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“I got a bunch of classics, so we might have to marathon all of these,” Dean said, setting four rented DVDs on the coffee table.
Sam picked up one of the blue boxes. “You know, sometimes I forget we’ve traveled back in time, but then Blockbuster still exists.”
There was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” said Dean.
Glancing at the movies – Independence Day, The Fifth Element, Snatch, Wyatt Earp – he was impressed only two had explosions.
“Sammy, come ‘ere,” Dean shouted.
A beautiful young woman – tall and slight, almost fairy-like – stood in the doorway. She had straight, black hair falling past her shoulders. Her dark skin accented by doll-like jet eyes and a bright, tender smile. Maybe it was the pink dress and fluffy white cardigan or the prim way she stood, but she exuded a sugary sweetness.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “My name is Jada Green. I just moved in with my Auntie Dot next door.” That’s why she looked familiar.
“Oh, uh, welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Sam. Sam Winchester,” he said, shaking her slender hand.
“I’m sorry to say this, seeing as we just met, but Auntie called me in a panic last week explaining that she was scared because the two men next door were fighting in the hallway.” Her wide eyes flitted briefly to the brace on Sam’s wrist before she gathered herself with another smile. “Please, don’t be alarmed. Auntie has dementia. She also tells me Sunnydale is full of vampires. I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Yeah, my girlfriend’s ex stopped by to be a dick, and I lost my temper,” blurted Dean. “Sam wasn’t involved.” He leaned against the doorway like he hadn’t just blandly explained why he beat someone bloody. “Is that why Mrs. Johnson won’t let me in?”
“Oh, you must be the one she thinks is a burglar.”
“No, I’m not trying to break in, damnit. She keeps complaining to the landlord that one of her windows is stuck. I’m the maintenance guy, but she won’t let me in to fix it.”
Jada smiled a giant, warm smile as if everything suddenly made sense. “Okay, well, I’m going to do a little baking; everything should be done by three. Would you both please come over for cookies and coffee so we can get this straightened out? It would be very helpful for all of us, I’m sure, if Auntie could be reassured that you’re not, in fact, horrible thugs. Does that work for you?”
“Cookies always works for me, sweetheart,” said Dean.
“Then I’ll see you in a bit. Thank you,” she said with a small wave.
Both Winchesters leaned out of the door a little watch her walk back to Mrs. Johnson’s apartment. “Who would have guessed dotty Dottie had such a hot niece?” asked Dean.
“Who’s there!” her aunt called as soon as Jada set foot back in the apartment.
“It’s me, Auntie. Jada, Steve’s daughter.”
“How’s my little Stevie?!”
Jada couldn’t bring herself to answer.
The old woman settled back into the couch. “Why are you coming home at this hour? Don’t you have any sense? It’s dangerous out there after sunset!”
Having spent the morning convincing her aunt that breakfast wasn’t poison and that Jada would not give her keys to any car, let alone one Dottie no longer owned, Jada felt out of fight. “Sorry, Auntie. I was just talking with the neighbors. They’re going to come over for coffee.”
“Tell Karen to bring her lemon bars!”
Karen, Dottie Johnson’s neighbor when she still lived in a house, had been dead for nearly a decade. Lemon bars didn’t sound like a bad idea – The tall, broken one seemed like a lemon bar kind of guy – but she didn’t have the time.
She had twenty minutes to make coffee, settle things with the neighbors, and pray her aunt stayed stable. She could do this.
Dottie Johnson’s living room was dim and dusty, full of carved wooden knick knacks and faded florals. Family photos, cross-stitch circles, and crosses decorated her walls. The brightest thing by far was Jada practically dancing through the apartment setting out small plates of cookies and coffee accoutrements, as if hosting potential “horrible thugs” was tantamount to a visit from the Queen.
As soon as they sat down, a fat tabby jumped on Dean’s lap, sending him into a violent sneezing fit.
“Marmalade! You get down!” chastised Jada, scooping up the cat and taking him to a different room.
Made of wrinkles and scowl, Mrs. Johnson glared at the Winchesters. “Killers, both a ya. Can smell it.”
Before they could even deny her accusation, Jada returned with a tray of coffee cups, saucers, and a coffee pot. “Now that we’re all set, how about we get to know each other. Sam, do you take cream and sugar?”
