Days of soaring temperatures, nights of torrential rains, humidity punctuated by thunderstorms that brought no relief, otherwise just another typical Philadelphia summer. In a damp tee and pj pants, a middle aged woman lay on a teak lounger over looking the river on her condo terrace. Her hair was in a loose bun held together with colorful pencils and one paintbrush. Her eyes were closed.

“It’s miserable out here,” Rose called from the glass terrace door.

Rose’s Aunt Olive’s AC was cranked up. Crisp cool air bled into the soggy heat of outdoors. Eyes closed, face drenched in sweat, her aunt looked asleep. Rose knew she wasn’t. This was Aunt Ollie’s deep thinking pose.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite niece. Yes it’s dreadful. I was praying for a breeze among other things. But imagine how cool I’ll feel back inside,” Olive said. “Come sit my Rosebud.”

“I’m your only niece Aunt Ollie. And you only pray for a decent quarterback.”

Rose flopped onto the other lounger. A moist weighted blanket of summer lay on her chest. Sitting with Aunt Ollie on this porch looking at this view was Rose’s happy place. Watching the slug grey river, two women sat quietly.

“I hoped you didn’t ask me over to console me. If one more person checks in on me. If one more person asks if I’m okay I’ll scream,” Rose said.

The younger woman poured herself a glass of the cucumber water from the patio table. Studying her aunt, she drank deeply. Her aunt looked wrung out. Worry niggled at Rose’s mind. There was a watercolor pad with a half done cityscape. Rose admired it. Blotches of water marred the composition but it was lovely and sad. The flat blues in the cityscape made Rose think of that trip to London with Aunt Ollie to see the Hopper exhiibit.

“No I won’t do that. I remember when Erica died. The outpouring of sympathy nearly drowned me. Luckily as a criminologist I had my work to anchor me. You will deal with the loss of your boyfriend in your way. You are like Pearlie that way,” Olive said, eyes still closed.

“Mom, I’m nothing like mom. God knows I loved her but she’s so flighty, bouncing from one thing to another, so into status and clothes and money,” Rose said waving one hand trying to encapsulate her mother’s everything.

“No, my sister was a beautiful narcissist. No I meant a character trait, flaw, what have you, that you and she share. Once when Pearlie and I were kids we went to her school friend’s birthday party. Kip Mathews, her year’s obligatory class clown put a thousand legger on her shoulder. Pearl screamed and jumped and spilled punch on her new dress. Kip called her Pearly Squirrelly laughing and pointing. They all laughed except for me. Later after everything had calmed down and the birthday boy’s mom cleaned up Pearl’s dress. We played piñata and Pearl accidentally whacked Kip in the face with the baton,” Olive said.

Olive made air quotes. Rose choked on the cucumber water. Eyes open and red, Olive looked at her favorite niece.

“My baby sister broke that boy’s nose. Watching her spin blindfolded, I knew she was aiming for his Adam’s Apple. I grabbed her elbow. Pearl could not tolerate being mocked, being humiliated. Our family called it her red curtain when we were very little, when she got that way. Uncle Sterling and I learnt to be careful with Pearlie. Father didn’t believe in therapy. Or scandal.

"You cannot be humilated either Rosebud. I remember your college roommate no not Ines your first college roommate Jane I think the one who posted photos of you drunk. That roommate got mugged, beaten, beaten terrible, had to leave school. I suspected then. Tim, you loved him but I always thought he was a Good Time Charlie. the kind of man who’d sleep with your friends and leave your car on empty. I’d hoped you’d see that yourself—well I hoped for many things,” Olive said in a small voice.

Turning to her aunt, Rose sat upright. Her elbow knocked over the table. The water pitcher set crashed. The drenched watercolor ran in a rainbow of sad colors across the terrace.

“Aunt Ollie, stop. Stop! Jill, she was a bitch to me, yeah. People get mugged all the time. I didn’t do anything to her. Tim was shot by a burglar. There were a rash of break-ins in his neighborhood. Wallet and expensive stuff are missing. You must be joking. You don’t think I would do something horrible. Why would I. Wait have you heard something about Tim’s case?”

Olive closed her eyes as Rose asked her what she knew over and over.