The Memory Key Read Online Free Page B

to say she’s going to be late, sorry, and we should start without her, so we do. We pile our food high on paper plates, and when one plate starts sagging we simply add another. The adults drink wine; Wendy and I are allowed one small glass each, and Tim is allowed one large glass.
    When everyone is stuffed full Mrs. Laskey says, “Save room for dessert!” and everyone groans because it’s too late, no one has saved any room for dessert. The unanimous decision is made to take a break. Wendy and I lie in the grass while her little cousins tumble around us. The adults chatter on, sitting around the table and drinking. I’m sleepy from my small glass of wine.
    â€œI can’t believe we’ve graduated,” says Wendy.
    â€œMe neither,” I say. “Now what will become of us?”
    â€œFame, fortune, and happiness.”
    â€œHow can you be sure?”
    â€œIt’s pretty obvious,” says Wendy.
    Mrs. Laskey asks us to fix the dessert, so we go into the house. In the long hallway that connects the living room to the kitchen, we meet my aunt.
    â€œMy dear girls, I’m so sorry I’m so late,” she says. It’s clearshe came straight from her meeting; she’s still in her suit with her shirt buttoned tight to her throat. Her bobbed black hair is sleek to her chin. Aunt Austin looks like a serious woman, and she is a serious woman, but when she smiles her face changes so much it’s hard to recognize her as that serious woman. She smiles now.
    â€œWe’re just happy you’re here. We know how busy you are,” says Wendy.
    â€œYes.” Aunt Austin nods, but she is looking at me. Or, more precisely, she is looking at my peach dress. Or, most precisely, she is looking at my mother’s peach dress.
    â€œHow did your meeting go? Was it about the economic bill?” I ask.
    She lifts her gaze to meet mine. I blink. I am six years old and I’ve just spilled my cranberry juice on her white rug. Aunt Austin scowls, her expression first directed at the ruby-red stain, then at me, and I’m sure I’ve ruined everything, and I’ll never be invited over again. My teary eyes are a blink from bursting. I blink. I’m in the hallway at Wendy’s house. But Aunt Austin’s expression is still the same.
    â€œThat’s Jeanette’s dress,” she says.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say, apologizing for the juice, apologizing for the dress.
    Aunt Austin turns around and walks toward the backyard. I follow Wendy into the kitchen, feeling thoroughly rebuked. But also slightly irritated: it’s my mother’s dress, I’m allowed to wear my mother’s dress.
    Wendy asks me to wash the raspberries and blueberries and blackberries.
    â€œThat was weird, right?” I say.
    â€œWhat was weird?” she asks as she whisks the heavy cream.
    â€œAunt Austin,” I say, swirling fruit through water.
    â€œI think she’s so great,” Wendy says. Wendy thinks everyone is so great. It’s the quality I find most admirable and most annoying about her.
    â€œMaybe I’m being overly sensitive,” I say. But I don’t think I’m being overly sensitive. First my father stops talking to me because of the peach dress, then my aunt does the same. They’re the ones being overly sensitive.
    â€œSo that’s your mom’s dress?”
    â€œYeah.” I drain the berries and gently roll them into a clean bowl.
    â€œI think it’s nice you’re wearing it. It fits you perfectly,” she says. “Will you boil water for the coffee?”
    â€œSure.” I put the kettle on.
    â€œIt’s really pretty,” says Wendy.
    â€œWhat’s really pretty?”
    â€œYour dress.”
    â€œWell. Thank you.” I sense she wants me to talk about my feelings, and my mother, and my feelings about my mother, but I’m not in the mood.
    â€œOh,