THE RAINY SEASON Laura Sanger Kelly, 8/11
8.
“Keep no secrets.”
When he came back, Barb was busy.
A moving crew arrived and took things from the little blue house.
A couple of men in suits also dropped by. They held black briefcases importantly in hand, like onyx oracles.
After they left Rachel saw Barb place the figurine he had been whittling next to the other three. The pale, bleached wood was shaped and sanded into a distinctly female figure.
He looked older, she thought.
She went over to return the keys.
"How are things?" she asked.
"Tour went great."
"And?"
"Smart lady who lives next door.”
She waited, patiently.
"My aunt strung herself up in a hotel room while attending her last business conference. Cleaning staff found her two days ago." He walked to the kitchen
"Oh!" she exclaimed. It was such a weak response. Words had not presented themselves to express her shock.
He took the keys from her. His jaw was set firm; his cerulean eyes scanned around the room, as if something hiding inside his brain was looking for a way to escape. He left for a moment, walking outside.
While he was gone, Rachel took the opportunity to examine the new figurine.
On its base Barb had scrawled the words: “Aunt Veronica.” He had dated it just a few days ago.
She saw his shadow cross where the ghosts lingered; she replaced the figurine quickly.
“Well, one more suicide for the books,” he said as he entered. “Do you feel all right? You look a little pale.”
“Fine,” she replied, feigning brightness she did not feel. “I feel fine.”
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