A Right Turn At Jesus
By Anna Scott Graham
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 by Anna Scott Graham
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictions manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely fictional.
For my husband.
Chapter 2 - Emory Goes To School
Chapter 3 - When Sisters Speak
Chapter 4 - A Most Favored Teacher
Chapter 6 - Emory’s Loose Braids
Chapter 10 - A Right Turn At Jesus
Chapter 11 - Practice Sessions
Chapter 12 - Dancing With Lovie
Chapter 13 - Liam Gets An Earful
Chapter 15 - Ghosts And The Ways They Move
Chapter 16 - A Hat Trick Part One
Chapter 17 - A Hat Trick Part Two
Chapter 19 - Scents Of A Hospital
Chapter 20 - Truths And Consequences
Chapter 21 - The Casserole Brigade
Chapter 22 - Rose In A Real Universe
Chapter 24 - A Hat Trick Part Three
Chapter 25 - Rose In A Parallel Universe
At the end of August, it was still dark at four-thirty in the morning. Rose Robinson Burnett moved from bed on Monday the thirty-first, leaving her sleeping, sex-scented husband to his dreams. Rose assumed Gray was dreaming, for he twitched slightly, but wasn’t disturbed by her actions.
Which included using their bathroom on Gray’s side of the room. It was a small master bath, but Gray ignored Rose’s movements, even when she flushed the toilet. Rose washed her hands, returning to the bedroom dressed in her usual cami top, worn in case their children had come in during the night.
Peeling off the tank top, she reached for a sports bra, her large breasts requiring support. A plain v-neck white t-shirt followed, Rose seated on the end of the king-sized mattress, another reason Gray wasn’t bothered by her absence. He lay all the way to the left, turned on his left. Rose sat on the right corner, pulling on black track pants. Then she grabbed socks from the small table where she stacked her clothes. Walking clothes, sleeping clothes, daytime clothes she would need later; underwear, shorts, and another t-shirt, apparel Rose Robinson Burnett had placed there the night before, what she did every night, had been doing since she was a teenager.
If the audience who was used to an exuberant, occasionally stoned thirty-six-year-old woman saw how precisely Rose lived the rest of her life, they’d be hard pressed to accept these habits, ones Rose had been employing for over twenty years. She was meticulous in her routine, but didn’t insist family follow her rules. Gray was tidy, their children not so much. They were young, Rose allowed. Plenty of time to become as anal as their mother.
After her socks were on, Rose stood, looking for a scrunchie on her dresser. Her long, wavy brown hair was already braided; she also did that every night before getting into bed. If she and Gray had made love, which was most nights, the braid loosened. On the mornings she walked, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Rose affixed the scrunchie, but when the weather turned cooler, she would wear a hat or the hood of her sweatshirt. Since it was still summer, she only needed her hair away from her face and off her neck.
She slipped from their bedroom, moving down the hall past her children’s rooms, a six and four-year-old still in slumber. Rose kept her shoes near the kitchen, where tile floor ran from the front door to where the hallway started. The house was built in the mid-1960s, but inside it was updated, except for the white-gray tile, which Rose hadn’t wanted to change. Since buying the house after Petra’s heart transplant, those tiles were the only original part of Rose and Gray’s home.
The house was only lit by the computers that sat on either side of the living room, which was split by the white-gray tiles. From where Rose stood, emerging from the bedrooms, her desktop sat to her right, Gray’s laptop on the other side. Rose’s end contained her desk, a small one for Emory, some children’s toys. Emory and Liam weren’t on the computers much. Rose preferred them to not be inundated with technology, although it was a difficult rule to maintain.
On Gray’s side waited a fifty-inch plasma TV screen, couches, a rocker, and recliner. Bookshelves stood on both sides of the room, a small bookshelf for the children between Rose and Emory’s desks. Rose noted the books were in need of straightening. Before she grabbed her shoes, she sat at her computer, checking the news, then her email. Then she squatted, stretching her legs, watching the second hand tick off, thinking about what she needed; three Kleenexes, her phone, ear buds, and a dash of Carmex on her lips. On her way out she would take her keys from the counter, putting all those things in the pouch of her hoodie. She didn’t need the sweatshirt so much for warmth, more for storage.
Rose stood, then pulled her right leg behind her back. Like limbering her voice, she took care to prepare her body for a lengthy walk around her neighborhood. The same path every morning; to the end of their street, then a few steps around the corner. Then she went left. Rose liked to walk in the darkness, which was increasing as the days grew shorter. She set her right leg down, then did the same with the left, balancing herself against the bookshelf near her desk.
