Chapter 6

To Aunt Flory's delight, Celeste finished the rest of the soup with a look of triumph on her face. When Aunt Flory ladled more into her bowl and accidentally included a piece of chicken, Celeste withdrew in horror.

"Only bugs, weeds, and water," she complained. "No chicken." Aunt Flory quickly picked out the meat and never made that mistake again.

The soup soon became a staple of the girls' diet and one of their favorite dishes. Aunt Flory found it easy to make, and Zoey and Ruby were thrilled about how fast Celeste ate it. They never had to wait for her when it was on the menu. In the years that followed, the triplets were always delighted to be greeted by the smell of bugs, weeds, and water boiling on the stove when they returned home.

Today was no different. Its aroma filled the kitchen. "Are you sure there isn't a single thing you can tell us about our father?" Zoey suddenly asked Aunt Flory, who was happily stirring the soup.

Her smile faded with Zoey's words. She shook her head, the thick flesh around her neck rippling beneath her chin. "Are you going to dig up that skeleton again today?"

"Wouldn't you?" Zoey challenged her, careful to keep her tone respectful. Aunt Flory didn't tolerate disrespect in her kitchen.

Aunt Flory sighed and patted her hair. Spun like cotton candy into a funnel on the top of her head, a cloud of hair spray every morning kept it in place. "I know as much about your father as you do," she answered, plopping three bowls of soup down while taking a seat at the kitchen table, her ample bottom balanced between two chairs. Her hands dove into a mound of bread dough. Even a serious conversation was no excuse for idleness in Aunt Flory's world.

"Think harder," Zoey offered. "You have to remember something. She was your sister."

Aunt Flory's shoulders sagged. "I've told you everything I know many times."

"Zoey thinks everyone's lying," Ruby offered. She had a noodle hanging from her lips, and she slurped it up with enthusiasm. A stickler for manners, Aunt Flory frowned.

"No, I don't," Zoey shot back. "But I don't believe that someone, somewhere, doesn't know something about him."

"But we've been over this a hundred times," Aunt Flory said. "I don't know anything."

Celeste, uninterested in the conversation, focused on her soup. Ruby, having heard it all before, looked bored, her green eyes fixed out the window.

"Your mother took your father's identity with her to the grave," Aunt Flory continued. "That's the way she wanted it; God rest her soul." Aunt Flory never mentioned her sister without saying "God rest her soul." She punched the dough one last time before flipping it over. "Can't you let sleeping dogs lie?"

Aunt Flory leaned across the table and kissed Zoey on the forehead. The stubble above her lip pricked Zoey's skin, making her mouth water with the faint taste of lemon. Despite frequent waxing, the stubborn shadow of a mustache frequently darkened Aunt Flory's upper lip.

The girls often came home from school to find Aunt Flory wrestling with sticky strips of wax, Verna, cigarette in one hand, coffee in another, supervising the process. Verna always offered her help, but Aunt Flory preferred to do it herself. "If anyone's going to hurt me, I'd rather it be me," she would insist, yanking off one of the strips to uncover an angry red welt.

Zoey struggled not to let Aunt Flory's dismissal of her natural curiosity infuriate her. She knew it was just a reflection of her aunt's practical nature. Despite her good humor and youthful disposition, sage advice from Aunt Flory often meant old sayings and all-purpose wisdom passed down through generations of two small working-class families. Both had immigrated to Leamington, Ontario from Italy and Ireland in the early 1900s. By Aunt Flory's own account, their ancestors were strong-backed people who worked hard and died young, so much so that the families had dwindled through the years until only the four Starling women living in the little cottage on the lake remained.

Aunt Flory found strength and wisdom in the common sense counsel that was a staple of her small-town upbringing. She had colorful sayings for every situation and peppered her conversations with them. Dr. Tanner, the triplets' pediatrician and Aunt Flory's good friend, said Aunt Flory couldn't offend him though she was a stubborn and opinionated woman. He claimed it was because he often wasn't exactly sure what she meant, and when he did, he was usually laughing too hard to care.

Most of Aunt Flory's wisdom centered on a graceful surrender to one's circumstances and finding happiness in daily life. Planted in the rich soil and simple wisdom of Leamington, she rarely - and only reluctantly - left town. A sickly baby, she had eventually outgrown her unnamed afflictions in the country air and was now rooted there like an old tree on the shores of Lake Erie.

"Like my father always said, you have to dance with the one who brought you," Aunt Flory was fond of saying. Rather than complain, she more often smiled and sighed when life didn't go her way, the shrug of her shoulders one of acceptance.

But it wasn't her no-nonsense approach to life that irritated Zoey so easily lately. It was Zoey's growing awareness of Aunt Flory's larger-than-life presence. At under five feet tall and well over two hundred pounds, she drew attention to herself wherever she went, calling out greetings to neighbors as she moved purposefully through town. No one suffered an illness without the benefit of her homemade lasagna, and the Starling house frequently rang out with the robust notes of her warbling song. Even Aunt Flory's laughter was loud and unfettered, drawing unwanted attention to the family wherever they went.

Zoey often wished that Aunt Flory could be more like the other parents when it came down to it. They were proper and reserved, more discriminate in their enthusiasm, generosity, and affection. What she longed for was a more typical family, with a parent who didn't draw attention to her mere existence. Impulsively, Zoey reached out and deliberately squeezed the tablecloth again, not sure if it was the salty tang that filled her mouth that was so satisfying or the look of displeasure that flashed across Aunt Flory's face.