Dancing on the Edge by Kit Bakke

Dancing on the Edge by Kit Bakke

Author:Kit Bakke [Bakke, Kit]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Booktrope Editions
Published: 2014-04-23T00:00:00+00:00


SIXTEEN: SUGAR BOWL

WALKING OUTSIDE with her new Jane Austen books, Dot found Aunt Tab leaning against a brick wall, writing her postcard. “To your teacher,” she explained. “I told Mr. Cyrus we’d keep in touch.”

She dropped the card in a cylindrical red postbox and together they crossed the empty road, neither saying anything about the clouds crowding the sky above them. Dot told herself that she didn’t care what Aunt Tab had written to Mr. Cyrus.

The line at the door of Cassandra’s Cup was gone and they were immediately ushered inside by a young woman in polka-dotted, high-waisted Austen attire who took them to a small corner table by a window. The pastel cafe walls were banded with plate rails at eye level that displayed decorated cups and saucers, milk pitchers and sugar bowls, all for sale.

“Charming place,” Aunt Tab commented, but Dot thought she was being sarcastic. It was a little over the top, like Mrs. Whitley’s house. They looked at their menus, which, like the fish and chips place, was full of foods they didn’t recognize. “Don’t remember all these in the guidebooks. Wonder what a ‘Toasted Wig’ is? These English get funnier and funnier.”

Aunt Tab decided on the mulligatawny soup and Dot asked for a cheese and bacon sandwich. They easily agreed on Earl Grey tea. The waitress swept away in her long muslin dress.

“So how was your walk?” asked Aunt Tab, fiddling with her napkin.

“Fine,” said Dot. No way was she going to talk about being lost, and even less about meeting Jane Austen. If that’s what had happened. She didn’t want to talk about that part because, well, because it was private. Strange and private. She wasn’t even sure she’d have talked to her mother about it, which was an odd thought to have.

Quietly drinking her tea, Dot came to a couple of conclusions about her practice runaway. First, it hadn’t gone too well. It was possible that reading Frankenstein wasn’t the best preparation for a walk in the woods where you’ve never been before. It was also possible that she shouldn’t plan to run away without a GPS. Either that, or only run away to cities with street signs. Except cities had all those sidewalks and trucks. That was a problem.

Overshadowing it all, though, was the second thought: If she had truly met Jane Austen, back from the dead in a much nicer way than Victor Frankenstein’s Monster, why wouldn’t it be possible for her mother to come back, too?

This was a gigantic thought, and Dot was afraid to think about it directly, like not looking at the sun. It was a fantastic thought, silly and babyish, too. But on the other hand, weren’t strange things happening? Maybe past and present weren’t as separate as most people think. Maybe life and death aren’t as separate, either? Mr. Cyrus sometimes talked about history as if it were still happening—yesterday and today’s wars and famous people from all the centuries mixed up together.

Dot snuck a look at Aunt Tab.



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