Page 51 of Last Witch Attempt
“Just because of this thing today? That’s not even the weirdest thing she’s done this week.”
“You said yourself that it wasn’t time efficient,” I pointed out. “Aunt Tillie is lazy. She would just take the four-wheeler one day and stick to it and the scooter the next day.”
“Just because she got a little colorful this afternoon, that’s not a reason to panic in my book.” Mom was firm. “She’s fine.”
Mom needed her to be fine. We all made jokes that Aunt Tillie was going to live forever. She was getting up there, though. Aunt Tillie might claim to be middle-aged, but she was in her eighties. Cognitively, she’d held it together for a really long time.
“Mom.” I adopted my most reasonable tone. “Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to take her in and have her tested.”
Mom balked. “I’m not going to lock her up.”
“I didn’t say lock her up.” Where had she gotten that from? “I said have her tested. If she’s starting to suffer from thebeginning stages of dementia—or something else—then at least we’d be aware.”
“And then what?” Mom looked pained. “We can’t lock her in the house. We can’t take her greenhouse away. And don’t get me started on that pot field.”
“I didn’t say we had to take any of that away,” I challenged. “I just think we should have her checked. She claims she wasn’t at Clove’s dancing, but Clove saw her.
“Last night I saw her dancing through the window at Mrs. Little’s house and when I called her on it, told her it wasn’t appropriate to dance given what happened, she told me she hadn’t been dancing,” I continued. “Now, it’s possible she’s lying?—”
“She likes to lie,” Twila agreed.
“She has no qualms about lying,” I confirmed. “Normally, she owns her crap, though. That’s simply who she is. She’s denying it now. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t remember.”
“She can’t go from remembering to not remembering overnight,” Mom argued. She was digging her heels in, which wasn’t a good sign. “That’s not how it works.”
“That’s how it can seem, because older individuals get good at covering for their deficiencies.” I wasn’t trying to be mean. I did think, if this was happening, we should get ahead of it. Aunt Tillie wasn’t a normal woman. If her mind was starting to slip, her magic was going to become an issue. She was powerful, so if she threw a tantrum and lost control, people could die. It was our responsibility to make sure that didn’t happen.
“So what?” Mom placed her hands on her hips and stared me down. Somehow this had turned into a me-versus-her thing. “You think Aunt Tillie has suddenly lost her marbles and doesn’t know where she is from moment to moment? Is that what you’re saying?”
Before I could respond, the swinging door that separated the dining room from the kitchen flew open and Aunt Tillie appeared. She had a soda in her hand—a full sugar one, which she wasn’t allowed to have because Mom couldn’t stand it when she got all sugared up—and she seemed to be lost in thought.
Mom’s voice was unnaturally high as she addressed Aunt Tillie. “Do you need something?”
Aunt Tillie slowly slid her gaze to Mom. “What?”
“I asked if you needed anything.” Mom gripped her hands together in front of her.
“Like what?” Aunt Tillie challenged.
“Like adult diapers,” Twila offered. “There’s no shame in it if you think you need them. We’re all going to be there one day.”
Aunt Tillie’s expression twisted. “You’re going to need adult diapers before me. Trust me on that. What are the three of you doing?” Suspicion lined her features. “Why are you all in here, huddled together? You’re up to something.”
“They say paranoia is a sign,” Twila added in a loud whisper. “I think Bay is right. She’s losing her marbles.”
I murdered Twila with a glare. “I did not say that.”
“Of course you did.” Twila shook her head. “You said Aunt Tillie was losing it and suggested your mother get her to a doctor. I’m not deaf.”
“You’re about to be dead,” I hissed. When I looked at Aunt Tillie, I found her glaring at me with the sort of cool detachment that meant I was in deep, deep trouble. “She’s exaggerating,” I insisted. I had to save myself. “You know Twila. She says nutty things and then accuses others of saying the nutty things because she forgets.” I twirled my finger by my ear, stealing Twila’s mannerism from five minutes before.
“Hey!” Twila recognized what I was doing. “That is not funny.”
This wasn’t about being funny, it was about survival. “You can’t trust the craziest one in the family to determine who is and isn’t crazy,” I said.
“Uh-huh.” Aunt Tillie’s expression was difficult to read. “And what do you think?” she asked Mom in an icy voice. “Do you think I’m nutty?”
“I’ve been standing up for you,” Mom replied. “But to be fair, I’m not sure there isn’t cause for concern.”
