We were all prepping for Thanksgiving and the population was both empty and swollen - both from people traveling over the holiday. O'Leary's had been packed with out-of-towners trying to avoid their turkey crazed relatives and interested in the events of Halloween. The police had released very little information on the man that had been killed, but imaginations had run wild with what little they were given. I was almost happy to be going out of town for Thanksgiving.
Almost.
See, we (Graham and I) were going to visit our parents (my mom, Elaine, and his dad, Richard) for the holiday and, while I loved my mother, I wasn't, ecstatic to be seeing Richard. I'd never liked Richard. In fact, my dislike for Graham's dad was one of the few things my maternal grandmother and I had ever agreed on before she died. My grandmother was Chinese and always strict with both my mother and me. She was proud and she'd never supported my mother's art career, saying that my mother was too good to work at a profession where she'd never make any money. When my mother began to do well, my grandmother removed herself even more because she hadn't wanted to admit that she'd been wrong.
I'd always loved my mom's art. I admired her talent and her passion for it. I'd never seen it as anything less than a gift. But then she met Richard at one of her art shows. And I met him at an art show of hers almost a year after that. I was young, maybe six or seven, but I could still tell how much he loved her. It was in his eyes when he looked at her. His manner. His voice. And I could almost forgive him for all his faults. But as I spent time with him, I saw the man he was beneath his love of my mother. He always talked down to me, as if I was too dumb to understand what he was saying and he treated everyone as if they were dirt because they didn't have all the money he did. When I met Graham in the months before our parents were married, I was worried he'd be just like his dad. But he wasn't. He was humble, something badly needed in his father's pack of character traits.
I tried not to think too much about all of this in the hours that it took Graham to drive to their mansion the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.
The temperature had dropped as we drove and, by the time we stepped out of the car, snow had started to fall lightly from the sky. I had little time to take in the house - large and red-bricked with a dark green door and turkeys scattered joyfully across the lawn - before our half brother, Michael, bounded over and wrapped his arms around my waist. At fourteen, he was filled with boundless energy and the inherent clumsiness of a recent growth spurt.
"Hey Eliot! How are you? I've missed you!"
"I've missed you too, Bud! What have you been up to? School treating you ok?" He started to answer but was distracted by the sight of Graham getting out of the car and went to say hello. I pulled a bag out of the back and slung it over my shoulder, then headed toward the house.
Inside, the heat was on full blast. All the surfaces were gleaming and mouth watering smells were coming out of the kitchen. I ditched my stuff by the front door and went to see what I could scavenge.
In the kitchen, on the counter, were piles of freshly baked bread and on the stove sat a cast iron pot full of stew. The stew had chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes and, based on the smell, I could only assume there was garlic as well. I pulled a spoon from a drawer and was just about to take a taste when, behind me, I heard, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You won't be able to stop after one bite and if you eat until you're full, you'll ruin your dinner." I turned, smiling, to see my mother.
Her long, dark hair was pulled back from her face and there was paint still stuck under her fingernails from painting earlier in the day. We were the same height and had similarly slim figures though my father's Irish ancestry could be seen in the planes of my face, making sure that we weren't quite a matched set. I smiled and hugged her tight, not knowing until that moment quite how much I'd missed her. "Hi Mom." I said.
"Hi Sweetie, I'm glad you're home!"
"Me too!" I responded. We parted and walked, arm in arm, back toward the door to help the boys bring in the bags but, when we got there, they were already done.
"I took yours to your room." Michael told me then, to Mom, he asked, "When's dinner?"
"As soon as your dad gets home. I just got off the phone with him and it looks like it'll only be another hour. Eliot, Graham, why don't you guys go get settled in and I'll call you when it's time to eat, okay?"
We nodded and the three of us walked upstairs, Michael telling us everything we'd missed since the last time we'd spoken. When we got to my room, I stopped."Hey, Mike, I'm really sorry, but if I really need some sleep. Can you tell me the story about your biology teacher and the clams after dinner?" Michael nodded.
"See you in an hour, E!" he said, then continued on after Graham, barely pausing for breath. I sighed, exhausted, then walked into my room and fell into bed, asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.
TO BE CONTINUED
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