“I’m humming? Sorry. I do that when I think. The whole don’t stop thing made me think of Fleetwood Mac and don’t stop thinking about tomorrow and yesterday’s gone and . . .”

Auntie Ruby found strength enough to raise the remains of both eyebrows up a centimeter.

“. . . and yesterday isn’t gone, is it? Not yet. It’s all right here.” Charlie laid her hand gently on Auntie Ruby’s arm, drew in a breath of air so acidic it caught in the back of her throat, and Sang. Remember the time you painted Surrender Dorothy on the water tower? Remember how Auntie Jane always makes the tea too strong? Remember moving with Uncle Edward in ritual? Remember sisters and nieces and cousins. Remember the sweet/tart taste of cherry pie. Remember. Remember. Remember. This isn’t who you were, this is who you are.

*   *   *

Auntie Jane was waiting outside the door.

“It wasn’t my idea. Auntie Ruby asked me to delay her death.” Given Auntie Jane’s expression, it seemed smart to get the melody down fast. “All I did was redefine her life.”

“All you did? All?”

Objectively, given that in under twenty-two months an enormous asteroid was going to slam the planet to ratshit, Auntie Jane shouldn’t have been all that scary. Realistically, Charlie’d never heard of anyone able to be objective about the aunties.

“Yesterday,” Auntie Jane continued, “she asked me to remind Raymond to stop at the cheese factory, and yet I didn’t hold a séance to pass that on. She’s dying, Charlotte. Her mind spends more time on the other side than it does here and she doesn’t know what she’s asking.”

Charlie considered the need she’d seen in Auntie Ruby’s eyes. “This time, I think she did.”

“You think? You sing!”

“Not mutually exclusive, Auntie Jane.” She stepped sideways, opening up a line of escape through the dining room and into the kitchen, but, for the moment, didn’t take it. “Maybe Auntie Ruby wants to cross over with her cousins, a part of the final chorus.” Even if they could branch the family again, Auntie Jane would be among those staying in Darsden East, tied too tightly to the place to leave. Every word Auntie Jane spoke resonated with that knowledge and not even Auntie Jane could be entirely unaffected by a countdown to death. Accept it, yes. Remain unaffected, no. The undertones were remarkably similar to Gary’s. With a little less bouzouki.

“Maybe,” Charlie added, “she wants to be a pain in the ass, one last time.”

“That,” Auntie Jane snorted, “I believe. Well, come on, then. Mary’s waiting in the kitchen. We’re canning some pumpkin before we start another set of pies.” She turned expectantly, so Charlie fell into step beside her. “Your mother’s garden had some lovely pie pumpkins this year. Stop by and see her when you bring Mary back. I’m trusting you to keep her away from David should Alysha’s boy babies scramble her mind.”