Margot slit the thin, white string with her utility knife and sighed. Any resolve she had mustered earlier that morning had long since faded. As she retracted the slender blade into its metal sheath, the quick onset of mental calorie counting started to carve a deep crevice between her well-sculpted brows.  

     The pink lid popped open, and the aroma of freshly baked pastries filled the air around her.

     Her spine straightened.

     For Margot, the excuse for falling off the sugar wagon always came right after feeling guilty.

     She had been working her tail off for days. The idea of even one more spinach-and-hemp-seed smoothie made her want to gag. A wave of goosebumps swept over her exposed skin as she forced the vision from her mind. Dinner would be healthy, Margot told herself as she looked down into the pink box in front of her.

     Dinner…

     Margot glanced at the clock on the stove, still flashing its green illuminated numbers in a kind of electrical rebellion. She had reset the damn thing at least six times in the past three days, and every time Margot thought it would stay fixed, another power outage would occur, and the flashing would start all over again.

    She tried to remind herself that it was just one of the many sacrifices people had to make when moving into a historic building.

     Licking the light dusting of powdered sugar from her fingers, she counted mentally. The closets were terribly inadequate. The plumbing was a joke. And according to Jack Buckman, the top local plumber and all-around handyman, everything should have been replaced about fifty years ago. But the place was beautiful, or at least it would be once she finished with it.

     She pulled a plump, jelly-filled treat from its resting place and looked at it with red-rimmed eyes.

     Good thing it was the end of summer. Soon, there would be no need for expensive air conditioning or unflattering bathing suits. She could survive on one of nature’s most outstanding insulators—thick thighs.

     Margot suddenly pictured her twenty-something, perfect-in-every-way yoga instructor and let out another sigh. She could see her tiny nose tilting up at the rafters as she scolded, “You know, Margot, that is nothing more than gluten and processed sugar. If you keep eating like that, it will weaken your immune system and wreak havoc on your waistline. It’s like committing nutritional suicide!”

     The petite blonde woman, a wisp of a person, could be flamboyant when she chose to be.

     Margot bit into the pastry, eyes closed, as the smell of raspberries filled the air around her like a sweet, succulent cocoon. “I know, Beebe, but right now, I just don’t care.” Her eyes opened, taking in the nearly half-devoured doughnut in her hand. “You will, when you’re passed out like a drunken slug on the sofa.” Even as her own voice echoed off the paint-chipped walls of her new condo, only Margot tried not to listen.

     Calories didn’t matter when your life was in the dumps, she thought as she finished the last piece of her doughnut. She glanced at the remaining eleven pastries and groaned. Maybe buying the condo above her favorite bakery wasn’t such a great idea after all, no matter how convenient it was to downtown. Then again, she hadn’t been at her best since—

     The loud, obnoxious ring of her phone sounded, piercing through her thoughts. Margot hurried into the living room, pushing aside the scattered boxes on the floor in her search for it, her sticky fingers leaving a trail of white powder behind. Finally, she retrieved the device from the sofa’s deep crevice.

     Margot’s hands trembled. Her eyes, avoiding the screen, instead lingered on the dark shape of a bird passing by the room’s single bay window. Its unexpectedly large size cast a foreboding shadow across Margot’s tired face.

     She stabilized her breathing.

     If it’s him, she thought, I’ll not answer. I won’t ever answer this damn phone again.

     The name that stood out sharply against the contrasting color of the screen was unexpected, and only slightly less unnerving than the name she had expected.

     Margot swiped her sticky, sugar-coated finger across the screen to accept the call. 

     “Aunt Kate?” A frown tugged at the corners of her full, pink mouth. “Is everything alright?”

     “Is everything alright? Is everything alright? Of course, everything’s alright. Why wouldn’t it be?”

     “I’m just surprised to hear from you, is all,” Margot said, teetering on the hard edge of a stack of her favorite magazines. Their cold covers felt refreshing against the bottoms of her feet, like the crisp caress of an ocean tide or the dew-covered grass of an autumn morning. Margot stepped back and scooped them up from the floor with her free hand.

     “And why not? I haven’t become so much of a recluse that I only call when I need or want something. I can call about anything— the weather, Sarah’s bad temper, or even some girl talk.”

     Margot grinned broadly. “Does that mean you need something?”

     Her aunt chuckled softly and then sighed. “I suppose in a roundabout way I do, although I promise not to make my request entirely unpleasant.”

            “Pleasant or unpleasant, it’s still great to hear your voice.” Margot realized, quite shamefully, that it was the one honest thing she’d said or felt in weeks.

