"Henry, I'll be right back." I grab the box and slam the door behind me.

Driving I recall a few pawn shops around. I park and go in the one I've passed many times. But never been a patron.

The gentleman looks up from behind the counter to acknowledge my existence.

"Can I help you find something?" He stares back down at his paper.

"I have some china and I want to know how much you think it's worth." I hand him the tiny coffee cup, hoping he may see something I don't.

"You're in luck. We have an antique dealer who looks at all this stuff. He's here now." He disappears behind a dingy blue curtain.

I look around the darkly lit room. There are at least five security cameras hanging from the wooden rafters. I get the heebie-jeebies being in this part of the town at this time of day. I wish I would've told someone I'm down here just in case me or my china doesn't get to see the light of day again.

The counterman re-emerges with another man. "How many pieces do you have?" the other man asks me.

"I have all twelve place settings plus the extras." I'm getting the feeling that he is a little interested in what I have.

"All good condition like this cup?" He holds it closer to the light.

"As far as I can tell. I have it all with me if you want to see it." I point towards the door with my keys still in hand.

The antique dealer follows me out to the car, making two trips to retrieve the boxes. On the second trip, he points to the yellow bag of silver. "Is that yours?"

He picks up the carved spoon. There is excitement in his eyes.

"Oh yeah, that. Why?" I pull out the bag and dump the contents in the trunk.

"Interested in selling it?"

I don't answer, I start stuffing it in the boxes. With the china and the silver, I follow him back into the pawnshop. I bet I can get fifty dollars out of him.

Anticipation build as I watch him carefully place each piece on the empty table. He looks them over, one at a time, writing on a piece of paper. Then the two men whisper in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

"Here's the deal." He takes the magnifying glasses off his head and lay them on the counter. "Royal Doulton," he taps the bottom of the tiny cup, "started in 1815 and to make a long story short became Britain's leading china maker. What you have here is worth about ten thousand dollars."

My mouth drops, but no sound comes out. I have to steady myself against the counter. "Did I hear you correctly?"

"If you heard ten thousand dollars, you heard me correctly." He picks up the knife.

I look around. I'm either on Punk'd or Antiques Road Show. "This is a joke. Right?"

He laughs and then points to the silver. "This is a very rare Sheffield sterling silver set circa 1894 worth four thousand dollars."

As if in slow motion, I watch him puts the knife next to the spoon. "I'll give you fourteen thousand dollars for all of it."

My lungs compress. I can't breathe. There is no way Aunt Grace knows she gave me thousands of dollars of china.

I fiddle around my bag for my phone and motion to the antique dealer to hold on.

"Hello?" Aunt Grace sounds tired. I can hear her shallow breathing as she tries to take in air.

"Aunt Grace?" I question if it's even her. "Are you okay?" I momentarily forget about the china and become increasingly frightened.

My first instinct is to go and look at her to make sure she is still wearing a wig, ruby red lipstick and stroking her fox. I need to know she's still my crazy Aunt Grace.

"Hallie, it's so good to hear your voice," Aunt Grace's says. "I'm fine. All this humidity loves to get in my lungs." She assures me nothing is wrong. Though I still have an uneasy feeling she isn't telling me the truth.

"Aunt Grace, you know the china and the silver ware you gave me." I get to the point. "Do you know how much that is worth?"

"Yes." The line is silent. "I guess you either need money or want to get rid of it. Either way, I know we couldn't offer you the life you deserved, but I gave you the best life I could. I am proud of you, Hallie." Aunt Grace sounds the sanest I've ever heard her.

I wipe the tear from my cheek. I don't know what to say. I can't let her down. "I need the money." I whisper in embarrassment.

"How much do you need?" She questions.

"Three thousand dollars." Shame begins to fill my soul. My insides slowly begin to tear away from my body. I realize she's done the best she could for me and the way I've treated her over the years is ungrateful and evil.

"Wait, Hallie," she pleads. "Don't sell it."

I checked the LCD screen on my phone. Aunt Grace's call has been dropped. I don't know what it is about her voice, but it makes me believe her. It's the least I can do. The credit card minimum payment isn't due for three weeks. I don't have to do this now.

I thank the gentlemen for their time, pack my china and silver back in the box, and speed back to Hyde Park to begin my real packing.

Chapter Fifty-One.

There he sits, on the stoop and still not giving eye contact. "Your aunt's upstairs." Uncle Jimmy doesn't even scoot over to let me through.

This time, I slowly walk up the stairs, smiling at the smells of urine, the scatter of bugs and the loud noises coming off the street that would've annoyed me a couple weeks ago.

The apartment number is still crooked hanging on by a thumbtack and the wood still shows the history of the cockroaches that once lived here.

I tap on the door. "Aunt Grace?"

She opens the door teary-eyed. "I've dreaded this day since the day you showed up." She grabs me and hugs me tighter than she ever has. I embrace her just as I did my mother many years ago.

"Are you okay?" I hold her at arm's length to gain a better look. She's pale, maybe not feeling well.

"Fine. Allergies, small headache." She smiles her gummy smile. "I am ninety-two years young." She laughs.

"You know, this isn't the last time I'll be here. I'm still going to visit once every six weeks like I always have." I see the sadness in her eyes. "Maybe once a month." I can do that, especially now since I have business dealing here.

"Come in?" She knows I'm going to decline. "I know you want to get back to that big-city life."

She reaches inside the door and hands me a doll. It isn't any doll. It is a true child like baby doll. She-I think it's a she-stands as tall as my waist. Her hair is shaved and only the hair plugs are visible.

