Cheated By Death (12 page)

“In here,” Brenda called.

Holly barked and danced wildly around
Maggie’s legs. “Did you miss your mommy?” she asked, making a fuss
of the dog. “Is she being a good girl?”

“I may not give her back,” Brenda said.
Stretched out on the leather couch, she was surrounded by stacks of
catalogs and brochures, all featuring baby products. “You’re back
early. How’d it go?”

I shrugged noncommittally. “Not bad.”

“Everybody was very nice. And the food was
de-lish,” Maggie gushed, taking off her coat and setting it on the
opposite side of the couch.

“How’s your father?” Richard asked from his
seat behind his grandfather’s big old mahogany desk.

“Not good.”

Brenda studied us, waiting for more. “Is that
it?”

I nodded. “Essentially.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Maggie said, clearing a
space on a chair and sitting. “I’ll be glad to fill you in on
all
the details.”

Brenda’s gaze was still fixed on me. “I don’t
think Jeffy’s ready to talk about it.”

“I think you’re right.” I turned to Richard.
“Got any beer?”

“As a matter of fact, no.”

“What kind of a host are you?”

Amusement lit his eyes. “One who didn’t make
it to the grocery store today.”

“I’ve got a twelve-pack in my fridge. Want to
head over there?”

“What about us?” Maggie asked.

“You don’t drink beer,” I said.

“It’s possible male bonding is about to
happen,” Brenda said.

She knew me well. I did feel a need to talk
to Richard, although I hadn’t realized it until that moment.

“Then by all means, don’t let us interfere,”
Maggie said.

“There’s some wine in the fridge if you want
it,” Brenda told her. “I’ll bet we could polish off the last of
your Black Forest cake, too.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Maggie agreed, and
Holly wagged her tail enthusiastically.

“Hang on, I’ll get my coat,” Richard told me.
He grabbed a jacket from the hall closet and followed me across the
driveway to my place.

I hit
the switch and the warm glow of
incandescent light filled my living room. I hung my jacket in the
closet before heading for the kitchen.

“Drinking buddies,” Richard mused, peeling
off his coat and setting it on the back of the chair. “I haven’t
had one since college.”

“I’ve just opened up your life.” I crouched
before the open fridge, tore open the cardboard carton and handed
him a bottle of beer.

“On the contrary, I like to think I’ve opened
yours.” Richard settled on the upholstered wing chair, stretching
his long legs out before him.

I took the south end of my couch and sipped
my beer.

It was quiet—too quiet. I thought about
turning on the radio, but that would mean getting up and walking
all the way across the room.

I took a few more sips of my beer.

Richard didn’t look happy. “Jeff, why’d you
invite me over here?”

I couldn’t look him in the eye. “My head’s
filled with a lot of crap and it doesn’t feel good.”

“You’re still not used to letting yourself
feel anything. That’s why everything hits you so hard.”

I didn’t comment—maybe because what he said
was absolutely true.

He took another sip. “Did you enjoy yourself
tonight?”

“No. I felt like an outsider. There were so
many people, and so much emotion spilling out. Obligation to be
there—duty to family, yet everyone seemed at ease. They all knew
every detail of each other’s lives—a history I have no part
of.”

“Didn’t it ever occur to you that Chet could
have relatives in town?”

“No. All I ever heard growing up was ‘your
brother Richard this—your brother Richard that.’ Even though Mom
didn’t know you, I could never measure up to her ideal of you.”

His smile was ironic. “My grandmother used to
talk about my father the same way. I couldn’t measure up to him in
her eyes.”

I took a deep swallow of beer, emptied the
bottle, and got up for another. “Why’d he fall in love with our
mother—she wasn’t in his league. Was he out to spite the old
lady?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember him at all.
Grandmother only spoke of his life prior to marrying Betty. Our
mother was a forbidden subject. But sometimes Grandfather would
tell me about my mother. He didn’t despise her the way Grandmother
did.”

I brought back four bottles, and set them on
the coffee table. “How’d you find out about me?”

He frowned and studied the label on his beer.
“I hired a private detective.”

“You’re kidding?”

