I was in the laundry room pushing the second load of clothes through when the phone rang.
“Good morning!” I answered.
“Hello,” said a man, “Is this Lilliana Trelly?”
“Yes. This is she.”
“My name is Mr. Poyfair. I’m your Aunt Hildegard’s attorney. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that your aunt passed away yesterday.”
“Auntie Died? How?”
“She had another stroke.” he said, “Although she donated her body to science, she planned a funeral service and she specifically asked for you and your sister Jasmine to attend.”
“Wait a minute. She donated her body to science?”
“To the University of Washington Medical School.”
“When is the funeral?” I asked, “I’ve got my kids Esther, Sophia, Basil, Jonah, Xenia and Justin my three-year-old and my mom to take care of. It’s not easy for me to get away.”
“There will be a short memorial service Friday afternoon at Oysterville Baptist Church in Oysterville, Washington. The reading of her last will and testament will follow, and you are an heir. Will you be able to make it?”
“I’ll do my best.” I said, with options and plans flying through my mind.
“I’m looking forward to meeting you Lilliana.” He ended.
I hung up the phone and bowed my head in prayer for Auntie, regretting that I never met her. No one in Dad’s family ever tried to see us. It was as if his murder separated me from everyone, his sister and brother and even my half-sister Jasmine. I was a baby when our dad took custody of Jazz who was six years old. After I was born, Mom fell into a horrible depression that lasted until we had moved in with her family after dad’s death. I always knew Mom loved me, but my earliest memories were of Jazz making my breakfast and dinner and singing me to sleep at night. I was five when Dad disappeared. I cried myself to sleep for months after Jazz went back to live with her mother, but Mom took good care of me after her family took us in and found Mom a doctor who prescribed antidepressants.
It was weird getting to know Jazz later when we were grown up, but it’s been good too. Jazz knows where I’ve come from and watched me grow up even if it was from afar. She’s the one person I can tell anything too. Jazz was my confidant through the dating years at college and the whirlwind months when things were serious with Mike, and I was there for her the year after her daughter’s dad died. They were soul mates and friends and briefly lovers and his heart attack was unexpected. It was perfect timing when Aunt Hildeguard called her and asked if Jazz could come stay and take care of her. Jazz’s work situation had been dysfunctional and her life was topsy-turvy with my niece moving out on her own to pursue a music career in Las Angeles and Nick’s death. Jazz had been out there all last summer and most of the fall before Auntie’s big stroke. I had been glad they had each other. Jazz was most definitely an heir too.
A high-pitched scream from upstairs. Xenia my five-year-old yelled, “Mommy! Justin took my princess. I want to be alone.”
“Xenia hit me!” complained Justin.
“Lilly, will you make my lunch?” asked Mom, shuffling down the hall from her bedroom.
I ignored the kids and told Mom, “I need ten minutes before I make your turkey sandwich.”
Then I grabbed a phone, hid in the master bedroom closet which is big enough to serve as our tornado shelter, and called Mike at work to tell him about the lawyer’s phone call. It’s such short notice, but Mike thought we could use our points to buy the airplane ticket for an early morning flight on Friday. Aunt Hildegard was a successful author of children’s books and traveled a lot before she had her stroke, and I was an heir. I wondered how many heirs there were and what she left behind. Mom could handle Justin if Mike worked from home. The teenaged girls could find rides home from school with their friends, and my girlfriends could take one or two of the middle kids. As long as the boys weren’t left alone together too long, it could be fun for everyone. I hated leaving them for the weekend, but they would be okay. God knows I could use a short vacation away from everything.
Travel details filled my head leaving no room for worries about meeting dad’s messed up family or seeking out answers to the unspoken questions of the past. The merits of pizza over a casserole were the big concern as I headed to the master bedroom and was stopped by the reflection of a middle aged woman looked out of the bathroom mirror facing the closet door. Jazz hasn’t seen me since Justin was a newborn. My body never recovered from that pregnancy, and after turning forty, an additional twenty pounds appeared in the shape of a perpetual first trimester baby bump which pooches at the top of my jean skirts. My softer, rounder face looks years older. A head scarf adorns auburn hair now streaked with silver strands, and last week when the coffee barista asked if my second daughter was my sister, his eyes betrayed his flattery. What will Jazz say when she sees me? Wishing there were a few months for me to lose some weight, I sighed and went to look for Mom who was sitting in the rocking chair in her room.
