Chapter 23
“I’m sorry, toots,” Aunt Sheila said. “I’m just not going to be able to make it.”
Rosie lowered her cell and looked at the screen as if she couldn’t quite believe what her aunt was saying, which was stupid, because she should’ve anticipated something like this.
Aunt Sheila was her mom’s sister in more than just blood.
“Is it money?” she asked, even though the direct roundtrip would cost less than Aunt Sheila spent on whiskey in a week.
“Of course it isn’t.”
“Is it Uncle Roger? Doesn’t he want you to come? I know he never liked Mom, but she was your sister, Aunt Sheila. Surely he understands you need to say goodbye?”
“It isn’t Roger, toots. He wouldn’t stop me from doing anything; he never has, and he never will. I’m my own woman, you know that.”
No. No, Rosie didn’t know that. She knew very little about her aunt other than she was an alcoholic narcissist, much like her mom. “So what is it?” She hated guessing games and just wanted a straight answer.
“It’s just that… Well, it turns out that I’m banned from flying for life.”
Rosie rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“You’re telling me you’re not allowed to fly on any airline at any time?
” She put her cell in the crook of her neck and googled can you be banned for life from flying?
The search engine promptly confirmed that yes, a person could be barred on one airline, and they’d share the details with other airlines.
“Yep. They kept threatening me with it, but now they’ve dropped the hammer, I guess.”
“You guess? You don’t know for sure?”
“No, I know for sure.”
God, this was like having a conversation with a vocally challenged teenager. Why couldn’t Aunt Sheila just provide all the information without constant prompting? “And you only just found out today?”
“No. They told me a couple of months ago when I tried to fly to New York.” Her aunt groaned loudly. “Ended up missing a Bon Jovi gig.”
Rosie googled again to discover Bon Jovi hadn’t toured since 2022.
She could spend more time pressing Aunt Sheila into increasingly outrageous lies, but her aunt clearly didn’t want to make the trip, and in reality, there was very little Rosie could do to change that.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t briefly entertained the thought of missing the memorial too, but she needed the closure more than she needed to avoid dealing with her errant emotions.
“Is there anyone else Mom knew who might want to come?”
“We haven’t been close for decades, toots. I don’t know who she’s been running with.”
She’d been “running with” Keith, but Rosie had no way of contacting him.
So apart from Rosie, no one her mom knew or had spent any part of her life with would be there.
The friends Rosie had called were dead, in rehab, or had flat out refused to come.
Some kind of memorial this was going to be. “Okay. Well, thanks for the help.”
“Before you go, toots, what music are you playing?”
That was a random thing to be interested in, and Rosie was tempted to tell her aunt to come if her curiosity was that strong.
But what would be the point, other than proving nurture was a very powerful factor in deciding how a person acts?
And more than anything, she didn’t want any of her mom’s personality traits or behaviors.
“She wanted ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ by Guns ’n Roses as people come into the memorial and ‘Highway to Hell’ by AC/DC as people leave.
She loved her eighties rock like you do. ”
Aunt Sheila chuckled. “I bet you’re tempted to have ‘Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead,’ am I right?”
Nope, not right at all. The only temptation had been not to have a memorial and then there would’ve been no music at all. But that temptation was brief and petulant and quickly overcome by a sense of duty. “Okay, Aunt Sheila, I have to go.”
“You know, toots, I tried to protect you from your mom. I tried to take you away with me, but she wouldn’t let you go.”
“Yeah, I know, Aunt Sheila.” She heard the same story every time they talked.
Frying pan and fire. Devil and the deep blue sea.
Rock and a hard place. Clichés abounded for how Rosie felt about that option.
The only discernible difference between the two had been Aunt Sheila’s capacity to stay in a relationship with a man for longer than a month.
Roger might well have been preferable to the parade of would-be papas her mom brought home.
And if she’d had a model of what a long-term intimate relationship actually looked like, maybe Rosie wouldn’t have such a hard time staying in one either.
Hypocrite. At some point in adulthood, you have to decide not to let your past negatively influence your future anymore.
She’d lost count of the number of times she’d parroted that to clients.
And aside from the lack of monogamous commitment, Shay was turning out to be the healthiest relationship she’d ever had, so maybe she’d already turned that corner.
