Chapter 11: Deb at Midnight

Our first week on Dorothy Lane, Ben and I slept at the store.

We told ourselves it was to guard the stock.

Really, we were too tired to drive home.

On Thursday night, a few minutes before midnight, someone knocked on the glass of the front door.

I went to the window and saw a small silver sedan parked at the curb.

My aunt stood on the step in a quilted coat, holding a casserole dish with both hands.

I opened the door a crack.

"Aunt Deb?"

"Hi, sweetheart," she whispered. "Can I come in? I won't stay."

Her hair was flat on one side.

She looked like she hadn't slept in a week.

I let her in, and Ben came out of the stockroom with a bag of chips in his hand.

He stopped when he saw her.

"It's okay," I told him. "It's my aunt."

"It's tuna noodle," Aunt Deb said, holding out the dish.

"Thank you."

"I made it for you. I mean, I made it for Tyler, but then I thought..." She stopped.

She set the dish on the counter and stood there, twisting her purse strap.

I waited.

"I was in the lot on Saturday," she said. "Behind the dumpster."

"That was you in the silver car."

"I saw all those people carrying your shelves. I saw you laugh."

"I shouldn't have been there. Gary was there, and I didn't want him to see me."

She swallowed.

"I haven't seen anyone laugh like that in two years."

"Aunt Deb, what's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong, honey."

She sat down on a bag of kibble, in her good coat, and started to cry.

Ben went and got her a glass of water.

It took a while.

The story came out in pieces.

Tyler had opened a second PupPalace in Beavercreek, and a third in Springboro.

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