She warmed up in her house, then once outside would walk at a slow pace before reaching the end of her street. Then Rose would pump her arms, her feet quickening as she trod along the sidewalk, making a large circle around this eastern suburban neighborhood that she and Gray had chosen fourteen years before as their home.
Because she walked in the dark, Rose rarely paid attention to the houses themselves. Some remained in obscurity, only a few with a light shining from the front window. On many a porch light shone and with the streetlights, Rose didn’t need a flashlight. It was dark, stars shining, as if the middle of the night. By the time Rose left her house, it was already ten minutes to five.
She had been walking this early schedule since Liam was two. She had stopped nursing him then and with some time freed, she began her early morning jaunts, preferring the quiet streets, falling in love with the darkened skies. Autumn offered more days of night, days that began before anyone else. Before most, Rose would allow. It became another habit, walking in the dark. Everyone else thought she was nuts, the guys in the band worrying for her safety. Except for her breasts, Rose wasn’t a large person; five foot five, one hundred thirty pounds most days. She joked at least ten of that were her boobs, but Gray never complained.
She wasn’t big, but somewhat fearless, walking in near darkness. Golden-orange streetlights and the occasional porch light revealed cracks in the sidewalk, but didn’t offer much in noting a possible predator. Rose surmised that even perverts needed sleep and her hours of exercise, anywhere from four to six in the morning, weren’t conducive to those sorts of people. She was never accosted and rarely saw anyone except the occasional drunk sitting at the bus stop, or an equally disheveled man walking from the strip mall that was another street over, a lane Rose never took.
She remained along houses that held sleeping people; if she needed assistance, one loud scream would do the trick. Rose never felt afraid, particularly due to all that, and because she was never alone.
Except on the cloudiest days, of which there were few, even in winter, Rose took great pleasure, and some relief, in her shadow. It was silly, and the only one who knew this secret was her husband. Gray himself was another reason; because Rose walked before he got out of bed, she never worried about the children. But her silhouette soothed, felt kind, motherly, sometimes two of them, one behind, the other to her right. She hardly noted the one in her dust, but at her side a bobbing figure accompanied, taller and more slender with no breasts, or how it looked to Rose, a concerned but asexual escort. Rose always kept her music low so if someone actually was behind her, she would hear them before they could get too close.
That morning it was warm, in the low sixties; once she began walking fast, she pushed up the sleeves of her hoodie. Then she changed the music, noting the time, 5.02 AM. Rose gazed up, the Big Dipper and other stars twinkling. Looking left over small hills that bordered their older district, an outline of the coming day was faint. Rose walked faster, as if she could beat the emerging sun.
Rose thought about her sister Petra, then considered their Aunt Margaret. Rose and Petra’s mother was Margaret’s youngest sister, but Rose’s parents had died ten years before in a plane crash, leaving Margaret Leinhart the matriarch of the family. Rose’s father Don was an only child, and Rose’s mother Judith just had Margaret for company. Margaret’s only offspring was Alicia, who was older than both Rose and Petra. A small family, names that Rose’s children knew, only because there weren’t many to recall. Now one more was departing, Alicia informing them yesterday that Margaret was near the end.
She wasn’t ancient, but then neither were Rose’s parents when they perished. It seemed rather unfair, but Rose wasn’t blind to life’s volatility; people died. They also lived, Petra a good example, still kicking at thirty-nine, but if Margaret did pass as Alicia was hinting, Petra would use her wheelchair at the funeral. The sisters had discussed that last night, sitting on the wicker settee on Rose’s front porch. Liam and Emory colored at the iron-wrought table, but Rose and her sister, along with Gray, had the wicker furniture, chatting of Aunt Margaret and Alicia, memories the sisters possessed, some for Gray as well. When Emory began making a racket, Liam hoarding all the blue crayons, Gray sorted the fuss, the sisters still in deep discussion. It was then, Rose remembered, turning right along the road, that Petra had said she would want her wheelchair.
