’s probably smoking drugs with that trampy girl he’s always with.”
“Are you talking about Julian? You really are fucking insane!”
“Not Julian. The other one.” She nodded to herself, a self-satisfied smile upon her lips.
Oliver wouldn’t dare. He was too much of a good boy, and Lily didn’t seem the type either. The crazy old bitch was messing with my head.
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