San Joaquin Valley, California
The conversations I enjoy most with my little cousin are the ones that take place when I least expect it. Our latest occurred this evening at a very late hour when I was the last to retire. About to close the final chapter of “Great Expectations”, I was startled to glance up and see…
“Kinsey!”
At first, Scott thought she was sleepwalking when he didn’t get an immediate response. “Kinsey? Honey, what’s wrong? It’s late.”
“I can’t sleep.”
Setting his book down, Scott rose to place his hand on Kinsey’s forehead.
“Why do you always do that?”
“I secretly wanted to be a doctor.”
“Why do you always think it’s a fever?”
“It’s the only medical term I know.”
Scott scrutinized his patient’s face.
“Was it a bad dream?”
Silence.
“Is there something bothering you?”
Silence.
All right, little lady, you can tell me when you’re ready.
Scott took his cousin’s hand and headed out of the study.
“I don’t want to go back to my room right now.”
“I didn’t say you were. Our destination is the kitchen.”
Pulling out a chair, Doctor Lancer prescribed his first step to a complete recovery. “Sit. Don’t move.”
Stoking the embers, Scott began to heat the top of the oven. Moving pots and pans around he finally found the one he had in mind.
“Scott, you are going to wake up the entire household.”
“Relax. You heard Johnny snoring. A few clanking pans can’t compete with that.”
Retrieving a pitcher of milk from the icebox, the late night physician poured a healthy dose into a small pot.
“Warm milk? Are you making me warm milk? You can’t be serious. Warm milk is for babies.”
“Why not? You certainly act like one at times.”
“When?”
“Would you like the list from just this week or since your arrival?”
“Never mind.”
“Stomping your foot.”
“I said never mind.”
“Making a face when you think I’m not looking.”
“That’s enough.”
“Slamming your bedroom door.”
“You’ve proved your point.”
“Throwing a tantrum over a tea party.”
“You are never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Warm milk will be lovely.”
Focusing his attention on the pot, the good doctor slowly stirred his milky remedy while adding a dash of this and sprinkle of that from Maria’s shelves.
“I must tell you Freckles, this isn’t just any warm milk. It’s Great Aunt Winifred’s Secret Recipe.”
“We have a Great Aunt Winifred?”
“We do.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am.”
“Why have I never heard about this Great Aunt Winifred?”
“How should I know? Maybe you were chasing kangaroos at the time.”
The doctor spied a slight smile from his patient.
“Scott, when did you learn about this recipe?”
“Great Aunt Winnie would make it for me.”
“You had trouble sleeping?”
“There was a time, yes.”
“After the war?”
“Yes.”
Scott tested the milk’s temperature with his knuckle and declared it ready. Pouring it into a mug, he placed the concoction in front of Kinsey and then occupied a chair next to her.
“Drink up.”
Kinsey raised one eyebrow. “What’s the secret ingredient?”
“I can’t tell you. With her dying breath, Winnie made me promise never to divulge the secret ingredient. You want her ghost to haunt this hacienda for the rest of our lives?”
“That thought certainly isn’t going to help me sleep!”
“Don’t worry. Her ghost is more amusing than frightening. Great Aunt Winifred had a nose an aardvark would covet.”
Kinsey nearly snorted milk out her own nose.
“Finally,” Scott thought, “I broke through the wall.”
Kinsey sipped the milk and admitted it was quite tasty. “So tell me about this bad dream of yours.”
“How did you know it was a bad dream?”
Scott smiled Well, he didn’t until now. “Freckles, a doctor just knows these things.”
Scott felt there were two types of bad dreams. There were the dreams that, at first, were scary but when discussed, they would fade and become silly or stupid. Then there were the night scares. These dreams delivered a cold sweat and were not easily talked about nor did they completely fade away. Scott had experienced both. He was relieved when it was apparent Kinsey’s dream was one that would not be sticking around much longer. His cousin’s eyelids were looking heavy and her voice had adopted a sing-songy cadence, which indicated sleep would be visiting soon.
“Off to bed. Chances are Dewdrop will be waking us up in a few hours.”
“Scott, I don’t know what would happen to me if you weren’t around.”
Kissing his little cousin on the forehead, Scott assured her he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and watched her drift out of the kitchen.
Grabbing a mug, Scott retrieved the bottle of brandy he had used earlier and poured two fingers for a toast.
“Here’s to the secret ingredient.”
Thank you Great Aunt Winifred. Your secret recipe lives on. I apologize for the aardvark reference.
~ S.
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