Chapter 4

Short, but hopefully sweet.

There was a kind of embarrassed silence for a few moments before Aunt Emma stepped up. "I'm sorry, Lauren, he's a little shy around new people. I'm sure he'll warm up to you soon."

"That's all right, Aunt Emma. I'm much more interested in getting to know you guys than Mr. Wonka," she half-lied. It was true that she didn't want to get to know Wonka, but in actuality she was busily thinking of the best way to reach Wonka's recipe box.

"I want you to think of dear Willy as part of the family though; he's practically like a second son to me," Aunt Emma insisted.

To please her Lauren smiled and nodded noncommittally. The eccentric chocolatier had done nothing so far to impress her and she very much doubted she would want much to do with him anyway. The more personal she became with Wonka the more chance there would be that he would discover she knew more about the industry than she was supposed to. "So, where do you guys hang your hats?" she asked, purposely facing towards the gate. It would be the normal thing to assume, after all.

"Actually, we live inside the factory. It makes it a lot easier for Charlie to get to work every day," Uncle James explained, leading the way inside still clutching her suitcase. "We'd better hurry. I'm sure Mum will be wanting to see you as soon as possible."

Lauren expected this and dutifully followed her alleged Aunt and Uncle towards the large doors at the top of the factory. Charlie hung back, giving her a smile as he fell into step with her. Grinning back conspiratorially, she held out a hand. Charlie took it, wrapping his fingers around her palm, almost skipping up the stairs. Lauren suppressed a smirk, bond established.

She had heard that the Wonka factory was unlike a normal factory in every respect, so she was somewhat prepared for the fun-house like effect of the shrinking corridor. When the entire wall of the little place opened, she was not expecting how beautiful it would be. All the bright colors and clearly fanciful plants made her feel like Dorothy, awakening in Munchkin land. She gasped appreciatively, watching the smiles appear on her new family's faces. They must have been looking forward to this moment, one of the few times they had been allowed to show off their new home.

"It's gorgeous," she said honestly.

"And everything is eatable," Charlie exclaimed.

"You mean edible?" Lauren couldn't help asking.

"No, no, eatable!"

Lauren Derringer hated mispronunciations; it was a pet peeve she was very at home with. Lauren Zeigler, however, was more relaxed and easygoing. She decided to let this one go. "Ah, my mistake."

"Come on, let me show you the house," Charlie exclaimed, running towards the little leaning hut in the middle of the chocolate room. The house looked very out of place, standing in all its Pisa-like glory in the center of the large confectionary room. Charlie seemed to think it was perfectly normal though, so Lauren politely ignored the incongruity. Hoping it wouldn't collapse as she entered, she followed Charlie in as his parents made up the rear.

"Is that her? Lauren, darling, come here!" a tiny, wrinkled old lady demanded gregariously. She looked entirely cheerful where she was sitting in a large bed near the fireplace. Lauren approached slowly, hoping it looked like she was merely shy, as she struggled to remember everything Irene had told her. "Come, come, I don't bite."

"Grandma Georgina?" she asked in a timid tone that was not all false.

"Yes, and this is your Grandpa George," she said, smiling hugely. Wrinkles intersected wrinkles and Lauren smiled back.

She looked over at her thus far silent Grandpa George and felt an instant connection. This was the kind of man she had always hoped for in a grandfather. He looked tough, quarrelsome, and thoroughly unpleasant. He also had a shrewd yet honest glint in his eye that said more about his character than anything else. He reminded her of herself, the real Lauren, not the little girl she was pretending to be. For a moment she forgot about the image and stood straight, chin up, and an expression of mature understanding on her face. She saw a brief flicker of approval in this man, George Bucket, and then allowed herself to fade back into the young orphan that she was supposed to be. "Hello, Grandpa George."

"So, you're Irene's whelp," he said without preamble. "You don't look a thing like her."

"No sir, I'm more like my father," she replied easily.

"Hmmm, what did your father do for a living?" he asked intrusively.

"He sold cars," she answered, it also being a question she was prepared for. "I brought some pictures of everyone, if you'd like to see?" The hint of shy inquiry was not overdone, for Lauren was not able to pull of a truly shy girl believably, but it was perfect for a young woman just meeting her grandparents for the first time.

Grandma Georgina sat forward eagerly and motioned for the others to crowd around. She scooted over closer to her husband in the large bed and patted the space beside her. "Come, have a seat dear and show us the pictures of my little girl."

Lauren couldn't help liking the old woman, even if she was just the slightest bit dotty, and she quickly retrieved the pictures from her bag. The first ones she unleashed were the picture of Irene and James, standing next to an antique rocking horse. It was passed to Grandma Georgina, then Grandpa George, then to Uncle James, and Aunt Emma before reaching Charlie. Each exclaimed over something they found interesting about the old photo and the familiar feeling of guilt surfaced in Lauren as she noticed the tears running down Grandma Georgina's face. Grandpa George, much too stern to cry, was rubbing at one eye and muttering something about an eyelash.

Each picture she pulled forth brought a fresh wave of comments and tears. She brought out pictures of Grandpa George and his family standing in front of a little ramshackle cottage, James couldn't have been more than five and Irene 12. There was one of Irene just arriving in America, dressed as a waitress. One she had gotten from Irene just after she had given birth, though the heroin-addict had explained that the child had been given up for adoption. It showed a tired-looking woman with a dark-haired baby. Smiles showed that the Buckets were assuming, as they were supposed to, that the baby was Lauren. Next came the carefully doctored photos of Irene and Lauren's father, then Lauren and her father alone, and Lauren and Irene together. Finally there was one of Lauren standing near her real mother's car looking as she did today.

When each photograph had traveled down the line and been commented on, Lauren put them all back inside the small album. The experience had been surprisingly emotional, and though the Buckets had suffered the brunt of it, Lauren had still been caught up in their catharsis. She found herself feeling a lot closer to these people who weren't really her relatives at all and she sternly instructed her emotions to shut up and not get too attached. After all, she wouldn't be staying longer than a month and it was never a good idea to get caught up in the lie.

Another huge round of thanks to my reviwers. You are my inspiration, please don't stop.