Page 46 of Out of the Blue

“I’m good. Well, I mean, obviously, things could be better.” My word salad grinds to a halt. How can I ask her if she knew about my true father and if that’s why she and Mom parted ways?

“I can only imagine.” She goes on to update me about her husband and their two daughters, both of whom are teenagers now. They didn’t come to the funeral, but I did see pictures. “Sounds like everyone’s doing great.”

“I do love it here in New Hampshire. It’s so different from Jersey City.”

Here’s my chance. “So, Auntie, I’ve gone through all of my mother’s stuff. I had her photos transferred to DVD, and I can send you a copy, in case you want to keep any.”

“Oh, I’d love that.”

“And—” How can I say this? “I read her diary.”

Boom.

A clock ticks.

She sighs. “So you know?”

“Yeah.”

After a couple of beats, she begins, “I’m so sorry, Trenton. I fought with Lorinda all the time, begging her to tell you the truth. Well, not at first. When you got older, like after Dad—your grandfather—died, I started in on her in earnest. She was stubborn. She told me the lie she’d fed you about your father being a Marine who was killed in Operation Desert Storm was sufficient. She felt it was for the best.”

“But you didn’t agree?” Her answer to this question determines whether I hang up or let her into my life. The place Mom refused to let her.

“No, I didn’t agree with her decision. I felt you had a right to know. And so did—he.”

“Braxton Hunte?” His name rolls out of my mouth without warning.

In a strangled sound, she replies, “Yes.” Her sigh spreads to my ears as if it were one of Dwight’s long cymbal rolls. “My parents never knew the truth. Ever. Lorinda only told me what had happened because I was at the concert when it all went down. And three months later, when she found out she was pregnant with you, we both knew who the father was. I took her to some Hunte concerts afterward, but she never caught Braxton’s eye again. When she got her baby bump, she gave up trying to reach him. She told me she sent him a few letters.”

“But he never responded.”

“No. I doubt he ever got them. Or his label threw them away as being cranks. Back then, things were different.”

Have to agree with her there. No email, no social media. Gatekeepers made it easier, in a sense. “So you let her continue to lie to me. Make me believe my father had died, when he was very much alive.” And now I’m touring with him.

“Please, you’re not being fair. I wanted to tell you several times, but Lorinda forbade me.” Sniffles come through the speaker. “She told me it was her life, and she was doing the best she could for the both of you.” Auntie Gloria blows her nose, and I remain quiet. “In a way, I couldn’t disagree with her. We fought about it, all the time. Then I met Casey, who was visiting his extended family down in New Jersey, but had a job as a fisherman in New Hampshire.” She trails off. “Please believe me, your mother thought she was doing the right thing for you.”

“By lying.”

“Yes. About who your father was. But not the rest. The rest was the absolute truth. She was so proud of you. I know it bothered her when you picked up the guitar, but she supported you. When you boys got together and started playing, she was so proud. She even once told me you were her biggest shining star.”

I close my eyes, remembering Mom calling me the nickname. Said I was brighter than the star on top of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. My heart hurts for what Mom put her sister through. “She put you in an impossible situation.”

“Yes. And she pushed me away.”

I pluck the bedspread. “But you still loved her?”

“With my whole heart. It broke me to learn about the shooting. She was my sister. My twin.” Additional sniffles come through the phone.

The hotel bedroom door opens, and Cordy walks in, carrying two cups bearing the Starbucks logo. I nod toward the side table, where she places my coffee. She takes hers into the living area.

I speak the truth. “I know she loved you too, Auntie. It was written all over her diaries.” Cordelia reappears at my side, drops off a box of tissues, and leaves. Why? I run my hand over my wet cheek. Well, damn.

“And I love you too, Trenton. You were always the center of my sister’s life. For all of us.”

They’re all gone now. Mom, Grandmother, Grandfather. Even Auntie Gloria lives far enough away. “I’ve missed you.”

“We need to get together.”

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