Chapter 11: Peter

I'm sitting in church praying forgiveness. I am a seventeen year old guy; we're designed to look at women. I understand that. But not our cousins. Not our sisters. Not our mothers. I'm buying every woman in my family a full length oversized terrycloth bathrobe for Christmas. Beth's little Hello Kitty thing is way, way too small. My mother just need a robe - period. No wonder my father is always stressed.

This is Alex's fault.

This is his influence. I never checked out my grandmother's ass before him. I am pleased to say I have no attraction to my grandmother's ass - but I shouldn't know that.

Alex and his immediate family are sitting in the pew in front of my family. My Uncle Edward and his family are behind us. The McElroys, in total, take up eight pews of the church - if you include all the distant twelfth cousins and such. Even the old pastor is related by marriage.

I stop my private prayers longer enough to give my full attention to the choir stand every time they sing this morning. Trina and Great Aunt Candice are both soloist and if one of them sings, I don't want to miss it. Our church has a great choir. Hell, we have a great church. I honestly enjoy coming here - even if I'm not as religious as most of my family.

Today is a short service for Thanksgiving. I can already see my Dad checking his watch out of the corner of my eye; he wants to be at the house in time for the 1 o'clock game. Alex and his family usually go to Aunt Stacy's parents for early dinner and join us at Gran-gran's around 4pm. Uncle Edward and Aunt April show up sometime in between. We all do the same things every year. We have the same dinner. Hell, we probably sit in the same chairs every time. I know to some people that's boring. But to me, that's a family holiday. A tradition. I just wish Uncle Wilton were here.

Oh, yeah, and that Alex wasn't turning me into a god damned pervert.

At the end of service, there is the typical milling around and greeting of friends. I get my first friendly greeting from Trina in a month but we don't really get to say more than 'hi' an' 'bye'. I speak to the new pastor and his family and some of the deacons and generally avoid Alex. I can't face him - and what we've become - yet.

When I rejoin my family, my parents are arguing.

"What the hell?" I ask my sister.

"Robert asked 'bout Mom's folks.

Robert asks uh lot uh landmine questions. If there's a closet with a skeleton, Robert can find it faster than shit finds flies. Still, Mom hated her parents as least as much as Dad did, "So?"

Beth shrugs, "Mom wants ta go ta their grave."

And Dad won't give. Dad blames every flaw and quirk of Mom's character on her parents. Neither will say why but Dad let it slip once that her mom was a drug addict so I always figured that was at least part of it. They both died when Beth and I were real young but Dad wouldn't let us go to the funeral. Said even in death, they could see us when Hell froze over.

I glance around; people are beginning to notice them. I try to casually walk over a pick up Robert, "Hey, uh, Dad, maybe you guys could finish this in the car?"

He stops mid-sentence and glares at me. Belatedly, I remember that he and I ain't been quite right since Alex's accident. His eyes narrow for a moment then he takes Robert from me, "I'm taking my son and going home. Your son drove," he says indicating me, "go where you want." He turns and yells at Beth, "You comin' with me or goin' with them?"

Beth doesn't even hesitate. She looks at my mother oddly but hurries to the car with Dad. I watch them leave.

"Jackass." Mom is pissed - something I've rarely seen.

"Mom, maybe..." I stop when she glares at me.

"Where yo' car at?" I walk her to it and give her the keys when she asks for them. She drives to Tappahannock, to a residential area - a slum really - and parks in front of a rusting trailer. The front yard looks as if once someone tried to care but never got past buying a planter and a couple marigolds. Mostly, it's littered with broken things, an old push mower and Buick that's easily older than I am. My life is so good - so sheltered - that I forget sometimes that people actually live like this. I have a lot to be thankful for and seeing this reminds of it forcefully.

Mom gets out of the car and heads for the door. Mom is a pampered housewife - she only has a part-time job 'cause she likes the employee discount at Linens-n-Things - I can't imagine she knows anyone in this area of town.

I catch up with her, "Do you know these people?"

She doesn't answer, just bangs on the door. We can hear the TV loudly and she bangs again before someone swears and opens the door.

A vaguely human blob opens the door. He's fat and disheveled and no doubt wearing his formal stained muscle t-shirt. Even with the blubber sagging off his frame, he is gaunt around the eyes. He smells of stale beer and body odor. He looks at Mom, indifferent at first, then apparently recognizes her and grunts some kind of greeting, "She ain't here." He goes inside leaving the door open for us to follow, which Mom does - much to my disgust. The inside of the trailer is everything I expected from its resident.

He scratches his side, and looks me over, "Yo' latest?"

"My eldest." Mom's voice is actually strained with malice and I have ta admit that I don't like this guy at all.

"Oh." He shrugs, "What, you want money?"

Just like that, I wanna drop him.

"No." Mom is shaking. I wanna take her home, get Dad, Alex and Uncle Marcus and turn this guy into uh doormat. "I wanted to say Happy Thanksgiving."

He laughs. It's not a happy sound. Mom's hand touches my shoulder and I realize that I've taken a couple steps forward. I take a step back.

"I wanted to see if you need anything." She says. I bark a laugh at that then back off. Does he need anything? Hell, he need everything.

"Nah. We got turkey. TV work."

She nods, "Good. Fine. Then, I'll be going."

He shrugs as if he couldn't care less. He opens a battered fridge and I can see that it's empty except for a Chinese food container and a case of beer. As he opens a beer he looks almost thoughtful, "Hey you still with that one kid, that guy I seen you with that time?"

Mom freezes. I can feel her whole body stiffen, as she stares forward - not at him, just forward. Any more comments like that and Ima break him in half whether Mom likes it or not.

"I'm still married to Charles, Pop." She says softly, "Almost seventeen years now."

I don't hear much after that. We don't stay much longer anyway. I walk her deliberately to the passenger side and take the keys from her. As we drive back, I reach over and open the glove compartment. I hand her the box of tissues I keep in there. I don't know if she needs them - I'm just guessing. I don't drive home; I take her to the river.