Page 14 of Requiem

“You should talk to your mother about that.”

“I have. I mean, I used to bring it up when I was a kid, but I never could get a straight answer out of her. Eventually, I just stopped asking.”

Elise faces forward again, not looking at me as she speaks.

“After your grandmother passed …” she begins, then stops to give me a sideways glance. “Do you remember her? Grandma Ruth?”

“Sure.”

“Well, she was like the glue that held us all together. When she died, we all just went our separate ways.”

“Are any of you in touch?” I ask, fascinated by this new information. Including Elise, my mother has four siblings. We haven’t had so much as a Christmas card from any of them in decades.

“Oh, yeah. Your aunt Patty lives in Memphis with her husband and three kids. Meg is in Tulsa with her husband Jay. They never had any children. And then there’s our brother, Clay. He lives up in Elgin with his wife, and they have a daughter about Jeremy’s age.”

Holy shit! How could I possibly have so much family that I know absolutely nothing about?

“And you?”

“Oh, I live just about forty-five minutes from here. I have a lady friend who I’ve been with since before you were born.”

“Lady friend? You mean you’re …”

“A lesbian? Yes. Why, have you got a problem with that?” She’s giving me the evil eye.

“Uh, no. No …” I stammer awkwardly.

She breaks out into a huge grin and throws her head back in a laugh. “Jesus, Brett! You should see the look on your face! I’m just kidding with you!”

“About being a lesbian?”

“What? No!”

More laughter. I am so confused. She puts an arm around my shoulders.

“You’re a sweet one. You always have been.”

“Unlike Jeremy.”

“Yup.”

“I don’t know where he is,” I admit, answering her earlier question. “I’m guessing he went back to Detroit. Wherever he is, he was smart enough not to come here. I think Mom would rather deal with the neighbors’ gossip about his absence than with the drama that comes with his presence.”

“I’m sure.”

We’re silent for a few long moments, Elise extracting another cigarette and lighting it, me examining the dirt under my fingernails.

“Brett, does your mother ever talk about our father, George?”

The softening in her tone gets my attention.

“Not really. Just that he died when she was a teenager.”

She nods and blows another long stream of smoke out into the October sunshine.

“We had a real hard time of it, growing up. He was a raging alcoholic, and a mean one at that. I think after Mama died, we all went in our different directions because it was just too painful to stay connected. On our own, each of us could reinvent ourselves; start fresh. Together, we were constant reminders of the past. We just couldn’t get away from the bad memories if we had to see each other. It’s not like any one of us ever said that out loud or made an active decision, it just sort of … happened.”

“So, will we see you again after today?” I wonder, a little reluctant to hear her answer. Not sure what I want the answer to be.