Chapter 7
I hadn’t seen Aunt Leah, so I decided to take a trip home. Henry’s yappy bark met me at the door. The tap, tap, tap of Henry’s nails followed me into the living room, where I found Beck and Aunt Leah.
“Finally, I’m starving, and my sister won’t give me a morsel of food.” From her position on the sofa, Aunt Leah’s arms opened
wide for me.
I walked to her and leaned in for a hug. “Isn’t that some kind of abuse, not feeding someone who’s disabled?”
Aunt Leah laughed. “I’m sure there’s a law on the books, but she’s my sister, so I didn’t want to report her.”
Beck’s laugh came from the kitchen. “Ha, ha, ha!”
I inspected Aunt Leah’s cast, which had two signatures—one Beck’s and the second a scribble and a drawing of a hat.
“Hat Man signed?” I asked.
Beck interjected again. “He’s been walking Henry every night.”
“And bringing in groceries and five-gallon water bottles like Hercules,” Aunt Leah added.
“He wants to date Mom.”
Beck came out of the kitchen. She placed a salad and dressing on the table. “He hasn’t asked me out.”
Aunt Leah and I looked at each other. Aunt Leah asked the question on both of our minds. “If he did, would you say yes?”
Beck sailed back into the kitchen without replying.
“She’s always getting asked out.”
Aunt Leah stretched her hand out to me. I took it and joined her on the sofa. “What about you?”
An involuntary grunt escaped my throat. “Nobody is asking me, Auntie.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Henry put his paws on my knee and sniffed me. I petted his head until he jumped down. I answered the unspoken question from
Aunt Leah. “It’s true. No one has asked me out in over a year. Not even someone I’d never say yes to. My worst nightmare isn’t
even thinking about me.”
“Trust me, you don’t want your worst nightmare to have you on his radar,” Aunt Leah admonished.
I shrank. “That was a silly thing to say.” I stood, deciding to finish setting the table.
I put the napkins out, folding them neatly, even though I knew Beck would probably refold them herself. She always had a particular
way of doing things, especially when we had company. Aunt Leah sat at the table with her leg propped on a pillow, her eyes
already darting toward the kitchen. Beck was plating the food like she was on a cooking show.
“You sure you don’t need help?” I called.
Beck didn’t even look back. “I’ve got it.”
Her voice was calm, but I caught the undercurrent—this dinner wasn’t just dinner. It was a test, a routine, a ritual she needed
to control. Aunt Leah was thirteen years older than her, more like a mother than a sibling, so I let Mom have the kitchen.
Henry sniffed around me and then settled at Aunt Leah’s good leg.
“We could have served you on the couch.”
“I like dining at a table.”
“But are you supposed to move around like this?”
“If I want to heal,” she said. “There’s nothing worse for the body than sitting or lying all day. Besides”—she raised an arm
and made a muscle—“I’ve been working out, and it shows.”
Aunt Leah caught me up on her life in New Jersey. With enthusiasm she shared her workout routine and work with the civic organizations
she’d involved herself in since retiring. She also showed me pictures of some of the campgrounds she’d stopped at on her travels.
“I hate that I’m laid up. I was just starting to learn how to use all the fancy equipment.”
I smiled. “It’s a nice van.”
“If you weren’t so busy, I’d let you drive me home and fly you back.”
That would have been a good plan, but now that I was in the cabin, I liked the idea of Beck having some company and Aunt Leah
not being alone with her broken leg, even if she thought she could be. Home could wait.
Beck finally brought out a pan of lasagna, the top golden and bubbling, edges crisped just so. She poured sweet tea into glasses,
ice cubes clinking like they always did in the Mason jars she decorated for occasions such as this.
“Now, this looks better than anything I’ve had all week,” Aunt Leah said, her smile warm. “Beck, you outdid yourself.”
“Nothing special,” Beck replied, settling into her seat with a quiet sigh. “Just food.”
While we ate, I told them all about my first week. Aunt Leah told us about her exploits in the camper van. Beck said she had nothing to contribute. She simply missed me. That brought the lively conversation to an end.
Then Joy’s email popped into my mind.
“I have news that’s kind of exciting.” They waited for me to go on, and I said, “I have a new match on Ancestry.”
“Ugh, I thought you were going to tell me you’d figured out the plot for the next great American novel,” Beck said, standing
and taking plates into the kitchen.
“It’s a match on my dad’s side.” I said it loud enough for Beck to hear.
She reentered the room, blinking like her brain was buffering. “What?”
“Her name is Joy Murray. She’s a first cousin or first once removed. Anyway, she’s the first paternal match I’ve had.”
Beck and Leah looked at each other and then away from each other. Tension rolled into the room like a cool breeze through
an open window.