Rose hadn’t been surprised, but Aunt Margaret’s sudden turn of bad health had been a small shock. The family had visited their aunt, cousin, and Alicia’s children back in June, Margaret her usual chatty self. Rose saw her aunt as a substitute mother, Alicia kind enough to share. Margaret was like Petra, always one ailment or another, the Hoffman women not all in the best health. Judith Hoffman Robinson had been able-bodied until her airplane landed with a thudding crash into the side of a mountain, and she’d passed her vigorous genes onto her youngest daughter. Margaret Hoffman Leinhart accounted for Petra’s weak countenance and sometimes Rose wondered if by now, three generations down, her daughter Emory would be free of any Hoffman ailments.
Rose walked the street connecting her to the first long road, taking her back to her house. All these homes were built in the sixties, only three or four different designs. Most were small, less than thirteen hundred square feet. The house she and Gray owned had been a similar plan, but they had added an extra bedroom and bathroom, incorporating the garage into the right side of the living room, Gray’s side, where the TV rested. On Rose’s end, another garage was built, the only disadvantage where it connected in that portion of the living room. A door separated Emory and Liam’s desks, but usually Rose appreciated it, especially when it was cold out, and they didn’t have to reach the garage from outside. It also kept that side of the house somewhat clutter-free, the children’s belongings out of the lane to the garage. Rose wished they had made a tile pathway; instead a clear plastic mat covered that area of the carpet.
She kept her shoes on the tile, not wishing to leave things all over. Rose’s house was as organized as she was, only when she was going on stage did she let down her guard. Reaching the main road, she turned left, stepping along the white thick line painted for the stop sign. Rose followed most rules, but before she stepped out to sing, she got buzzed, usually Lovie with the joint. Only a few tokes, as she never got high anymore, just enough to loosen her up. Rose had been a self-confessed pothead before her children were born, but not anymore.
On Saturday night she had gotten stoned, but didn’t feel it now. She had noticed it yesterday morning, waking with a sluggish tint to her muscles, not how they felt at that moment. She was nearing her left turn, well after five thirty she thought, as light emerged. Small pieces of the landscape were visible, yards that held patchy lawns, or lush, well-watered grass. Rose thought that wasteful, as rainfall was sparse. Their front yard was mostly rose bushes set amid gravel, the entire garden on a drip system. It was the backyard Rose and Gray covered in sod, only for their children.
She felt good, could walk another half hour, but Gray needed to go to work. This was a luxury for Rose, out in the lessening night, more turning to day. Her feet approached that left turn, and as soon as she rounded the corner, her pace slacked off as if she’d lost all momentum, as if she’d taken a huge hit, holding the smoke deep in her lungs. It took so little for her to get high anymore, especially since Lovie possessed superior weed. He’d always had the best, something they laughed about now. They were older, not able to get wasted at the drop of a hat. Especially not Rose, whose role as a mother brooked no allowances for such distractions. Only when performing would she permit herself to get high, aware by the next morning just a slothful feel to her bones would remain. Her head would be clear, if not a bit pained, and while her body didn’t move with her usual grace or speed, she could pay attention. Taking a shower once they returned, not only to wash off any marijuana odor, but mostly that of plain tobacco, she would only appear sleepy to her children, eager to wake their parents after a night of music and frivolity. Emory and Liam whined they wanted to see their parents on stage. Rose didn’t want that occurring for a long time.
She reached her darkened house; if Gray was up, she wouldn’t see it from the street, their bedroom in the back. She pulled her key from the pocket of the hoodie, then with her other hand she checked her phone. Turning off the music, she noted the time, 5.52, fifty minutes since she had last looked. Day was slipping into the sky, stars disappearing, something Rose loved to observe when she took her eyes from the sidewalk, skimming the horizon finding stars to the east were nearly gone, only a few in the west.
Unlocking her door, Rose only heard the shower. Emory was just six, starting first grade. The elementary school was an easy walk in good weather, just enough of a distance when it rained to use the car. In August it was fine for a stroll, additional exercise that Rose would absorb into her day.
She took off her shoes, not bothering to untie them. She never did, having to loosen the laces on Wednesday morning when she next took her walk. As she set the shoes in their usual place on the white-gray tile, the shower stopped. She would be able to get in as soon as she undressed.
In stocking feet, Rose walked past her children’s bedrooms, past the guest room and house bathroom to where she and Gray slept in the far corner of house. She heard him humming and the inside of her body went weak.
He wouldn’t want to make love to her as she was. Not because he didn’t like her sweaty and sticky, but only due to his recent shower. That and he needed to be at work early, this the first day of school. The high school went back today, the elementary as well, but Gray would miss Emory’s first day of school. Of real school, as she discounted kindergarten as something for babies.
