Genie frowned back and said, "Absolutes ain't my thing. I'm just kicking myself for not getting you a decent present. Wait a second—" She magically pulled out the same red bandana and spent a few seconds tying it quickly to my wrist. "There," were her last words before putting the Jeep into a hard reverse away from our picket fence. Then she drove off, turning at the end of the road toward town.
By nighttime, rain came down in buckets and, thankfully, put out the fires. Folks praised the Lord and all, but then it kept coming—like torrents-worth—for the next two weeks, turning all that praise sour. The mudslides from the mountain were the scariest part, draining randomly and unpredictably along the county.
Days rolled into months. Without Aunty Meg's knowledge, I wrote a proper letter to Genie at her UNL apartment. I got this cardboard bag back as a reply. Inside was my unopened letter, many bills addressed to Genie, and a rather hostile note from her roommate, Emily. She shared that Genie hadn't returned, that the whole rent was killing her, and that she was grateful to have an address to forward bills to. I stuffed that hot mess deep under my mattress.
Months turned into spring when word about hosting a 'Thank You' dance for all the volunteers who fought off the forest and range fires became the buzz in town. My re-telling picked up with me helping Aunty Meg get dressed. Both of us wore our hair down. No caps. No ponytails. I want to say we looked like a pair of ready-to-go lionesses, but I think those cats are naturally bald. Aunty Meg had slipped into one of Grandma Nicoma's Sunday dresses, this dark navy-blue one-piece with tiny paisley prints. It took everything I had to conceal my shock. I wore this black-and-white maître d' uniform from Genie's old stash. It barely fit my body type, as I'm more on the milkmaid side of life. As the two of us faced a full-length mirror—me pulling fluff off her dress—I asked Aunty Meg on a lark, "Maybe I should paint your nails or something?"
"Only if you want to be buried in that monkey suit."
I stifled a laugh, not wanting her to get self-conscious. Suddenly, she reached over her shoulder and stopped my nitpicking. Something was desperate in her grasp. Our eyes locked in the mirror's reflection, and both of us saw something new in the other.
"I've been hard on you. Not because I don't love you. But because I do. God, I see more of Laurie in you every day."
I kissed the back of her palm before suggesting, "We'd better get going."
Barely a minute inside the venue, two of Aunty Meg's American Legion Auxiliary sisters fished her out. They took no notice of how pretty she looked and launched straight into some problem that desperately needed her help. Before I could clear my throat, they had disappeared with Aunty Meg into the sea of party warmers.
