Chapter 37
brODY
“H i, Uncle B! Bye, Uncle B!”
I slide out of the way as what looks like a swarm of teenagers come flying out of the front door of my sister’s house, likely on their way to a mall or a movie or whatever it is that teenagers are getting themselves into today.
I never had the opportunity to do much hanging out with my friends, but I remember Tripp frequenting our local mall when he was Clare’s age.
Though that very well could have been a cover for any number of things that he shouldn’t have been doing at the time.
Following my nose, I trail the rich smell of my mother’s macaroni and cheese through the house and into the kitchen, where Edie is working to sprinkle handfuls of shredded cheese over a casserole dish that she must have just pulled from the oven.
“That smells just like Mom’s,” I tell her as I round the corner and gently set my attaché case onto the floor.
“It’s taken me long enough,” she says with a smile. Reaching for a large silicone-coated spoon, she scoops out a portion of the cheese-coated noodles and offers them to me. “I’m making it for grief group. Taste.”
“I shouldn’t,” I tell her, holding a hand up. “I’ve been eating terribly lately.”
With a disbelieving laugh and a shake of her head, she takes the bite for herself before returning to her task, reaching for a fresh pile of multicolored cheeses.
“I can’t imagine you throwing a freezer meal into the microwave,” she jokes with her hand covering her mouth, and I move to the center of the kitchen to lean against the island.
“No, I’ve…” I hesitate, “been seeing someone, and she likes to make things like pizzas and ice cream sundaes.”
“That’s fantastic!” I cringe as she drops her fresh handfuls of cheese, brushing her hands against her linen pants. In a breath, she’s in front of me, squishing my cheeks between her palms the way that she used to do when we were younger, and it offsets my glasses. “You took up Mrs. Taylor’s offer?”
“No,” I tell her as I pull her hands away from my face to fix my glasses.
I know what’s coming. As her head falls slightly to the side and her brows pinch together, I know that she’s asking herself a series of questions; questions which I don’t want to answer, because my sister’s progressive thinking only extends so far.
“I’ve been seeing Nia,” I tell her.
“Wait, you just closed that case last week.” I nod, and the back of her hand smacks into my chest, harsh and angry. “Brody Ansel Montgomery, that is adultery! ”
“Her marriage ended the moment that she opened the door and found her husband with another woman,” I argue.
“Did you wait until it was finalized before you— no,” she says with a wave of her hand, “don’t answer that question. I don’t want to know.”
Returning to her task, she sprinkles the rest of her cheese pile onto the top of the macaroni and slides on a mitt to throw the dish into the waiting oven, which fills the room with heat as it opens.
After washing her hands, we move to the table to go through similar motions to the ones that we took during my last visit, only this time, our effort is to erase the crime that we committed at this same table.
My sister studies me as the two of us sit without speaking to one another, and I can’t get a read on her. Edie typically wears her heart on her sleeve and her thoughts clear as day on her face, but not today.
Both of us stand from the table as her oven’s timer sings out to let her know that the macaroni inside should now be cooked to its perfect golden brown, and as she slips on her oven mitt once more, I’m bombarded by memories that I’d long forgotten.
“You know what,” I say with a gesture toward the oven, “maybe I will take some of that. It, uh…”
As my thought trails away from me, Edie’s eyes soften, her lips forming a wistful smile. Dropping her oven mitt onto the counter, she takes the steps necessary to reach me and she envelops me in a hug.
“I know,” she says soothingly. “I still miss him, too. All the time.”
“Dee—”
Holding up a hand to quiet me, she takes a step backward and crosses her arms over her middle. As her face contorts into the same considering expression that makes her look just like our mother, she sighs.
“Are you happy?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“If I asked her, would she tell me that you’re treating her appropriately?”
“Yes,” I nod again.
“Okay,” she says, as if making a decision as to which side of this fence she might fall on. Her right hand moves to twist the ring around the thumb of her left. “Life is short and love is so important to hold onto. So, if you’re happy, be happy, Bam. Heaven knows you’ve earned it.”
“So have you, Dee,” I tell her with a kiss to her cheek as I pull her into my arms.
“I had my big, wonderful, storybook love,” she argues with a smile. “I have my kids and I have my memories. That’s all I need.”
Yes, she has her kids until Colby leaves for college and until Clare decides that being home with her mother isn’t as ‘cool’ as it is now. That spending time with her friends is more important than spending time with family.
I worry for when those days come. I worry that all that will be left in their wake is my sister, stuck in this house alone with her grief.