At Witt's End Read Free Page B

Aanders trimmed the black hairs, but they grew back with gusto. The dog also had only one testicle.
    Aanders joined his mother as she stared out the kitchen window. They watched a young woman scoop a toddler into her arms after he wandered too close to the water's edge. The child giggled with glee. The lilt of children's voices echoed back and forth across the short span between the resort and the mortuary before it faded away. It was a sound that usually brought smiles to their faces, but not tonight.
    Nan put her arm around Aanders’ shoulder and pulled him closer. “We'll make it through this,” she whispered, placing her lips against his temple.
    Aanders blinked hard to divert the tears welling in his eyes.
    Belly interrupted the silence with a muffled bark, prancing in front of the basement door. Aanders held his finger to his lips. “Be quiet. Mom's already mad at you.” Belly continued to plead by alternating his soulful stare between Aanders and the boy's mother. Aanders slipped his fingers under Belly's collar. He led him to the pantry and opened a box of treats. Belly sniffed the offering. He gulped it down, snorted, then returned to the basement door.
    Aspen leaves flitted outside the kitchen window as if mimicking the energy of the resort crowd. Wisps of wood smoke rose from a nearby campfire. Nan let out a deep sigh, focused her attention on the lawn, and peered at a small, riderless tricycle inching its way down the sidewalk. She leaned closer to the window. The vehicle's pedals turned in sync with the rotation of the tires as it crossed the grass and disappeared over a rise.
    Nan stood on her tiptoes. She stretched her torso across the sink and peered sharply to the left. “That's odd."
    Aanders plopped down onto a stool. He swiveled back and forth, staring at the window.
    "I just saw a tricycle going toward the resort all by itself,” Nan said.
    "You mean that blue one?” Seeing his mother nod, he said, “I saw it going the other way when you put the pan on the stove."
    "Who was riding it?"
    "Nobody."
    "Who was pushing it?” Nan turned to look at her son.
    "Nobody.” Aanders leaned against the back of the stool. “I thought it was the wind."
    Nan frowned at the treetops. “It doesn't look that windy."
    She placed a piece of chicken on Aanders’ plate. “You've got to get some food in your stomach before you disappear altogether."
    "You always tell me to eat more, but it doesn't help.” Aanders leaned his chin on his fist, absentmindedly stabbing his fork into the meat again and again and again.
    "You'll appreciate that when you're older.” Nan stood two inches taller than her five-foot-four-inch son. Aanders had inherited her slim build and Scandinavian features. He bore no resemblance to his father's side of the family.
    "Sadie called and asked how you were doing,” Nan said. She brushed her thumb across Aanders’ forehead to wipe the hair from his eyelashes. “She's concerned. She knows you lost your best friend."
    "I know,” Aanders said. “She and Jane brought cookies over while you were in the embalming room. I don't like it when Jane cries."
    "She cries because she's sad for you. We're lucky to have the Witt sisters as friends.” Nan smiled at her son. “Sadie is like the mother I never had. I think she likes to pretend you're her grandson."
    "My friends think she really is my grandmother,” Aanders said. “They say my Grandma is weird. It's embarrassing when they talk about Sadie and her imaginary friends."
    "Sadie's not weird. She's eccentric. Sadie means well."
    "But she dresses weird. Really weird. That only makes things worse. Why can't she dress like a normal old lady?"
    "Sadie's unique. I admit she's a bit strange, but she enjoys life. We should all be more like Sadie.” Nan poured milk into a glass and set it near Aanders. “She's concerned about us because I'm raising you on my own."
    "Thank goodness,” Aanders said.
    "What did you say?"
    "Nothing.” Aanders directed