“Mom,” I greeted her, “Do you remember Aunt Hildegard?”
She put down her book and looked up from her rocking chair. “Your father’s sister? I never liked his family.”
I sat down on her bed. “Well, she passed away yesterday. The funeral is on Friday.”
“What did she die of?” she asked twisting the blanket on her lap around her finger.
“Another stroke. You remember I told you she had a stroke last summer, and Jazz took care of her for a while. She went to a nursing home when another stroke disabled her.”
“That’s too bad.” Mom said. She picked her book up and then set it down again. “I hope you aren’t going to have anything to do with them.”
“Well, I’m going to the funeral on Friday if I can work it out.” I explained.
She smoothed the blanket around her lap. “Don’t go. It was for the best that you never knew your dad’s family. They’re trouble.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Mom sat still looking at her hands now clutched together until I thought she would never answer. “Your uncle went to prison for burglary, and your aunt was mixed up in that business too. She protected her brothers when she knew they were doing wrong and then in the end she took Raymond’s side against your father. Then she had the gall to blame me for what happened to your father as if I could have kept him home the night he disappeared. She came for the baby and we never saw her again.
A baby? Yes. I saw our old living room with green shag carpet and a black haired baby, crawling, crying, taking my toys. “I remember a baby.” I told Mom, “Who was it?”
“Your cousin.”
“I didn’t know I had a cousin! Why don’t you ever tell me anything?”
“That baby grew up to be bad like the rest of them. I can’t talk about it. Some memories are best forgotten. Isn’t it time to eat yet?” She asked.
“Sure.” I answered fearing that she might need extra anti-anxiety meds if pushed any further.
“Good morning!” I answered.
“Hello,” said a man, “Is this Lilliana Trelly?”
“Yes. This is she.”
“My name is Mr. Poyfair. I’m your Aunt Hildegard’s attorney. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that your aunt passed away yesterday.”
“Auntie Died? How?”
“She had another stroke.” he said, “Although she donated her body to science, she planned a funeral service and she specifically asked for you and your sister Jasmine to attend.”
“Wait a minute. She donated her body to science?”
“To the University of Washington Medical School.”
“When is the funeral?” I asked, “I’ve got my kids Esther, Sophia, Basil, Jonah, Xenia and Justin my three-year-old and my mom to take care of. It’s not easy for me to get away.”
“There will be a short memorial service Friday afternoon at Oysterville Baptist Church in Oysterville, Washington. The reading of her last will and testament will follow, and you are an heir. Will you be able to make it?”
“I’ll do my best.” I said, with options and plans flying through my mind.
“I’m looking forward to meeting you Lilliana.” He ended.
I hung up the phone and bowed my head in prayer for Auntie, regretting that I never met her. No one in Dad’s family ever tried to see us. It was as if his murder separated me from everyone, his sister and brother and even my half-sister Jasmine. I was a baby when our dad took custody of Jazz who was six years old. After I was born, Mom fell into a horrible depression that lasted until we had moved in with her family after dad’s death. I always knew Mom loved me, but my earliest memories were of Jazz making my breakfast and dinner and singing me to sleep at night. I was five when Dad disappeared. I cried myself to sleep for months after Jazz went back to live with her mother, but Mom took good care of me after her family took us in and found Mom a doctor who prescribed antidepressants.