Opening their door, Rose found her husband, his blonde hair wet, hiding white hairs emerging along his temples. He was naked, damp, mostly flaccid, and Rose smiled. She kissed him, then began peeling off her own damp clothes, throwing them in the direction of the basket. If they didn’t quite make it, she would pick them up later.
Rose thought she heard him getting dressed, but as she turned, instead he’d gotten into bed. She only wore her underwear, her hair still in the scrunchie, pulled away from her face.
She liked making love to him with her hair back, especially if she was on top. Long waves spilling around her shoulders might look romantic, but those tresses got in the way. Rose smiled again, her husband no longer with a resting organ. Instead he was hard, waiting for her.
“You’re gonna be late,” she said, taking down her panties, also throwing them in the direction of the heaping pile.
She had no idea if the underwear made it. Instead all she cared about was the time. It was now 6.02 and Emory would only sleep another half hour, if that, being it was her first day of school. Gray needed to leave by then, but from how hard he was, as Rose set her body over his, within minutes she would be in the shower.
When he came, she looked at the digital clock on his side of the bed; 6.08. Rose kissed his nose, then got off her husband, heading into the bathroom.
Chapter 2: Emory Goes To School
There was a time for Rose and Gray when hurried sex wasn’t compulsory. It occurred, but not because it needed to.
It happened during shows, especially after The Pool Gurus performed “Gimme Shelter”. All they played were covers, but after that particular song, Rose always finished her vocals standing right next to her husband. They married young, but Rose Robinson had known Gray Burnett for over a year before she actually fell in love with him.
As soon as the couple’s vocals ceased, a long kiss was shared. A very long kiss on occasion, then Gray would take his wife’s hand, leading her backstage. They played small bars, a few larger clubs. Minor venues, yet there always seemed to be just enough room where, hidden from most, Rose would lift her skirt, pull down her underwear, welcoming her husband inside. Again it would take minutes; even if Rose was stoned, Gray never was. He preferred a few beers, but not before the show. Afterwards Gray might get quite drunk, but during a set he was sober. Sometimes after “Gimme Shelter” he was only sated.
It was how he kissed her, or maybe how she kissed him, Rose never sure why making love with him was so spontaneous. It hadn’t occurred to her when they first met, before Colin died, her boyfriend at the time. A year after Colin’s suicide, Gray Burnett moved to town and it was as if Rose viewed Gray differently, as if he was accessible. Or maybe she was free. Either way, the first time they had sex, it lasted less than ninety seconds from when he entered her. Their second time, twenty minutes later, was somewhat prolonged, but only in comparison.
Rose noted Gray’s quiet goodbye as she washed her hair. Rose used conditioner, then soaped her entire body, intercourse from last night as well as that morning, in addition to her walk, leaving her grubby, like she’d been in the sandbox with her kids. The backyard was grass, a sandbox with a lid to deter cats, some trees along the side for shade. Gray and Rose had lived in this house for nine years before becoming parents, but that had always been in the back of their heads. For how often they made love, children seemed an obvious, eventual choice.
Rinsing her hair, Rose considered her morning; waking Emory first, then Liam, who only needed a bit of breakfast. Emory wanted a shower for her first day of school, plus breakfast, and if Petra arrived, pictures snapped at the house. Otherwise Rose would take a few shots at the school. Rose hoped Petra would join them, only because Gray couldn’t. Rose’s family was so few, any attended marker of her children’s upbringing was appreciated. She could have asked most of the guys in the band, and Lise, Dane’s girlfriend had offered. Drummer Dane Hammond and Lise Ryan were like younger siblings and Lise was Emory and Liam’s babysitter. Their favorite, if Petra was busy. Petra wasn’t active that morning, Rose was certain, unless she and Garth had somehow mended fences. Rose considered that as unlikely as Aunt Margaret making it through this round of bad health.
She had admitted that to Gray and Petra, in how anxious Alicia had sounded yesterday when she called; that her mother was in the hospital for tests. Later that evening it was more serious. Aunt Margaret would stay the night, maybe a few nights. Rose owned a sense, something she had known with her folks, with Colin too. A notion of when someone’s time was drawing near.
Near to something else and Rose considered that, stepping from the shower as small footsteps entered her bedroom. “Mommy?’ her daughter’s voice called. “Are you naked?”
“Yeah honey. But I have a towel.”
“Okay.”