He shook his head. “It only took him a couple
of days to find out Betty had remarried, where she worked, where
she shopped. He took pictures of her with a little boy. You were
about nine at the time.”

An unreasonable anger filled me. “Why didn’t
you contact us?”

He exhaled a long breath. “I was going to
Paris to study and—” He shrugged, and avoided my gaze. “I didn’t
want to give Grandmother a reason to cancel my plans.”

“I assume you needed her money to go?”

“At the time, yes.”

Why did it feel like he’d sold my mother and
me out?

“When I came back a year later, I was in med
school and . . . life continued. I thought there’d be plenty of
time. There wasn’t.” He gave me a faint smile. “But at least I
still have you.”

I sipped my beer, feeling like a shoddy
consolation prize.

“Last Easter you said you didn’t have any
pictures of Mom. What happened to the ones the detective gave you?”
I asked.

“They disappeared while I was in Paris.”

“Your grandmother found them?” I guessed.

“They were gone when I came back. I knew
better than to ask about them.”

I thought about it for a few moments. “How
come you showed up the day Mom died?”

“We’ve been over this before,” he said
quietly.

“Not in over twenty years.”

He sighed, and looked uncomfortable. “I was
with her when she died.”

I leaned forward, disbelieving. Why hadn’t he
told me that before now?

“She called me a few days before and asked me
to come see her.” He paused. “She wanted me to take care of
you.”

“Kind of last-minute, wasn’t it?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah, it
was.”

Maybe I really didn’t want to hear the rest
of the story. I didn’t like to revisit the past—living with my
mother or those few years with Richard. The memories were just too
painful. And yet, I asked anyway. “She didn’t make any kind of
provision for me—did she?”

Richard’s cheeks colored in embarrassment.
“Look, she didn’t really believe she was dying—not until the last
couple of days.”

“What about Chet? She knew he was still
alive.”

“She was adamant—she didn’t want him in your
life. She said she’d rather see you in a foster home.”

The anger inside me intensified. “Did she
know I’d be living with your grandparents?”

“I guess so.”

I frowned. “She must’ve been pretty pissed at
old Chester, because I know for a fact she hated Mrs. Alpert.”

“I don’t know what went on between Betty and
your father. She wouldn’t say.” Richard stared at some point beyond
his hand, which was clamped around the long-necked bottle.

Our mother died on a cold, sunny Wednesday in
March. I was leaving school about three o’clock when I saw Richard
standing on the walk outside the main entrance. I’d only met him
once before, but I remembered his face. Remembered that grown-up
moustache.

“I’ve got some bad news,” he said by way of
greeting.

“She’s dead. Isn’t she?”

He nodded, avoiding my gaze. “I’m sorry,
kid.”

A group of teenaged girls passed us,
giggling. He motioned for me to follow him to the parking lot. The
sky was bright blue on that raw March day. How could someone die on
such a beautiful winter’s day? I slid into the passenger side of
Richard’s red Porsche two-seater. I’d never sat in an import
before. The dashboard looked strange—as foreign as the controls on
a space ship.

Richard took papers from the breast pocket of
his topcoat and showed them to me. “As of today, I’m officially
your legal guardian. You’re going to come live with me.”

Anger flashed through me. “What if I don’t
want to?”

“I’m afraid you’ve got no choice.”

I swallowed my pique, and tried to be grown
up. “What about school?”

“You can finish the year here if you want.
You’ll be going to Amherst Central next fall.”

No choices. Just commandments. My mother was
dead and a stranger was calling the shots.

“What about my stuff?”

“We’ll go pack a bag now. We can get the rest
later.”

I ground my molars so hard, I was sure they’d
crack. “What about Mom? Can I see her?”

“Tomorrow. The service will probably be
Friday.”

I nodded, and stared ahead at nothing.

The silence lengthened.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked
finally.

I looked into his blue eyes and saw fear—as
if he was wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.

I shook my head. What else was there to
say?

A group of stragglers exited the building.
What was the point of finishing the school year there? I had no
close friends. Why delay the inevitable?

Richard turned the key in the ignition and we
drove away.