It was weird getting to know Jazz later when we were grown up, but it’s been good too. Jazz knows where I’ve come from and watched me grow up even if it was from afar. She’s the one person I can tell anything too. Jazz was my confidant through the dating years at college and the whirlwind months when things were serious with Mike, and I was there for her the year after her daughter’s dad died. They were soul mates and friends and briefly lovers and his heart attack was unexpected. It was perfect timing when Aunt Hildeguard called her and asked if Jazz could come stay and take care of her. Jazz’s work situation had been dysfunctional and her life was topsy-turvy with my niece moving out on her own to pursue a music career in Las Angeles and Nick’s death. Jazz had been out there all last summer and most of the fall before Auntie’s big stroke. I had been glad they had each other. Jazz was most definitely an heir too.
A high-pitched scream from upstairs. Xenia my five-year-old yelled, “Mommy! Justin took my princess. I want to be alone.”
“Xenia hit me!” complained Justin.
“Lilly, will you make my lunch?” asked Mom, shuffling down the hall from her bedroom.
I ignored the kids and told Mom, “I need ten minutes before I make your turkey sandwich.”
Then I grabbed a phone, hid in the master bedroom closet which is big enough to serve as our tornado shelter, and called Mike at work to tell him about the lawyer’s phone call. It’s such short notice, but Mike thought we could use our points to buy the airplane ticket for an early morning flight on Friday. Aunt Hildegard was a successful author of children’s books and traveled a lot before she had her stroke, and I was an heir. I wondered how many heirs there were and what she left behind. Mom could handle Justin if Mike worked from home. The teenaged girls could find rides home from school with their friends, and my girlfriends could take one or two of the middle kids. As long as the boys weren’t left alone together too long, it could be fun for everyone. I hated leaving them for the weekend, but they would be okay. God knows I could use a short vacation away from everything.
Travel details filled my head leaving no room for worries about meeting dad’s messed up family or seeking out answers to the unspoken questions of the past. The merits of pizza over a casserole were the big concern as I headed to the master bedroom and was stopped by the reflection of a middle aged woman looked out of the bathroom mirror facing the closet door. Jazz hasn’t seen me since Justin was a newborn. My body never recovered from that pregnancy, and after turning forty, an additional twenty pounds appeared in the shape of a perpetual first trimester baby bump which pooches at the top of my jean skirts. My softer, rounder face looks years older. A head scarf adorns auburn hair now streaked with silver strands, and last week when the coffee barista asked if my second daughter was my sister, his eyes betrayed his flattery. What will Jazz say when she sees me? Wishing there were a few months for me to lose some weight, I sighed and went to look for Mom who was sitting in the rocking chair in her room.
“Mom,” I greeted her, “Do you remember Aunt Hildegard?”
She put down her book and looked up from her rocking chair. “Your father’s sister? I never liked his family.”
I sat down on her bed. “Well, she passed away yesterday. The funeral is on Friday.”
“What did she die of?” she asked twisting the blanket on her lap around her finger.
“Another stroke. You remember I told you she had a stroke last summer, and Jazz took care of her for a while. She went to a nursing home when another stroke disabled her.”
“That’s too bad.” Mom said. She picked her book up and then set it down again. “I hope you aren’t going to have anything to do with them.”
“Well, I’m going to the funeral on Friday if I can work it out.” I explained.
She smoothed the blanket around her lap. “Don’t go. It was for the best that you never knew your dad’s family. They’re trouble.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Mom sat still looking at her hands now clutched together until I thought she would never answer. “Your uncle went to prison for burglary, and your aunt was mixed up in that business too. She protected her brothers when she knew they were doing wrong and then in the end she took Raymond’s side against your father. Then she had the gall to blame me for what happened to your father as if I could have kept him home the night he disappeared. She came for the baby and we never saw her again.
A baby? Yes. I saw our old living room with green shag carpet and a black haired baby, crawling, crying, taking my toys. “I remember a baby.” I told Mom, “Who was it?”
“Your cousin.”
“I didn’t know I had a cousin! Why don’t you ever tell me anything?”
“That baby grew up to be bad like the rest of them. I can’t talk about it. Some memories are best forgotten. Isn’t it time to eat yet?” She asked.
“Sure.” I answered fearing that she might need extra anti-anxiety meds if pushed any further.