![]() ![]() Irene frowned and tilted her head to the side charmingly. Is it some kind of chest or something?” Sometimes the direct approach was the best one. Maggie started at the resemblance between them…she had only to look at her aunt to see what she would like in fifty odd years. ![]() Her hair was disheveled and there was a dirty smudge on her nose. ![]() Irene looked up absently from the photo album she was lost in. “Aunt Irene?” Maggie asked tentatively, brushing her dusty hands on her faded jeans. You can’t exactly bring up ghostly apparitions over the breakfast table. She’d never said anything to her aunt about it, obviously. The spring clean reminded her of the locked window seat in her room. ![]() She set a few things aside, unwilling to try them on but unwilling to give them away, and organized and catalogued everything else, filling several boxes with items Irene was ready to get rid of. The blue dress had been relegated to the farthest corner of her closet, tucked away from sight in its protective zipper bag. Irene told her she could have anything she wanted, but Maggie realized playing dress-up would only remind her of the blue dress and dancing with Johnny. She cleaned Irene’s house from top to bottom, discovering a few unbelievably cool things in the process: old vinyl records, a working record player, clothes and handbags and shoes that would make any little girl – or big girl - squeal with delight. Maggie spent most of Christmas vacation trying to be the best niece in the universe. ![]()
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