"I found it in the dumpster and thought about you immediately." She smiles. "She can keep you company on your way home."

"I have Henry, Aunt Grace and I don't have any more room." It looks like the bride of Chucky. I see the disappointment in her eyes. "You know, I can put Henry in the back seat."

Her chin tilts up, showing me a toothless smile I'm going miss. I realize I need her more than she needs me. She's all I have.

Uncle Jimmy's back is facing me as I walk back down the steps. He still doesn't flinch stepping over him again. "Excuse me, Uncle Jimmy."

His hat is blocking his line of vision. I want to smile and tell him bye, but he is the same old Jimmy. I turn one last time to look back at the old apartment building. I don't know when or if I will ever be back here. I have an uneasy feeling I've never had before.

Uncle Jimmy stands up with dampened eyes.

"Hallie?" His voice is frail and soft. "I know I've been a bear of a relative, but your Aunt Grace has always loved you. These past few months have brought out a happiness and joy she hasn't had in years." He begins to weep. "I may not be smart or rich, but I do know when to say thank you."

I walk over to him, but he pushes me away. "No need for all that."

He sits back down on the stoop. He doesn't want a response, he only wants to say thank you in his own way. Of all the crazy things he did this summer, this one ranks as the most memorable.

Week Eleven.

Bead CRAZY!

Chapter Fifty-Two.

With a swift clap, my lights came on. I jump to look at the clock. Two in the morning! No need to look at the caller ID.

"Hello, Aunt Grace." I lay down with the crook of my elbow shielding the light from my eyes. Of course, now that I'm about to leave, she's going to start calling in the middle of the night, again.

"Hallie?" Uncle Jimmy's voice sounds shaky and unclear.

"Uncle Jimmy?" Like a spring, I jump to my feet and clap. "What's wrong?" I can tell by the pause it isn't a good sign. Panic starts to take over. "Uncle Jimmy?"

"It's your Aunt." I'm sure I hear a tear hit the phone. "We're at University Hospital. I think it's her heart."

"I'll be right there." I hang up, dress in record time, and run to my car.

My foggy mind matches the September foggy streets of Cincinnati, leaving me driving slower than normal and making me panic more. All the what-ifs are running in my head.

What if it's a heart attack? All of our family has died of heart related issues, expect my parents. What if she dies? She can't die. She's all I've got. My panic turns to sadness. Sadness for her. Sadness for Uncle Jimmy. Sadness for me.

The red emergency room sign looks pink in the fog, making it hard to read. I park in the closest parking spot, grab my bag and run as fast as I can, almost smacking into the sliding glass doors.

Uncle Jimmy sits next to her holding her lifeless hand. He looks up at me. It's the look of a scared old man. His eyes are red around the edges from worry, from crying.

"She got up to get a drink and fell." He puts her hand to his lips. "I keep saying her name and she never responds." He breaks down, laying his head on the edge of her bed.

I walk over and rub my hand along her forehead and through her fine hair. If she has to be in this position, I know she would want her hair to look good. She looks gray. Her face is sunken and more drawn without her teeth.

The tube sticking out of her mouth is pumping her chest up and down, making it seem she is breathing on her own. Her bones protrude through her skin.

My urge is to grab the tube out and scream "Get up, Aunt Grace. What are you doing, teaching me a lesson? I love you. You have been my mother. Get up!" But I don't.

"Aunt Grace, I love you." I bend down and whisper in her ear. The machines beeps.

The noise of the breathing tube fills, clicks and releases, to me as loud as a gonging bell. It fills the room, making this more real. My sadness turns back into fear.

"Aunt Grace, open your eyes." I beg her. I get angry. I demand. "Open your eyes, Aunt Grace."

I need her to get up, for me.

"Uncle Jimmy, tell her to open her eyes." I plead with him.

"I've tried, Hallie. I don't think your aunt's going to make it."

"Yes, she is. She is strong." I speak through my gritted teeth and glare through my tears, through my pain.

The machines seem to be getting louder. All the noises ring in my ears. I put my hands over them to stop the madness, but it doesn't stop the noise in my head.

I should have been a better niece. I shouldn't have talked about her the way I did. She took me in when I had no one. When no one else wanted me.

"I should've taken better care of her." I sob with my head in my hands.

"You did more than you know." Uncle Jimmy keeps rubbing her hand, and smiles lovingly at her. "She was so happy you were living here. When your parents died, she said this was her chance to be a mother since she couldn't have kids."

Thinking back, it might not have been ideal, but my life was nothing short of exciting. I might have hated it then, but I have her to thank for the drive in life I now have.

"She," I stop and correct myself, "both of you did a great job. If it wasn't for the two of you, I wouldn't be where I am today."

We sit in silence, each on either side, rubbing her hands for hours. Waiting. Waiting for a sign of life, a breath on her own, a flutter of her eyes. Waiting for a doctor. Nothing.

"I think it is time we discuss options." The doctor finally comes in to check Aunt Grace's vital signs. It's news I don't want to hear. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she is telling us that Aunt Grace isn't going to make it. "Her vitals are telling us her body is not recovering. She has suffered a brain aneurysm."

"What?" Uncle Jimmy is questioning what the diagnosis is.

"A brain aneurysm is a bulging, weak area in the wall of an artery that supplies blood to the brain. In most cases, a brain aneurysm causes no symptoms and goes unnoticed." The doctor is trying to avoid eye contact. "Did she complain of a head ache?"

"No." Uncle Jimmy quietly answers.

"Yes, she did." I remember the visit earlier in the day. She told me her head hurt. "She thought it was allergies."