Chapter 8

We enjoyed a nice lunch and “getting to know you” conversation. I learned about his mother, sadly deceased just a couple of years prior. His parents split when he was only eight, and his dad had primary custody of him and his six-years-older brother, Steve.

“Glória and Steve have a toddler named Andy. I have an older sister Grace. She was raised by my mother.”

“You’re still in contact with them?”

“Yes, but that’s a more distant relationship. I don’t know a lot because I was so young, but there was a lot of bitterness around the divorce. The three of us paid a price. Dad had to step up; it wasn’t easy for him but it did draw us closer.”

“I wish I could say that. My sister and I have no memories of my father. But please, keep going.”

“My brother? I’m sure I annoyed him to death, always following him around and being a pest. He was a star athlete, had the cutest girlfriends, and smart as hell. He watched over me in the afternoons. Patiently, he helped me with my math homework. And when Dad was stuck at work, he’d stay with me instead of going off and having fun with his friends. I think of those times, and I appreciate how he sacrificed for his pesky little brother.”

“I get it. Family.”

“Yeah, exactly. I’d hear his phone and I knew it would be one of his friends asking for him. But he never left me. Never alone. Now, when my phone rings and I hear, ‘Andy,’ I’m right there to babysit him. Glória says she should have named the little guy ‘Paulo’ instead, after me.”

“She’s a Latina?” I asked.

“Her parents are legal permanent residents, and she was born in the US and raised speaking English and Brazilian Portuguese.”

“Perhaps I will meet all these interesting people.”

“I’d like that. Very much. But what about the new-to-nudity cohort on this side of the wire fence? So, I’ve met Sally and John, and their sons Hank and Frank, sorry, I mean, Hank and Jake. Jake is older?”

“That’s right.”

“And Debra, she’s younger? Got it. Sally is your mother’s semi-sister?”

“That’s exactly right. Raised together but not the same parents. My grandmother would say they were found together under the same rock with the grubs and roaches. My grandfather would add, “And maggots.” Then Mom would punch him in the upper arm. Not lightly, either. They went to their graves without revealing the secrets. If Sally and Mom know something more, they haven’t told us.”

“With the greatest respect, Terri, that is fucked up.”

“Deb and I talk about swabbing their cheeks while they sleep to get genetic testing because they certainly look related.”

“That might be difficult. They might bite you.”

“Yeah. Maybe someday one will need an organ transplant, and they will have to find out.”

We sat together, relaxing in the quiet forest. I realized my hand was on his thigh. I watched a bee hover near some poppies, then fly away.

I left it there, but the mood broke when Paul asked, “And there’s no father ... Oh! I’m sorry.”

Shit. I spoke next with an edge. After all, he was drifting toward that word. The “B” word.

“Debra and I have a name. His name. The same name for him recorded on both of our birth certificates. Marcus Lowell. That name, and the cities and hospitals we were born in—those are the only records we daughters have. About him, my mother tells us nothing.”

The sun was bothering me, and I shook my head.

“Your voice tells me there’s no warm and fuzzy story that follows.”

“Yeah.”

“I shouldn’t have been prying.”

“No, there’s no problem with you. Those stupid words apply, ‘it is what it is.’ The fact is, my mother’s partner selections over the years have all been terrible. Deb and I think there were five, all of them losers.”

I shook my head and continued. “And the last one of them? Number five? He stole Mom’s house and left us too poor to go bankrupt.”

The fury I’d carried since he left us destitute came roaring back. Paul closed his eyes and then opened them. “I don’t think I understand that.”