Эллен Шрайбер: The Coffin Club

I couldn’t help but stare at my aunt, who had traded her waitress outfit for a real estate one, as we buckled in.

“Surprised to see me in a suit?” she asked, obviously reading my thoughts.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without sandals and a flower in your hair,” I teased.

“I figured it was time to get a real job,” she confessed. “I didn’t bother telling your father. I haven’t been working that long and I’ve already taken a half day.” She laughed. “So who knows how much longer it will last.”

She started the car and the engine putt-putted as she motored through the historic downtown area.

Aunt Libby was such an independent spirit, I felt disappointed and sad that she was giving up her dream. I didn’t want her to change, nor did I ever want to change. I wondered, if Aunt Libby had to give up her passions, would I have to, too?

“Have you given up acting?” I asked.

“No, it’s in my blood,” she said. “In fact, I’m doing a one-woman show. You can take the girl out of acting but not the acting out of the girl.”

I felt relieved. “A one-woman show…That’s great. Soon enough you’ll have your own Oscar.”

Aunt Libby chuckled, then turned serious. Raindrops pelted the windshield and the rustic wipers struggled to clear them as we headed toward her apartment.

Something felt strange as I gazed out the window. An eerie shadow blanketed the town as we drove through it. I thought I saw a few bats hovering over a church.

“Wow…Those look like…”

“Bats?”

“Yes.”

“There was a nest of them in one of the houses we have on the market. You would have loved it!”

“Awesome.”

“And you would have loved this house we just rented.”

“Really? Is it spooky?”

“Completely. It was a half-dead manor house.”

“A manor house?” I asked. It couldn’t have been the one Alexander and Jameson had occupied last time I was here.

“Yes,” my aunt replied.

“Well, there must be a lot in this town,” I hinted.

“Not too many. And not one like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“It had been abandoned for years. The back lawn was completely overgrown, and I think the floors needed to be rehabbed, but the new renter didn’t seem to mind.”

“Is it the one on Lennox Hill Road?”

“Yes. How would you know?”

“Uh…I remember seeing pictures of it in the paper the last time I was here,” I lied.

“It does seem like a house you would love to live in. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was haunted.”

If someone had rented the manor house, then where were Alexander and Jameson staying? And how would I ever find them?

“Do you still have the key? Maybe they can give me a tour.”

“No, the man who is renting it has the key.”

“What does he look like?”

My aunt appeared puzzled.

“I was just wondering what kind of a man would rent a manor house. Perhaps a prince or a big-time executive,” I prodded.

“This man wasn’t a prince but more of a gentleman. He did look creepy —in the ghoulish sense of the word. I guess that’s why he liked the house.”

“Jameson!” I blurted out at the same time Aunt Libby tapped her horn and hit the brakes.

A sparrow quickly flew off in front of us.

“I brake for birds,” she said with a smile.

I wondered why Jameson would rent the manor house. Did they plan on staying indefinitely? My heart sank. Then I remembered Alexander’s reassuring words: “I will return soon.” But what was keeping my boyfriend here?

We turned onto Aunt Libby’s tree-lined urban street and she confidently, or foolishly, squeezed her Beetle into an anorexically small space between a truck and an orange scooter. Aunt Libby attached a lock to her steering wheel. She opened the entrance door to the 1940s row house apartment building, unlocked her mailbox, followed by her apartment door. Aunt Libby had as many keys as Dullsville High’s janitor.

The smell of lavender incense bled through the cracks of Aunt Libby’s apartment door before we entered. Once inside, a waft of floral scents hit me as if I’d just stepped into a flower conservatory.

Though Aunt Libby’s attire had changed, her apartment decor hadn’t. Besides a few stacks of real estate manuals sitting on her coffee table, the sixties and seventies still ruled the one-bedroom apartment. Beaded curtains hung from the frame of her bedroom door and half-melted candles lined every inch of available space, from the mantel to the floor.

As I shed my rain-soaked clothes for dry ones in Aunt Libby’s dinky bathroom, I imagined what my life would be like on my own if I’d never met Alexander. Who would I grow up to become? Dullsville was way too dull for a girl like me. I’d probably end up in Hipsterville in an apartment similar to my aunt’s, only it would have dripping wax candelabras, black lace curtains, and a gargoyle headboard on my bed.

But what would it mean if I couldn’t share it with Alexander? Living on my own and working perhaps as a bartender at the Coffin Club night after night. I felt a pang of loneliness for my aunt—she had eaten, slept, lived by herself for as many years as I could remember. Instead of being dragged down by her independent lifestyle, Aunt Libby seemed to thrive on it. She serial dated and had a wide circle of friends from her theater community. Aunt Libby was gorgeous. Someone as hip and cool as she could get any man she wanted.

I reapplied my chocolate eye shadow and liner and towel dried my damp hair. I smelled teriyaki sauce and found Aunt Libby—the one I’d always known, wearing embroidered jeans and jeweled flip-flops, a halter top underneath a linen jacket—stir-frying in her wok.

I sighed, relieved that my aunt had returned to her inner Deadhead.

Aunt Libby served our healthy entrees. We sat down at her coffee table, on oversized mismatched fluffy pillows, surrounded by candles, incense, and a spicy Asian meal.

“I think I’m getting married!” she suddenly announced. “I’ve been dying to tell you.”

“You are?” I asked, surprised. “Congrats! Dad didn’t mention…”

“Well, okay, it’s not official or anything. In fact, we haven’t officially gone out yet. I just met him last night.”

Aunt Libby’s face flushed bright red. She grabbed a brown hobo purse that was sitting on her paisley futon and pulled out a rainbow-colored beaded wallet. She opened it and presented me with a Renegades paper napkin. It had a man’s name and phone number written on it. “He has beautiful handwriting, doesn’t he?”

“Devon. That’s a cool name.”

“I can’t wait to tell you all about him.”

“Tell me all!”

“He has pool-colored eyes and salt-and-pepper hair.”

“He sounds dreamy.”

“I noticed him in the audience when I was onstage. I almost couldn’t see him because he was just outside the glare of the spotlight. He has the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Our eyes locked and I forgot my lines. I stood there, frozen, for what seemed like hours. He had this hypnotic stare.”

I laughed. Aunt Libby was like a sixteen-year-old girl who had fallen in love.

“When the show was over, he was waiting for me. We had this intense connection I’ve never felt before.”

“I know exactly what you mean. That’s how I feel about Alexander. That’s why I had to come here….”

“Come here?” she asked.

“Uh…yes, for girl time.”

“I know what you mean. I’m bursting at the seams to talk about him, but there’s not much I know—besides how handsome he is!”

“I’m sure I’ll be calling him Uncle Devon within a matter of days. Can I wear black to your wedding?”