She tuned back in to hear Aunt Sheila still rattling on about her regret at not being able to tear Rosie away from her mom and not having kids of her own.
Some people just weren’t meant for parenthood, and Rosie gave silent thanks to whoever or whatever was responsible for not allowing her aunt and Roger to procreate.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Sheila. I’ve got a lot to figure out for the memorial and not a lot of time to do it.
Talk soon.” She hung up without waiting for a response, which was usually a lie about keeping in touch and talking more often anyway.
With her mom gone, there was even less reason for Rosie to reach out at all, and since communication never came from the other direction, she anticipated that could have been the last conversation they ever had.
Strangely, that possibility didn’t bother her.
Rosie pulled the legal pad to the front of her desk and looked at the catering arrangements again.
She’d given Bonnie her estimated guest numbers and didn’t want to mess her around on such short notice.
Guests. Was that what people were at a memorial?
The people that’d be there were Rosie’s guests.
Apart from the last-minute addition of Alyssa, no one coming had met her mom once, let alone established any kind of relationship or connection with her.
But they’d be there for Rosie, and that would have to be good enough.
She googled homeless shelters in the surrounding area and figured they’d pick up any leftover food, or Lori could get Gabe to drop it off in her truck.
When her phone rang and Rosie looked at the time, she realized she’d gone down a rabbit hole with homeless charities after rediscovering the one for LGBTQ kids which Unity Tools was going to donate some of their profits to.
“Am I speaking to a Ms. Rosie Morgan?”
Rosie glanced at the screen to see it was a California area code. “You are. To whom am I speaking?” she asked, matching their formal tone with wry amusement.
“I’m Gary Brown from the Lancaster Bank of America branch. I’m calling about the missed payment on your home improvement loan. Do you have a moment to chat?”
Like she had time to entertain a scam call.
“Give me one second, please.” Rosie scribbled the guy’s name and number on a blank sheet of the pad then googled the number to find it was legit.
“I’m sorry, Gary. I don’t hold a loan with the Bank of America right now.
Are you sure you’ve got the right Rosie Morgan?
” She googled Rosie Morgan America, and there were more than sixty just on LinkedIn.
“Is your mother Brenda Morgan of 51638 West Truro Drive?”
Rosie swallowed, and a ball of dread sank heavy in her gut. “Yes, that’s my mom. I don’t know if that was her last address. She died nearly two weeks ago.”
“Ah, I see,” he said. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Under the circumstances, we can forego the late penalty charge for a missed payment, and we can offer you a three-month payment break. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in taking advantage of?”
“That’s a very nice offer, Gary, but I don’t need it because I don’t have a loan with you.”
“Erm, I’m a little confused, Ms. Morgan. I’ve got the details right here. You co-signed a loan for $30,000 with Brenda Morgan right here in this branch three months ago.”
She wrote Thirty thousand!!!! on the pad and underscored it four times. “And I’m more than a little confused, because I wasn’t in Lancaster three months ago. I haven’t been anywhere near California since Christmas last year, so there’s no way I signed off on any loan at your, or any other, branch.”
“But I have everything right in front—”
“I’m sorry, Gary, but I think my mom’s somehow managed to convince you to give her money without my help.”
“We don’t just give that kind of money away without extensive checks, Ms. Morgan,” he said, sounding a little less friendly. “I’m afraid if you insist on denying responsibility for this loan, I’m going to have to pass this onto our legal team.”
“Gary, I have to insist because I’m not responsible for the loan at all and not because I’m trying to duck out of something I’ve committed to. Can you please send the details you have to my email so I can get my lawyer to look at them?”
“The email we have on file is rosie dot morgan one nine nine two at hotmail dot com; is that still correct?”
She couldn’t stop a scoff from escaping. At least her mom had remembered her birth year when she was committing fraud in Rosie’s name. “That’s not my email, and it never has been my email.”
“Oh. Well, that’s the email that was given at the time of the loan and where all the electronic paperwork was sent for signatures. And it’s the email associated with your checking account.”
Rosie shook her head. “And how long has that checking account been open?”
Gary’s key tapping sounded harsh and slow. “Six months.”