It was true. He only spent a week, two at the most every month in the office.
“Honey, we’ve looked at this from every possible angle. The little ones are at the right time to switch schools. Anna Monroe is eager to move too.”
“But Banana and Geepa. What will they do?”
My parents laughed. “They are putting their house on the market and moving too. They want to downsize.”
That was understandable. Now that my parents had a huge home, there wasn’t a reason for them to have one too. It was time for them to enjoy retirement and life.
“I’m cool with that, even though their house is the bomb.”
“Yeah, I’ll miss it too, but they’ve also bought property near us so they won’t be far at all.”
“How far?” I was curious.
“A couple of blocks away.”
“Can I see the house plans?”
“Sure.” Dad went to get them.
“English, you’re going to love it.”
And I did. They were adding a small wing for the baby and me. I was shocked. “What? Why?”
“Before you say anything, let us explain,” Dad said. “Banana and Geepa will someday need a place—and I’m talking in the very distant future—to stay. You know, when they’re old. This will be perfect for them. It’ll also be perfect for guests after you move away from us. It’ll be a very functional suite. And think of the other kids too. What if any of them move away and come back for a visit?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Now that I see it, it’s really cool. So when does this all happen?”
“They’ve already started. We’re hoping within six months, but you know how construction goes.”
“Dad, knowing you, you’ll be on their butts every day.”
“You’re wrong. Your mother’s the one who’ll do that.”
My mom looked so sweet, but inside of her ran a ribbon of steel. Dad had once told me she hadn’t always been like that. When they’d first met, she’d been very timid, due to the loss of her parents and some extremely rough times she’d lived through. But later, she’d emerged as someone not to be taken lightly. And I could attest to that.
Stacey yelled from the living room, “English, where’s my cosmo?”
I’d gotten lost in my daydreaming. Had she downed the last one already? I ran down the stairs and there she sat with a silly grin on her face, waving an empty glass in the air.
“Um, when was the last time you ate?” I asked.
She clamped her mouth shut and tapped a finger on her cheek. “Er, I dunno. Last night?”
Christ, I’d given her two extra-strong cosmos on an empty stomach. No wonder she was blitzed. “All righty then, it’s time for me to make us something to eat.”
“Not hungry.”
“Maybe not, but you’ll thank me tomorrow.” This called for a meal full of carbs, so I put a pot of spaghetti on, pulled a carton of meat sauce out of the freezer, and dumped it into a saucepan. They were both ready around the same time and I forced her to sit at the kitchen island.
“But I don’t wanna eat. It’ll kill my buzz.”
“No, it won’t. It’ll make you feel better so you can drink more.”
That perked her up. “Really? Okay, I’m in.”
She wobbled her way to the island and took a seat. I fixed her a bowl of pasta and tucked a napkin into her shirt collar.
“What’d you do that for?”
“You’ll see.”
When she finished, there was as much sauce covering the napkin and her face as there was in her belly. I took several pics of her, without her knowledge, of course. She was going to kill me, but I wouldn’t show anyone. It was too comical to pass up.
As I was cleaning her up, which was no small task because she kept trying to help me, Easton called out, “Aunt Stacey Bear. What are you doing here?”
Stacey moved to get off the chair and ended up tumbling to the floor. Good Lord, the woman was smashed.
“I came to see you, Easy Bear,” Stacey answered, but it sounded more like ‘Eeshybur.’
“Why are you on the floor?”
Stacey held up a finger. “Good question.”
Easton looked at me and said, “Mommy, I’m back under the rainbow. Can I eat? I’m hungry.”
“Sure. How about some spaghetti?”
“Okay. Is that what Aunt Stacey Bear had?”
“Yesh, I did, and it was delish.” She was still lying on the floor and hadn’t bothered to get up.
Then the front door opened and my parents walked in. Stacey yelled, “Mr. and Mrs. Bridges. I’m so happy to shee you.” She waved from the floor.
They sort of gaped at her, then glanced at me. I mouthed, “Don’t ask.”
“Mimi! Boppy!” Easton ran to my parents and Dad swung her high in the air.
“Looks like someone is feeling better,” he said.
“I’m under the rainbow again.” She patted his cheeks. “I don’t think Aunt Stacey Bear is though.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of me. But it stopped when the doorbell rang. Easton ran to open it and before any of us could stop her, she swung it open to reveal Stuart standing on the porch.
How in the world had he found my house? I’d never given him my address.
That brought drunk Stacey to her feet, stumbling toward him, and shouting, “What the hell are you doing here, you, you girlfriend-beater?”
And that was when the party started.
Chapter Nine
Tristian
Why the hell did I feel guilty? I had done nothing wrong except refuse to join the family business. My interests were in photography and I’d made my choice years ago. Besides, my siblings could handle the family business ventures, which were entangled in the depths of politics and other investments that meant nothing to me. I’d found my calling and didn’t care what my mother said. So, back to the guilt. Why was I bothered by it?
The question plagued me for days. I visited my family in the hospital each day, sat with both of them, as no one else went except for Landry. My brother clung to life and I prayed he’d survive. The news for my father was grave. He wasn’t expected to survive. They called my mother, yet she still didn’t come. Her matter-of-fact and chilly response when he passed came as no surprise.
Funeral arrangements were set. I phoned Beck, informing him of the situation. He was most kind and understanding. “Do you still want to proceed with the travel plans?”
The trip was my salvation. “Absolutely. It will be the perfect distraction and couldn’t come at a better time.”
“You sure? Your family may need you.”
They might, but too bad. “They’ll be fine.”
At the funeral, men I hadn’t seen in years approached me with greetings about how good it was for me to be back home and how they looked forward to working with me. I kept my mouth shut. They’d find out soon enough how wrong they were when I returned to my own life. Weirdly, no one mentioned my brother, or even asked about him, though he’d turned the corner and was improving.
With the house finally emptied of guests, the family attorney, Sherman Anthony, called us together in my father’s office for a meeting. We sat as he read my father’s will and when he named me as the sole inheritor, I froze.