An irritating buzzing noise pierced through my consciousness. I opened bleary eyes to darkness. What time was it? My alarm clock read 5:43. Must’ve broke. I slapped my hand over the snooze button, yet the ringing continued. Waif awoke and barked. I winced at the loud noise and hushed him. A foggy thought managed to surface. Your phone. I reached a clumsy hand to where I thought it might be. My fingers touched something that vibrated. The object slipped through my fingers and fell to the ground. I groaned. Unwilling to get out of bed I pulled myself to the edge and fumbled around in the dark until I found it. I sat back in bed, the bright screen blinding me as I answered the call. Who could be calling me at a time like this? Few people knew my number besides my friends, and I had few friends, and those few I had, I had set with unique, individual ringtones. I didn’t recognize the number, but answered anyway.

“H’llo?” I asked through a yawn.

“Bridie? Bridie Baxter?” A voice blared through the speaker, so loud in the still morning I winced. “Are you up? You should be.”

“Who’s this?” Another yawn.

The person chuckled. “It’s me, Basil!”

Why him? I groaned.”How did you get my number?”

“Did you have any idea just how many Bridie Baxters there are out there?” He droned. When I didn’t reply he continued: “Come on. Ask me how many.”

Why now? Through a half sigh half yawn I asked: “How many?”

“About three.”

Why am I wasting my time? As I awakened my sarcasm returned to me. “How lucky for you only one of them is a girl living in the very teeny-tiny town of Roseville.”

“It took some sleuthing, let me tell you.” He laughed. “Did you know that your name is actually Bridget? Bridget Baxter! Who would have ever thought?”

“Never in a million years.” I moaned truthfully.

“I know right? Oh and by the way, you need to update your Facebook profile picture.” He laughed. “I mean, when’s the latest picture from, age twelve?”

“For your information, I put that photo up last night.” I hissed through gritted teeth. He had just touched a soft spot. I knew I looked like a child, but I didn’t need the most annoying human being in all the world to tell me so.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” he said in a voice that was only pity. “Is that the dress you were wearing last night too? It was hard to tell since the last time I saw it it was covered in cake.”

“You think you’re so funny. It’s six in the morning, so get to the punchline or I may kill you.” Ha ha now I’m the funny one. May kill. That’s a laugh. I totally will.

“I don’t think I’m funny.” He sounded wounded. “I’m hilarious. Anyway, what I really called for is to apologize.”

Chuckling, I cut him off. “You’re right. I was wrong. Basil, you’re a laughing riot.”

“A mob, really.” He added dryly. “Bridget, I’m serious. I’m sorry I planted the stick bomb. I’m sorry I set the fireworks, and I’m sorry you fell in the cake.” I must have heard a snicker on the last note. I must have. There had to be some sort of hitch to this. “Look, Bridget.”

I stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”

“What I’m most sorry about, and really is the main reason I called, is that I’d be really, terribly sorry if this picture of you, a sweet young millionaire, where to end up, oh… on the front page of the Roseville Times?”

“What?” My voice rose a couple octaves.

“Now Bridget, it hasn’t happened yet, but–” He gave a ‘hrm’ and I could practically see his innocent shrug. “You never know.”

“Basil Stubbings, if you so much as–”

Click.

Tossing my phone away I let out a stifled squeak. Waif jumped onto my bed to lick my face. I felt numb. Blood pounded in my ears. Dragging myself out of bed, I fumbled through the dark until I found my knitted robe. I didn’t know where I was going, only that it was too early to know and I needed to move. Carefully opening my door, I slipped into the hall, bare feet stepping silently on the plush rug. I wandered the halls, shivering. Waif tagged at my heels, letting out an occasional concerned whine. “I’m alright, Waif. Really. I just need…” I blinked, taking in my whereabouts.

I stood in front of the open kitchen doors. Moonlight spilled into the room, illuminating the cold floor beneath my bare feet. Rainbow colours shone through the stained glass window of the back door. A hunched figure sat on a stool at the island.

I blinked. “I just need some…”

“Ice cream?” Aunt Beatrice offered, finishing the sentence which had really no definite ending.

“Um, sure.” Wrapping my robe tighter around my small frame, I only stared.

She grunted. “Well don’t just stand there, girl! Come and scoop yourself!”