“My father had other relatives. Everyone does,” I said.
Beck shook her head. “No. He didn’t, and there certainly weren’t any Murrays.”
“DNA doesn’t lie, Mom.”
Beck scoffed. “A fifty-nine-dollar box kit is telling you more than your own mother.”
My eyebrows responded on their own, and I did my best to school them down. “You’re being ridiculous. It’s science, and he
obviously had other relatives.”
“So what did she say?” Aunt Leah asked, her voice even and measured. I wasn’t sure what she thought about it.
“I haven’t talked to her. She emailed me, and then she had to travel for work. We’ll talk when she gets back. Maybe later
this week.”
Beck picked up the rest of the dishes and took them into the kitchen. She called out, “I made a cobbler. Leah, do you want ice cream?”
“Of course,” Aunt Leah replied. Then our eyes met.
I whispered, “What’s wrong with her?”
Aunt Leah shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t let her steal your joy.” Aunt Leah released a sharp breath and said, “Joy,
see how I did that?” She was usually funny and tried to be in this instance, but the joke landed dry.
I smiled anyway. “That was cute.” I reached for my tea, the glass damp with condensation now. “I’m getting excited about talking
to her. Maybe she has some pictures—”
Beck flew back into the room with a tray, setting it down so hard that the bowls all slid to one end. “Pictures of what?”
Her peach cobbler with ice cream was one of my favorites, but her attitude had tamped down my sweet tooth.
Aunt Leah accepted the bowl from Beck’s hand. “Alex is hoping her cousin has pictures.” Her eyes dropped to the bowl. “This
looks good, Beck.”
I agreed, but the peaches and buttery crust we would all be gushing over now would only feed our emotions. Silence wrapped
around us like a blanket, scratchy and uncomfortable. Beck’s mood had changed the temperature in the room.
“There are scammers everywhere.” Beck sat. “Just keep that in mind.” She cleared her throat and said, “I forgot to tell you,
Pastor’s new grandbaby is being dedicated tomorrow.” She went on about that for a while, getting zero interest from me or
Aunt Leah before she stopped talking.
I was tired of being in the room with her discontent. It was also time for me to leave. I pushed my chair back and said, “I’m
going to get a few more of my things.”
Beck nodded, and I left the room. Once I was gone, whispers met my ears.
I strained to hear what they were saying, but I couldn’t make out a thing but the tension.
I retrieved a suitcase from my closet and added a few clothing items to it.
When I was done, I reentered the living room.
Aunt Leah had ventured back to the sofa.
Beck was standing by the balcony doors, looking out.
“It was good to see you again, Auntie.”
“Always good to see you. I’ll email that recipe to you,” she said, referring to the recipe for the salad dressing she’d made
for dinner. I’d already forgotten the request. It was lost in all the drama.
Beck didn’t look at us, but she was listening.
“Mom,” I said, pulling her attention from the outside. “I just thought you should know. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset.” Beck was trying to hide it, but she was angry. The veins in her neck were bulging.
“You’re visibly upset.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t like confusion is all.”
I had no idea what that meant. Why was I even apologizing?
“I’m disappointed that you’re not happy for me.”
Beck scoffed. “Happy about what? A stranger claiming to be your father’s cousin or whatever she is.”
“Happy that I might know someone on his side. You grew up with your father. You don’t know what it’s been like for me.”
Beck pointed at her chest. “I grew up with my father? Leah, tell her what that was like . . . growing up with Beau Chambers.”
Aunt Leah’s nostrils flared hot with the frustration she couldn’t keep out of her voice. “That’s not the point, and you know
it.”
I waited for her response, but Beck said nothing. She was the master of snark until I wanted answers about her past or our
family. Then, just like now, she had nothing to say. It was weird.
I walked to her and pressed my lips to the side of her head.
“Drive safe” was all she could manage.
I kissed Aunt Leah, patted Henry and told him to be a good boy, and walked out the door.
My mother was disturbed about the potential of me making a connection to my father. What was that about? My emotions turned
over in my gut like clothes in a dryer—confusion, disappointment, and fear—the last one I didn’t understand, but I couldn’t
shake it. The subconscious mind warns us, even when we can’t see the thing we need to watch out for. The memory slipped into
my brain. Again.
The leaf on my neck. That earthy smell. And always, the hand slipping away.
I lost something when that hand let go of mine. My entire soul bent to the knowing. I got in my car. Before I pulled off,
I looked up at the window, saw Beck standing there, and knew . . . In that moment, I let my brain complete a full revolution
to the truth. Beck’s dismissal of the past was not about grief or indifference. My mother was keeping a secret.