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Her aunt laughed. “Oh, I'm dying for a cuppa, but the power is probably out everywhere. The coffee will have to wait.”
“Sadly, I think you're right.”
Her aunt rose from the table and retrieved a platter from the counter, along with some maple syrup. “At least we can eat this.”
Elizabeth rubbed her hands together. “Mm, your boiled corn bread?”
“Made just for you as soon as I knew you were coming. It’s better fresh, as you know, but I knew we might lose power. You sounded like you needed a little comfort food.”
“I need more than comfort food, I think.”
Her aunt patted her hand. “Talking about it might make you feel better. It might help you think about things more clearly.”
“Thinking about things is what I'm trying to avoid.”
“I know. That's what the wine and the funny stories were for last night. I could see you needed some time. I'll be here to listen whenever you're ready.”
Elizabeth fidgeted with the napkin, then took a small nibble of the currant-spiced cornbread. The desire to talk, to confide in her, was strong, but she was at a loss, and for the umpteenth time in the past two weeks, her eyes filled with tears.
“I don't know where to start.”
Her aunt squeezed her hand. “Why don't you start at the beginning?”