I crossed the frigid floor, grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and pulled up a stool next to her, filling my bowl with ‘Death by Chocolate.’ Waif fell asleep at my feet. Then we sat and ate in silence for quite some time. The kitchen was quiet except for the clinking of our spoons on our bowls and the dog’s soft breathing. Shoveling the last bite and feeling much better, I plucked up the courage to break the stillness.

“What made you come here, Aunt Beatrice?” It came out in a timid whisper as I took a second helping.

She held out her bowl. “Give me some more. I could go asking you the same question. Why are you here?”

Scooping the last bits out of the container, I shrugged. “I dunno. Couldn’t sleep. I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed.” When she didn’t answer I shot her a glance. She seemed to be ignoring me. Or was she waiting for me to continue? I plopped back into my seat and simply stirred my ice cream around in my bowl. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just a bunch of stuff all piling up.”

“You already said that.” She commented.

“No, I–” Well, then again I suppose I did.

“Let me help you along, seeing that you don’t know how to help yourself.” She gave a dry, elderly chuckle. “What sort of things are piling up.” It was really a statement more than a question, yet I know she intended for me to answer it.

My ice cream was starting to melt. “I dunno, I guess cause of moving, and Grandpa dying, and my parents before that, and because school’s over I just have less to fill my mind and I start thinking a lot.”

Aunt Beatrice nodded knowingly, but didn’t but in, so I continued. “And then there’s Basil.”

She crooked a thin eyebrow. “Basil.”

I wished I knew what she was thinking. “The guy next door that planted the stink bomb and the fireworks.”

Something like disappointment crossed her face, as though she had hoped there was some love drama. “You’re angry?”

Nodding, shifted my feet to a high rung on the stool so that I could hug my knees. “And humiliated, and absolutely furious so that I want to…” I continued a little guiltily. “hurt him.”

To my surprise, she chuckled. “You’ve never had a brother, but I’ll tell you that is often how I felt about mine.”

A weak smile was my only reply. I had a brief flash of memory, of Grandpa telling me of of his ‘stubborn old hag’ of a sister.

“He was a trouble maker, that Ben. Drove the lot of us nuts.” She turned her wrinkled face to look at me meaningfully. “But we put up with him. Every once in a while we saw something good in him.”

I laughed a little sadly. “I don’t think Basil has any good in him.”

She chuckled too. “Judging by last night’s events, I can see where you’re coming from. But, have you really tried looking?”

Curling my lip distastefully, I asked: “That would mean that I’d need to keep speaking to him, wouldn’t it?”

“Sadly, yes. You have to decide how much you want to give to see that good. Is it worth it to you to spend your time with him in order to see that little bit of good?”

I shrugged. “Not really.”

“I often find that the most annoying people are the most troubled people, though not in the way you might think.” She had a glazed, faraway look in her eyes. “Benedict? I think he was simply very lonely and very bored, being the only boy in the family and the youngest, as he was. I felt sorry for him plenty of times, though I must admit, that feeling would end when he started nagging me. Ah, the cursed little bogey. Sometimes I wanted to murder that boy.” She said this almost fondly. “I miss that kid.” Shaking her head, as if coming out of a trance, she slid off her stool. “Alright. I’m going back to my room.” She said briskly. “Good day, Bridget.”

“Please call me Bridie.” I nearly begged.

She glanced back as though this were a ridiculous request. “Fine.”  Turning to go, she added. “Then you can call me Aunt Bea.”

“Alright.” I smiled and remembered something. “You never told me why you were up.”

She was already down the hall. “Yes I did.”

Frowning in thought, I gathered the dishes and cleaned the ice cream container, which she had left me to clean. I brooded on what she had said. Was she up because she missed her brother? Everything Grandpa had told me when I was little had gone against Aunt Bea showing any feeling whatsoever. Then again, perhaps the things they said were simply a result of being siblings. I grinned at the thought of my grandfather and his sisters being fond of each other. I glanced out the window. The sun was beginning to rise over the hills of the Baxter acres. I decided I felt much better.

~*~

May 10, 1999

My Dear Bridie,

My eldest sister called today. She had heard that my son and his wife had brought you to stay with me during his eccentric travels. First she insulted Howell and Sophie for leaving their child with me, then she proceeded to offer her help with you. I called her some nasty things and we both hung up. You wont stop screaming now.  I don’t know what to do. The caring of young children is not an area of my expertise. I hate seeing you in such a distressed state. ‘Sure wish I had some help.

~*~