I never went back.

“Anyway,” Richard said, bringing me back to
the present. “My lawyer drew up some papers. Betty signed them the
day before she died.”

“You were twenty-six. Why would you take on
that kind of responsibility?”

“Because you were my kid brother, and I had
the enthusiasm and energy to take on my work, and you, and the
whole world. And maybe I thought it would be a kick.”

“Was it?” I asked, although I already knew
his answer.

“No.”

I took another sip of my beer. “Sorry to be
so much trouble.”

“If it weren’t for my grandmother bitching, I
would’ve hardly known you were there.”

Of course not. He’d been so busy building his
career, sometimes weeks passed and we didn’t see each other.

“Taking care of you was the only thing my
mother ever asked of me,” he continued. “I couldn’t turn her
down.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. ‘Not
good’ came close.

“Why did you bring me to live with your
grandparents? You must’ve had your own money by then.”

“I worked crazy hours at the hospital. You
needed a stable home. Besides, I had an unspoken agreement with
Curtis to watch out for you.”

Curtis had been Mrs. Alpert’s chauffeur—a
neat old black dude with a soft spot in his heart for kids.

“Let’s face it, you liked him—and you didn’t
like me.” Richard paused; he wouldn’t look at me.

What he said was true. Why did I feel bad
hearing it now? Maybe because it was no longer true.

“I couldn’t get you to open up,” he
continued. “One morning I came home from an all-nighter at the
hospital and Curtis was polishing Grandmother’s car. He looked up
at me and said, ‘The boy likes basketball.’ I was going to rush out
and get you a backboard, but Curtis said you wouldn’t use it if I
gave it to you outright. He said to wait for you to ask. So I
bought it, and I’d go out and shoot baskets every night . . .
rather badly, too, as I recall.”

“Yeah. Go on,” I urged.

“It took two weeks before you asked if you
could play.”

“Twelve days.”

He smiled fondly. “Curtis was a wise man. The
closest thing I had to a father.”

“Me, too.” I cleared my throat. I couldn’t
talk about it anymore. I didn’t want to remember any more,
especially since that incident was probably the only good memory I
had of my nearly four-year stay with the Alpert family.

I changed the subject. “Speaking of fathers,
I got some screwy impressions from old Chester the day I met him.
Tonight I got more unpleasant images. I don’t know if they’re my
own memories or his. One thing I’m sure of, Mom and Chet argued
about you—a lot.”

“Me?”

“Chet said she was obsessed with getting you
back from your grandparents. He keeps remembering a plan to kidnap
you. What do you know about that?”

Richard frowned. “I never heard it.”

“The old man denied it, but it’s something he
felt strongly about.”

Richard looked thoughtful, like the
possibility bothered him. He raised the bottle to his mouth and
drank.

“So, what do I do about old Chester?” I
asked.

“Nothing. You don’t have to love him. You
don’t even have to like him. But would it hurt you to just accept
him?”

“He comes with years of baggage and he
broadcasts it like a transmitter. It hurts, Rich. It really hurts
to be near him.”

His expression softened. “I can’t imagine
what you go through with this psychic stuff. I wish I could help
you, kid. I honestly do.”

I looked away. Acknowledging his compassion
would only foster another round of painful memories I wasn’t up to
facing.

As though sensing my unease, Richard tipped
his beer bottle upside down. “Got any more?”

I glanced at the empties on the table. I had
a good buzz working. I usually do a better job of pacing myself. I
got up, staggered to the refrigerator, and got him another cold
one.

He cracked the screw cap and took a sip.
“What do you think those women are talking about?”

I shrugged. “Baby stuff.”

He smiled, and leaned back in the chair. “Can
you believe I’m going to be a daddy?”

“You like the idea.”

He nodded, but the smile faded. “Yeah, but
unfortunately racism isn’t dead in this country. It’ll be tough on
him . . . or her.”

“That was true a generation ago. Not now. Not
when a kid of mixed race can grow up to become president of the
country.”

“I hope you’re right. I’ll tell you this, no
child was ever wanted more. My kid.” His expression could only be
called sappy.