Optical Delusions in Deadwood Read Online Free PDF Page A

over so I could get some water from the tap.

          “Or a big break.” I could feel her eyes on me as I filled my glass. “Like lifetime big.”

          “How are the nightmares?”

          I turned off the faucet. I wanted to deny that I was still having them, but the dark circles under my eyes most mornings undoubtedly gave me away. “Still coming.”

          “How often?”

          “Every now and then.” They showed nightly on the big screen in my brain, sometimes in 3-D—a special feature. But Aunt Zoe didn’t need to hear that. She had enough on her plate with creating all the spun glass pieces required to fill an order from a fancy gallery in Denver. She needed to focus, not have her creativity sapped from worrying about me.  I gulped several swallows of cold tap water, quenching my thirst, wishing I could quench the nightmares with it.

          “You sure you don’t want to pay a visit to that therapist the Emergency doctor recommended?”

          Glass in hand, I moved to the back door and looked out at my kids, who were filling one of Aunt Zoe’s big plastic storage tubs with water from the garden hose. “I’m fine. It’s just some residual stuff still bouncing around in my head, that’s all.”

          “Violet Lynn.”

          The sound of my middle name made me turn her way. “What?” That came out sounding more defensive than I’d have liked.

          “You experienced a very traumatic event. While most of the physical evidence has disappeared—”

          I pointed at my eyebrows, or rather the patches of them.

          “I said ‘most.’” She lifted the pitcher from the sink and placed it on the counter. “The mental bruises will take longer to fade.” She grabbed the sugar canister and dumped a heap into the lemon juice. “You should think about calling that therapist and setting up an appointment with her.”

          Absolutely not. I couldn’t afford to pay a therapist right now, unless she accepted Monopoly money as currency. “I’ll consider it.”

          I could tell by the set of her mouth as she stirred the juice that she didn’t believe me. Aunt Zoe had been able to read me like a Wall Drug billboard since I stopped wearing diapers.

          “If anything, she could give you a prescription for something to help you sleep better.”

          Sleep? Bah. Who needed it?

          Movement out the back door caught my attention. I grinned at the sight of Layne squatting in the plastic tub, his head the only thing above water, his teeth visibly chattering. Meanwhile, Addy chased her chicken, Elvis, around the swing set and then around Layne. Addy’s red checkered one-piece bathing suit reminded me of Wanda Carhart’s red gingham dress, which in turn jogged my memory about what I’d wanted to talk to Aunt Zoe about when I walked into the kitchen.

          “Aunt Zoe?”

          She looked up from filling the pitcher.

          “Do you know Millie and Wanda Carhart?”

          The slight narrowing of her eyes spoke volumes. “A little. Why?”

          “I’m going to go walk through their place up in Lead this afternoon. They want me to sell it for them.”

          “That was an ugly scene.” She shook her head as she dumped a tray of ice cubes into the lemonade.

          “Do you remember the details?”

          “Well enough.” She grabbed the towel, wiping her hands. “Are you going to sell it?”

          “I don’t know. What do you think?” I might as well solicit her opinion. Everyone else had already thrown their two cents at me.

          “I think you’re going to do what you believe is the right thing.” She held out her hand for my glass. I gulped the last bit of water and obliged. “Which might not be the best thing,” she continued, “but if there is one thing I’ve learned about you in the last thirty-five years,