Sunspots by Karen Bell

Author:Karen Bell [Bell, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: time travel, romance, ghosts
Publisher: Indie Author Project
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Hah!

Stupid woman.

Chapter Twelve

to an unknown

Introducing the widow Stein and her new friends

It is spring again in Austin and indigo blankets of Bluebonnets cover grassy hills and fields while other wildflowers are tamed into precisely designed plantings along highway divides and shopping mall green spaces. It is predictably warm and sunny at a time of year when overcast skies, endless downpours, a lingering winter chill, and sometimes a freak snowstorm, keep New Yorkers eating soup, staying indoors, and hoping for a break in the weather. My DNA is unaccustomed to spring arriving on schedule—it feels premature and strange. I know I should be grateful for this easy climate and nature’s kiss but all I think of is how can all this loveliness be enjoyed when Jake lies rotting in the ground?

I am alone now, after many weeks that became months of intense togetherness with my family. I am finally alone. My mother and Marina unpacked my household items, painted, plumbed, and planted in a flurry of activity, each wishing to get on with their own lives. My mother thought she could adjust to all the y’alls and ma’ams, tobacco-spitting men, and coy, leggy women. But she was uncomfortable waiting her turn politely and became aggravated looking for a good corned beef sandwich “like the deli down my street,” doughy pizza by-the-slice with a “rich Italian sauce like Luigi’s Pizzeria on my corner,” and a radio station that did not play “wailing and howling” country music.

She hated enchiladas, couldn’t abide tacos in any form, and gagged on cream gravy. She loved the barbecue but didn’t think that it was worth giving up her Brooklyn apartment. And she hated driving everywhere, even though the house was situated where there were plenty of places to walk. “The movie theaters, restaurants, and the shopping are all a fair distance away,” she said frowning. “How can one live their lives with their asses attached to a car seat? It’s revolting and unnatural and bad for the circulation.”

Her reintroduction to driving brought fear to all who crossed her path, herself, and those who traveled with her. Getting lost was a given and so was my calming her down and giving her directions on her cell phone—another add-on to her simple life that she detested but dared not venture out without lest she wound up on I-35 or 240 “heading for who the hell knows where.” As for the navigation system—well she would fuss and fume trying to get her destination fixed and would give up in disgust and call me instead. “I don’t like dealing with a computer generated voice. It’s creepy and it never shuts up when you stop for gas. Recalculating, recalculating, it says, driving you insane!”

And she knew that a pleasant spring would quickly give way to blistering, never-ending sunny summer days. She finally understood Home on the Range, a song she never liked for its foreign Western flavor that was shoved down the throats of New Yorkers in grade school, even though she

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