Fingering The Family Jewels

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"AUNT WALT IS dead." Mother's voice, strong and steady, struck my ear.

I switched the phone to the other ear. "What? She can't be." Walterene, a cousin of my mother's, was one of the few family members I liked. "I talked to her last week."

"Nonetheless, she died from a sudden stroke." Her simple statement stung from the lack of emotion, lack of sympathy.

My stomach cramped as if my breath had been knocked out of me by her words. "But…" I struggledto speak. "When?"

"Tuesday night." Mother always was short and direct.

"How's Aunt Ruby?"

"Ruby thought I should call you. Let you know about Walt."

"When is the-"

The phone clicked, followed by silence, then a dial tone. The Bitch had hung up on me. "Damn you." I slammed the phone down.

My roommate, Emma, sat on our third-hand couch, smoking a Marlboro and painting her toenails a glossy vermilion. Vermilion. She always joked that I couldn't name three professional football teams but could come up with fifteen names for red; this was a trait Aunt Walt had cultivated in me. Emma glanced over with sorrowful eyes. "Who?"

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