     “Good,” cracked the old woman. An awkward pause stretched along the invisible line that now connected the two women like a celestial cord. Margot was about to speak when her aunt broke the silence. “The thing is, while I have been well, as well as any woman can be after my many, many years, I’ve decided to be an adult about things, about life. More importantly, I suppose, about death. My death, specifically.”

     Margot suddenly felt the cold, vacant distance between them and shuddered. “I thought you said you were alright. What’s all this talk about death? Is it the doctor? I thought you looked a little pale the last time I was there. I knew I should have visited more often. You don’t get out enough, I read somewhere—.”

     “No, no, no,” Aunt Kate scolded into the phone. “It’s nothing like that, nothing like that at all. Let’s face it, the death of a woman touching eighty is natural. Hell, it’s downright expected.”

     “Well, I’m not expecting it,” Margot said, her mouth suddenly dry. Death wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss, especially not the death of a woman she loved more like a mother than an aunt. The frown returned to her brow. “I thought you said what you wanted wasn’t entirely unpleasant. How about we move on to the pleasant part?”

     “The pleasant part? Oh, yes, that would be my last will and testament,” she said, as if reading the title of a particularly interesting book.

     Margot felt her already dark mood sinking even deeper into the dismal abyss. “That’s still death-related, Aunt Kate.”

     “Yes, yes, but it’s the interesting part of death. The part that brings long-lost relatives out of the woodwork with their hands open and their mouths flapping.” She snorted with laughter. “Just hear me out. I swear, you’ve grown so impatient since moving to that big city of yours.”

     “Sewickley isn’t even close to being a big city, Aunt Kate. What it is is an opportunity for my own financial prosperity. Big old houses and people with lots of money who can’t wait to spend it all in an effort to outdo their neighbors. Just the place to start my interior design business—at least I hope so anyway. Did I mention that I already have a few clients?”                              

     In reality, she had one new client—an old friend from design school had given her a connection at the local golf club, a woman they didn’t want to deal with anymore. The woman wanted her dining room revamped before Christmas, and Margot agreed to meet with her. So far, everything had been handled over the phone, but even so, Margot was having second thoughts about starting her new career with this particular client.

     “Well, now, that is wonderful news.” Margot could hear her aunt’s smile shining through their invisible connection. “I always knew you had it in you. No matter what you decided to do, I knew you would succeed.” There was a brief pause, as if her aunt were searching for the right words. “Speaking of decisions, I’ve decided to leave you the house along with everything inside. I know how much you’ve always loved it here, so I trust you’ll be the right person to sell it and make sure it goes to the right people. The ones who will love these old walls as much as we have.”

     Margot held the magazines to her chest and looked out the window; the clouds had gathered thicker in the sky, swirling around like gray, moody sheep on a windy day.

     “I’m not understanding you. You’re leaving me the house, so that I can sell it?”

     “You and Josh already have a lovely home, and this place really needs updating. I genuinely believe that no matter how much you love it, it will eventually become a headache for both of you, and that’s not what I want. I know you’ll find a great couple—someone with the time and, more importantly, the money needed to help this place thrive for the next hundred years.”

     Margot could hear her aunt’s mind working inside her head. Aunt Kate always came up with great ideas. They always looked good on paper, but they didn’t always lead to success.  

     “I always thought this place would make a wonderful B and B, you know, a romantic getaway for the newly engaged or those wanting to rekindle a fading relationship. Each room already has its own fireplace and bathroom—and the kitchen is big enough to feed an army.”

     “I suppose if that’s what you really want, I’ll do what I can.” Margot placed the small stack of magazines on the sofa and sat down next to them. Her aunt was right; she already had enough on her plate with her own renovations, no need to add more to her list.

     “Ah, that’s my girl. I knew I could count on you. I’ve already contacted my lawyer, Tom Gable—you remember him, don’t you?—and, given how legal matters are these days, I’ve always found him to be a level-headed kind of guy. He agrees that a proper will is long overdue. I won’t specify the timeframe for the sale, since homes this size tend to stay on the market for years before selling. As for the price, I’ll leave that entirely up to you and Josh.”

     Tom Gable had been the family lawyer for as long as Margot could recall. 

     She pushed the memory of her parents’ deaths from her mind. Her life changed so much after that, and she grew to love her aunt even more. Kate’s home became her own, and Margot lived quite happily there with her in that sprawling country manor. Then her life changed again with her acceptance into college, and then—Josh. 

     “Anyway, I don’t want there to be any problems or fighting about how my wishes are to be carried out once I’m dead and gone.”

