Twenty-Five Years Ago Today Read Online Free

have a boyfriend. I guess she assumed you wouldn’t have
plans. You need a man, Kris."
    "Huh?"
    "You're twenty-six years old. You spend too
much time alone. No wonder you're depressed."
    "I'm not depressed," Kris said. "I
like my privacy."
    "I'll say. You withdrew from your friends in
high school. You spent college in the library. I thought moving to
New York would be good for you, but you must've been a loner there,
too. You've never mentioned anyone."
    "Just because you drone about yourself
doesn't mean we're all that way."
    Holly flushed as the waitress delivered their
orders. She glared into her miniscule fruit cup and sneaked a
longing look at the Lumberjack Special.
    Suppressing a smirk, Kris drizzled maple
syrup over her mound of golden brown pancakes. She gestured to her
crisp bacon strips as a peace offering. "Want some? I can’t eat all
this."
    "See, I knew you shouldn’t have ordered
that." Holly grabbed two pieces and crunched one between her
teeth.
    "Listen, I'm sorry for snapping at you
before," Kris said. "You were just pushing me too hard. If you want
me to open up, ask me about my job. I love it."
    "You love writing obits?" A smile hovered on
Holly's lips. Kris hoped it was a bacon high and not amusement over
her career choice.
    "I do other things, like researching stories
on the microfilm. Yesterday, I came across a twenty-five-year-old
unsolved murder. A girl was found dead in the woods near Fremont
State and they never caught her killer. She was twenty-one."
    "No offense, but that sounds as depressing as
obituaries. That reminds me, I heard from Aunt Susan the other
night. She sounded lonely."
    Frowning, Kris sliced into a pancake. She
called Aunt Susan a few times per year and sent gifts for holidays.
Her aunt never made the first move herself. Kris figured she
probably didn’t want to be a burden. Why was she contacting
Holly?
    "She adopted another stray cat," Holly went
on. "What is it now? Six? Seven?"
    "Maybe she needs someone to take care of,"
Kris said.
    Aunt Susan couldn't resist the skinny felines
that wandered to her front step as if the scent of tuna had left a
permanent imprint. Kris, too, liked having a furry companion
snuggle on her bed. She had adopted a stray cat after moving into
her new apartment. Her aunt, though, took it to the extreme.
    "Yeah, but seven meowing someones?" Holly
asked. "This one is even worse. She says it looks like Marmalade.
Isn't that spooky?"
    "If you were in Aunt Susan's boat, you might
have a tough time adjusting, too. Nicole was her world."
    "It's been fourteen years since Nicole died.
Uncle Neal got on with his life. Aunt Susan should, too. I wish she
and Mom would start talking again. They didn't even acknowledge
each other at my wedding."
    "You know Mom," Kris said. "She's
judgmental."
    "Aunt Susan's stubborn."
    Holly moved onto another subject, her new
home. Kris didn't bring up Nicole again. Maybe the dead had it
easy. It was the living who went through hell.
    ***
    Kris trudged down the hallway of her rambling
19th century apartment building. The Greek Revival-style house
boasted a gabled roofline, wide columns fronting the porch and
elongated windows. She unlocked her door, and Chipmunk scurried
through the living room, a chocolate blur with a thick swishing
tail. He spent most days shedding over the carpet and batting
Tender Vittles across the kitchen floor, but Kris didn't mind. She
liked the warm welcome. She could have used a cat in New York.
    She carried the purring Chipmunk into her
bedroom and sprawled onto the quilt for a nap. The room satisfied
her eyes, filled with the furniture of her childhood, knickknacks
and books.
    Kris gazed at the silver-framed picture of
Nicole on her bureau. Flaxen braids pressed against her cousin's
ears, freckles dotted her cheeks. Nicole hadn't taken off her
horn-rimmed glasses as she usually did for photos. How she'd hated
those glasses, thick wide ones she insisted made her look like an
owl.
    Born three months