“Oh, I can get it.”
“Sam…” She was still smiling, but the firm way she said his name told him to not argue.
“Yes, both please.”
She handed Sam a brimming floral teacup and explained, “I just moved here from San Francisco to spend time with Auntie. When I was a little girl, my brother and I would spend every summer with her, wouldn’t we, Auntie?” She reached out to hold her aunt’s gnarled hand.
The old woman smiled. “I know you, Sweets Girl. Always baking with your daddy.”
“Yes, Auntie, that’s right.” She turned back to the Winchesters, still with a large grin but with sadness in her eyes. “I had been working as a bakery manager, but that closed. I’m taking a medical sabbatical for a while. Are you two new to town or just to the building?”
She gestured to the coffee and Dean, who had just stuffed a large chocolate cookie in his mouth.
“He takes it plain black,” Sam offered. “We’ve been in Sunnydale since August. Moved in here last month. I run the library at Sunnydale High.”
“A librarian! I bet your apartment is loaded with books.”
“Not as loaded as I’d like,” Sam sighed. “Unfortunately, the job is less about book recommendations and encouraging reading than it is teaching kids how to research and use computers. Plus constant paperwork.”
“I must confess, I went into small business management because I love paperwork. Strange, I know. Give me sales taxes forms and cookies, and I’m a happy girl,” Jada said with a giggle.
“She’s a smart one,” chimed in Mrs. Johnson. “Too smart for either of you.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Dean, taking another cookie.
“Dean does maintenance on our landlord’s properties.”
“Liar! He’s trying to steal my jewelry!”
“Lady, I ain’t tryin’ to steal anything.”
“I have an idea!” said Jada, squeezing her aunt’s hands tightly. “How about we call the landlord and ask him what the maintenance man looks like? If Dean is lying, I can chase him away with Marmalade.” She smiled at Dean, pleased with the idea of weaponizing her cat. “Dean, after we call, would you mind terribly if Auntie watched you work? I promise it’s not personal.”
Dean looked confused by this bubbly girl offering him sweets and diplomacy. “Uh, I guess that would be fine.”
“Well, you boys eat more cookies, and Auntie and I will make that call.”
Fifteen minutes later, Dean was trying to unstick the bathroom window, while Mrs. Johnson watched him with the occasional grunt of disapproval.
Fearing he’d make a glutton of himself, Sam abandoned the cookies to look at the pictures on the wall. Most were of a young couple from the 1960s– pictures of them on a picnic, at church, on their wedding day. The wife looked like Jada – same doll eyes – with a little more curve to her body. A large portrait of the husband in an Army uniform hung just above a folded flag. The other pictures, a few decades newer, were of two skinny children, a boy and his older sister with a radiant smile, soaking up the summer.
“That’s my brother, Michael,” Jada said, pointing to a picture of Michael spraying her with a hose.
“Looks like you two had a lot of fun.”
“We were very close, and summers with Aunt Dottie were sort of our sacred time. You know how childhood is. It’s almost like the sunbeams themselves were divine and the lake water holy.”
Sam didn’t know, but he nodded in agreement. “How long does she have? I’m sorry to pry, but it’s not like there’s a cure for dementia.”
Jada pulled her cardigan around her, the perma-smile still faintly on her lips. “She’s physically in excellent health. Better than you, I’d say. What happened to you?”
“It’s embarrassing,” he stalled.
She held up three fingers and pledged, “I won’t tell a soul.”
“I, uh, was working late. Sunnydale High is all new, you see, and I was putting up a new bookcase. I was doing this alone, like an idiot, and it, uh, kind of fell over on me.”
“Hmm, that sounds painful.” Sam couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.
Dean emerged from the hallway pursing his lips, Mrs. Johnson a mere step behind him making shooing motions with her hands. “Alright, Sammy, let’s go.” He looked from Sam to Jada, “Unless you feel like staying.”
“No, I don’t think my blood sugar could handle it.” Rubbing his stomach, he said to Jada, “Thank you for everything. You’re a wonderful baker.”
“You keep that brother of yours in line, and there may be more cookies in your future,” she whispered.