     Margot moved the box of yellowing paperbacks she’d spent the morning sorting through and leaned back into the softness of the sofa. The freshly jostled contents released a sharp, musty scent of decaying paper. Margot rubbed her nose with the palm of her hand, quickly calming the sneeze that threatened to come on. “Why would there be any problems?” Before the question even left her lips, she already knew the answer.

     Porter would be the problem.

     Porter was always the problem.

     “You know as well as I do that Porter will demand more than his fair share of the estate.” Kate paused to take a sip of what Margot assumed was her famous English toffee coffee. She had grown quite fond of it before leaving for college. The thought of sharing a cup of it now made her homesick. “That boy has sticky fingers, always has, always will. I swear, every time he visits, another piece of my mother’s silver goes missing— or worse still, some of my great-grandmother’s jewelry. I can see it now: in less than a week, all the wealth your uncle and I have spent our entire lives working for will be gone—lost to one of his crooked-nosed bookies from New Jersey or Boston. No—I want this done properly; the house must be sold before…” There was a pause on the line, as if her aunt was struggling for the right words. Not, Margot thought, like her aunt at all.

     “Look, I’m not going to get much work done here at my new office. The plumbers are due to start work early next week, and who knows how long the water will be off.” Not an entirely false statement, Margot thought. “Maybe I should stop by for a visit and help out for a while? I’d love to see you and Sarah again. You know, just the three of us, like it used to be, sitting around talking about old movies over Sarah’s wonderful coffee. Besides, I’ve been meaning to take a break—totally overloaded with work, you know?” Margot’s only headache of a client would have to wait. “It really has been too long.”

     “I couldn’t agree with you more; in fact, that’s exactly what I was telling Sarah just yesterday. I don’t like months stretching into years before I see my favorite niece, so I’ve taken the liberty of planning a small dinner party — nothing too fancy, of course — all under the pretense of celebrating my upcoming birthday. I’ll get to see you and Josh, and you’ll have a chance to try and talk me out of selling the house.”

     “Well, Aunt Kate, since I’m your only niece, of course, we’ll come. I wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world. As for selling the house, it’s yours to do with as you like, I’m just surprised, that’s all,” Margot began to feel a lump forming at the base of her throat and swallowed hard. “There are a few other things I’d like to talk about as well. Things haven’t been going so well for me out here, not like I’d expected anyway. Do you think there’ll be time for the two of us to slip away and talk? I want your opinion on something pretty important.”

     “I’ll insist on it, my dear. I’m eager to get your opinion on someone, actually; a new friend of mine. Porter introduced us, believe it or not, and I’ve grown very fond of her. I know you’ll feel the same the second you meet her.”

     “Porter?” Margot tried not to sound too surprised but failed miserably.

     “I know what you must be thinking. Hell, on the rare occasions that your brother does visit, it’s only for a handout. Usually, he comes with one of those floozies of his, most likely some stripper or worse. He thinks I don’t know, but I know.” There was the sound of crackling paper, followed by her sipping what Margot guessed was her coffee again. “They spend the entire day here, eating all my food and drinking all the good sherry from the cabinet. It’s gotten so bad that I’ve taken to hiding it in my closet. The sherry, I mean—not the food. Could you imagine the look on Sarah’s face if I had ham slices hanging between my bedclothes?” Aunt Kate’s voice grew lighter. “But this one isn’t anything like that, much too old to be of any real interest to him. I find her quite respectable. Her name is Lavonia, isn’t that just delicious? And she helps throw the most entertaining parties. I’ve had her over to the house at least a dozen times now. The last few times, it’s just been the two of us—well, three, if you count Sarah, but she doesn’t participate. The poor woman is terrified.”

     “Terrified of parties?” Margot asked, confused.

     “Don’t be silly, my dear, about séances.” Kate’s voice lifted again at her own humor. “The very idea of talking to the dead makes poor Sarah retreat into her room for the rest of the night. She disapproves, walks around all day sucking in air, and shaking her head at me. It’s a damn good thing I’ve grown so used to her cooking, or I’d have her replaced.”

     “Somehow I doubt that.” Margot’s mind drifted back to the last time she saw her aunt’s housekeeper, Sarah. She’s as gentle a soul as you’d ever want to meet and a fantastic cook to boot. 

     Her aunt huffed into the phone. “You’re probably right, but she doesn’t need to know that.”

