The Secret of You and Me - Melissa Lenhardt Page 0,99
Hunter said.
“I don’t think Aunt Nora has Eggo waffles.”
“Awwww.”
I motioned to the spread of funeral food. “There’s lots of options, kids. Please, help me eat up this food.”
“They’re kids, Nora. They eat four things,” Mary said. “Jeremy, take them to town to get donuts.”
My brother-in-law, who had been watching me, turned to his wife. “You take them. I need to talk to Nora about the chickens.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m building a coop in our backyard for them.”
“Yes!” Madison said.
“No, you are not,” Mary said.
“Yes, I am.”
“And, who’s going to be left taking care of them? Me. Just like I have to take care of everything.”
“I’ve been reading up on them, Mom. I’ll help. Nora, Patton is a Golden Comet, MacArthur is a Rhode Island Red. They lay the most eggs,” Madison said.
“No joke,” I said. “Sold. When can y’all take them?”
“Never,” Mary said.
“I’ll take an apple fritter,” Jeremy said and held the back door open for me.
“Chocolate cake with chocolate icing for me,” I said to Madison. “I can’t hardly find those in DC. Old-fashioned if they don’t have it. You’re a peach, Mary.”
Grasshoppers flew around us and chattered with displeasure as we disturbed them walking to the barn. Patches of dry and brittle grass testified to the coming of July. By August, the grass would be worn down to stubble and dust. “Having a bad morning?” he asked.
“More like a bad week.”
Beads of sweat ran down my back when we walked into the shaded barn.
“A week, huh?”
I suspected I knew where this was going.
Jeremy went to the chicken coop, gave it a cursory glance before turning to face me. “Emmadean has Parkinson’s.”
Not where I thought it was going.
“She was diagnosed about six months ago.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I sounded petulant and annoyed, even to my own ears. It only took a glance from Jeremy to make me feel shame. It was my own fault I didn’t know. This was the unintended result of separating myself from my family.
“She didn’t want us to. It’s killing Mary not to tell you. I’m telling you because I’m sick of listening to her bitch about you, and how she’s so put upon all the time. She’s already complaining about how the brunt of taking care of Emmadean is going to fall on her.”
“Typical Mary.”
“Is she wrong?”
I shifted from one leg to another.
“Don’t misunderstand, she isn’t complaining about taking care of Emmadean. We all love Emmadean and would do anything for her. Mary is complaining about you, Nora. It chaps her hide that you can be so selfish, can shirk your responsibilities to Emmadean and you’re still her favorite.”
“I didn’t know Emmadean was sick. Now...”
“Come on, Nora. You worked in Army Intelligence, for Christsakes. You knew something was wrong. You didn’t want to know the details because you didn’t want to be bothered.”
“That’s not true. I was going to talk to Emmadean today.”
“She wouldn’t have told you anything. She’s made us all swear not to tell you. She wants you to stay because you want to, because this is your home, not because she’s sick.”
“This isn’t my home. And don’t act like living in Lynchfield is some dream. It’s small, petty, spiteful. You don’t live here, and you could. You fucking work from home.”
We were silent, looking around the barn. Finally, I spoke. “I’ve got tons of vacation, and sick leave saved up. I can come down for a four-day weekend once a month to help out. Go to doctor’s appointments. Whatever they need. How bad is it? Her Parkinson’s?”
“They have her on Sinemet, which has been helping. But, still. There’s no cure. It’s a matter of how fast you go downhill.”
“Shit.” I turned and looked at my chickens. MacArthur, the preening little shit, was strutting around like a rooster while Patton watched stoically from her roost. Ike was asleep. I opened the coop and went in to gather the eggs, making a basket with the bottom of my shirt. I stroked Patton’s feathers before gently nudging her off her nest. “Come on, girl. Give it up.” I stared down at the egg I held and thought of Sophie. You could raise chickens.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to raise chickens, and I didn’t want to live in Lynchfield. What Sophie didn’t realize when she asked me to stay, and what I had ignored with my impulsive request to ask her to convince me to stay, was that there were very few spaces for people like us to be ourselves, and Lynchfield wasn’t one