Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
With a bittersweet smile, I chime in, “I saw a difference in Momma a little while before it happened. She was always harping that I should get rid of Arnold. I can pretty much pinpoint the week she snagged you at the restaurant. You saved me from her wise wrath.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles the precise day they met.
“Heh, Momma was deliberate then. Dad was exceedingly busy with Greco Technologies—that’s the story they both fed me. Momma was depressed. I think she always was but had learned to feign contentment when I told her you didn’t love her.”
He huffs.
“She tried to be a good wife. Dad? Not so much. He gave the same excuses until I saw a change in her for the better. I always assumed it was the house they found.”
“Oh, that dream house.” Uncle Red sighs. “Your momma was telling me that Jonah wanted to buy them a house on account of her walking in on him video chatting with his secretary.”
I chuckle softly. Still, Uncle Red hasn’t bad-mouthed Dad, and I can read between the lines. How much clothing did the bitch have on during the video chat? I chortle. “So, he suggested a house to the wife he refused to let go.”
“She was gonna go all right. Prettiest pettiest woman I ever met.” Uncle Red runs a hand over the back of his neck, a contented smile flitting over his face. “I called her Ms. Petty—for finding the grandest house. She laughed and said he’d be stuck in escrow, and she’d be long gone.”
“But she never left?” I shrug, mind reeling. Would I be contemplating a Mother’s Day flower arrangement if she’d left? Would Momma have grown fond of Victor? Would I have even met Victor?
“Ms. Petty wanted to wait for the convention. Your momma knew Jonah planned to attend with another young woman—probably the one he promised to stop seeing while groveling and offering her the house. Gina said she always wanted to leave him while he was out doing God knows what at one of those damned conferences.”
She kinda got her wish. She died the weekend of one.
“I came by that day to help your momma with her luggage. She hadn’t even started packing.” Uncle Red’s entire facade goes smooth with pleasant thoughts. I know that look.
Dad cheated with younger women, but I’ve never seen a man look so young as I do now. They . . . evened the score, fooled around in my parents’ home.
“Hence the DNA,” Burt suggests while I blink away the feeling of Momma’s still, lifeless body as I held her.
Uncle Red’s fond memory fades. “Th-that day, Gina lets me out the door, so I could grab us some lunch. I don’t even think she closed the door. Just blew me a couple of kisses. Ms. Petty,” his voice ribbons in sorrow, “told me by the time I returned with our pastrami sandwiches, she would’ve written the letter.”
Burt mutters, “Your story didn’t line up for Detective Caruso. No luggage. No letter.”
“No, it didn’t. I told him she wasn’t taking any clothing. Heck, we were gonna invite you over for dinner the next night. Anyway, Gina was leaving the letter and grabbing a box of baby photos of you and a few token pictures from her younger years. Photos she said I’d laugh over.”
As Uncle Red begins to ramble, I sit forward and drop my hands over the back of his. “What? My momma was so pretty. You wouldn’t have laughed at the pictures.”
“Ms. Petty claimed she had buck teeth.” With a shake of his head, Uncle Red adds, “I was gone fifteen minutes for fucking pastrami sandwiches.”
As Uncle Red breaks out into a sob, Burt inquires, “But you saw Orson?”
Planting a palm to his forehead, Uncle Red says, “Twice. Excuse me. I was supposed to mention that part. When I left for our lunch, Eugene Orson was across the street, leaning against the stop post, smoking a cigarette. I said hello. It’s the Christianly thing to do, and I’d seen him in passing over the years. I-I thought nothing of it. Maybe he was visiting a neighbor and went out for a smoke.” He blows out a tormented sigh. “I thought nothing of it.”
Though the same questions plague me as Burt, it’s my good, old companion who speaks up. “You saw him again?”
“Yes.” Angry eyes flicker toward Burt. “That motherfucker came out of the building. Waltzed right out of the fucking brownstone while I was on my way back up the steps. But you gotta understand, Luxxie, I beat on the fucking door. I beat on the door. I thought she’d changed her mind. Maybe she actually chose the house with Jonah, and our time just—just meant nothing. Then I blamed me. I thought perhaps she didn’t want to wake up with me looking like this.”