     “I think Sarah’s smart enough to figure that out on her own. Besides, you’d be lost without her, and I dare say, she’d be lost without you. The two of you are more like sisters than employer and employee.” Margot’s brow suddenly creased with worry. “Are you sure it’s the parties she’s so against and not this new friend of yours? I don’t want to sound mean, Aunt Kate, but none of that stuff is real—just a bunch of smoke and mirrors. And, you know that if she’s a friend of Porter’s, she’s got to be up to something.”

     Margot’s line of sight shifted from her chipped, robin ‘s-egg-blue toenail polish to the pretty pink box with its remaining gooey pastries. She could picture each of the treats she’d selected from the glass case early that morning: the cinnamon bear claw with toasted almond slivers and a zesty hint of orange, the double chocolate brownies with nearly an inch of fudge icing, the delicately puffed apple turnovers that almost melted in your mouth, and the decadent dark chocolate cream horns—all calling to her from the kitchen counter. She licked her still-sugar-coated lips. 

     Some people drank, others smoked or shopped, ending up with a bum liver, lung cancer, or mountains of spiraling-out-of-control debt. As for Margot—well, Margot ate. 

     “I’m not a child, my dear. A woman doesn’t reach her eightieth birthday without learning a thing or two about how the world works. Unfortunately, a woman of my age also usually forgets most of it.” She laughed again at her own humor. “You know I’ve always been good at reading people, understanding them. I understand Lavonia, and more importantly, she understands not only me but this house as well.”

     Margot’s head spun. “I think you’ve lost me, Aunt Kate. Exactly what is it that we’re all supposed to understand?”

     “I haven’t lost you; you’re just being close-minded. Just believe me when I say she’s the genuine article, and if you’re as interested in such things as I am, I’ll show you.”

     “Aunt Kate, I really think…” That was it, Margot was up and heading for the sugar coma that was now calling her name loud and clear from the kitchen counter.

    “Leave all that thinking until you’ve had a chance to meet her. She’s had some interesting things to say about our family and this house. I dare say it’s interesting enough to make me trust her. Interesting enough to make me start thinking about my own mortality and what needs to be done—before it’s too late. Death always seems to come at the most inconvenient times, you know. Like right when you’re smack dab in the middle of living.”

     “I really don’t like the sound of this at all, Aunt Kate. If Porter introduced her to you, you can just bet she’s no good. You know as well as I do that when it comes to dealing with Porter, the only thing he’s interested in is finding the quickest, most profitable way to get to your money.” Her bare feet plodded along the smooth wooden floor of the apartment, making soft, muted suction sounds as she moved. Margot reached into the box and paused. “Wait a minute, you’re not paying this woman, are you?”

     “Oh, Margot, you had such an open mind as a child. I’m afraid that life has turned you into a skeptic.” 

     “Skeptic? Maybe. Realist? Definitely.” Margot grabbed the closest pastry and took a big bite of something that was shockingly chocolate-filled and gooey. She closed her eyes, focusing on the quick flutter of her heart, the one that told her she was still alive.

     “Call it what you will, but I think we both know what it really is: fear. Fear of the unknown. Your mother was the very same way, God rest her soul.”

     Margot could hear the pain in her aunt’s voice. They had been so close—Kate and her mother. She remembered their long talks on the patio when summers were warm, and fireflies flickered along the edges of trees that hugged the vast, well-manicured lawn. How Kate had doted on her mother, making sure she was happy, ensuring she never wanted for anything, as if she in some way belonged to her.

     “Now, I won’t lecture you; just promise me that you’ll come,” Kate said.

      There was a stillness over the line that made Margot open her eyes.

      Her aunt continued, “And promise me—promise me that you’ll be careful. Keep that husband of yours close to you. You know how much I’ve always liked him. Good man, strong and handsome. Not like some of them, not the sort of man to take advantage of a woman’s frailty, of her love and then…”

     Margot faltered and set the half-eaten brownie back into the box. “About that…”

     There was a muffling over the line, like suddenly being underwater, followed by the distant sound of another person’s voice—a man’s voice.

     “I’ve got to go, Margot—Tom’s here to help me with the will. You know how lawyers love to charge by the second, so no more chatter. I’ll send out the invitations first thing in the morning. Kiss Josh for me. I love you both.”

     There was a distinct click as the line disconnected, and the room around Margot closed in on her for the tenth time that day.

     Promise me—promise me that you’ll be careful. Keep that husband of yours close to you. 

     “What on earth is there to be careful about?” Margot whispered.

     Shadows danced on the wall of cabinets in front of her, their shapes twisting into haunting figures—quickly she reached for the light switch, flooding the dimming room with a warm, golden glow. A thin line of sweat broke out along her forehead.

     “Old people can be so strange.”