As Rose turned off the water, she knew where Emory was. In bed, one that needed fresh sheets, but neither of her children ever noted the smell. That of sex, a scent Rose loved, reminding her of Gray, one to which her children seemed ignorant. Maybe when they were older they would be embarrassed that odor had permeated so much of their childhood.
Rose reached for her towel. Better they knew the scent of lovemaking than pot, and she giggled.
“What?” Emory called.
“Oh, just that today you start school. And you’ll be going to school for a long time.”
“It’s only a longer day,” Emory said. “I went last year, remember?”
“Oh I do.” Rose wrung as much water from her hair as was possible, then wrapped the towel around her body. Her hair still dripped; she had inherited her mother’s thick, near-curly tresses, Petra with their father’s more lank hair. Rose owned not only their mother’s hair, but her eyes, wide and noteworthy. Petra looked like their father, smaller features in a face that otherwise seemed similar to her younger sister. They did look alike, from far away.
Next to each other, the Robinson sisters appeared dissimilar. Rose was a classic beauty, possessing a full mouth, high spaced cheekbones, she and Alicia looking more like siblings than Rose and Petra. Yet, where Petra was hampered physically, Rose was more emotionally strangled, why she still got just a little stoned before every show.
Emory Calla Burnett had no idea her mother smoked an occasional joint, nor did she know her mother had sex. Emory didn’t know what sex was and Rose wanted to keep it that way for at least a few more years. “Honey, are you gonna use my shower?” Rose asked, the towel snug around her body.
“Can I?”
“Uh-huh. You can go on in. I didn’t use much water.”
“Are you sure?”
Emory’s uncertain tone made her mother smile. Only a few times had Rose and Gray depleted the tank; in one of those instances Emory had been a victim. “Yes, I’m sure,” Rose grinned.
“Hmmm. Did Daddy just get a shower?”
“Well, not just.”
“I think I’ll go check my backpack.” Emory hopped off the bed and hugged her mother, nearly pulling Rose’s towel loose.
Emory closed her parents’ bedroom door as Rose giggled, removing the towel, hanging it on the rack.
Over breakfast, waiting for Petra, most of the Burnett family talked of what Rose and Liam would do, what Emory might do, what Daddy was doing, and how was Auntie Margaret.
They concluded that Mommy and Liam would go to the store, then wait for Lise, who was going to take Liam to preschool after lunch while Mommy and Aunt Petra went to Sessay to see Aunt Margaret. Before that Mommy would fill the crock pot, so Lise would only have to take Liam to his educational base. They called Liam’s preschool his educational base as it sounded more grown-up than preschool. Liam chafed at being the youngest, often insisting his parents have another baby. For all the sex Rose and Gray enjoyed, another shot at procreation was not what Rose desired.
Fortunately that morning another Burnett in the making was omitted. Instead, Daddy was probably talking to a new classroom of juniors taking US History. Emory had a few tears after her pleasantly warm shower, that her father would miss her first day. Rose consoled that Daddy did have all summer free, and they had gone to see Aunt Margaret a few times, as well as visiting other friends. That Daddy missed a few special days was unfortunate, Rose admitted. But he did get all their holidays off work.
“When’s Aunt Petra coming?” Liam asked.
“When she gets here,” Rose replied. “Eat your toast.”
Liam picked up a piece that was mostly crust. He owned Rose’s coloring and her large eyes, brown like hers. Emory also had brown hair, wavy and thick like Rose’s, but her eyes were gray like her father and his name.
They were slightly precocious, growing up around so many adults, most without children. Emory and Liam were spoiled on the side of affection, but unlike their peers, were not technologically savvy. They preferred playing outdoors to computer games and their time on either their father or mother’s machines was strictly monitored. Rose felt too many children were couch potatoes due to PC’s and laptops, as well as television. Gray had bought the plasma for baseball, a sport Liam was just beginning to appreciate. Otherwise it sat quietly in Gray’s side of the living room, as if an empty fish tank. People always asked why they owned it, for all the good it did.
If they were home and there wasn’t any baseball, music filled the house. Either Gray was practicing in the garage or their bedroom, or the stereo played. Rose might sing, she was always singing, but around her offspring it wasn’t for practice. Only pleasure, and once both Emory and Liam were in school and Rose wasn’t traveling to see an ailing relative, she would spend those few afternoon hours working on her instrument. Rose only sang, but she was very good at it.
As good as her husband on guitar, no one downplaying her vocal abilities. Gray was gifted, able to carry a tune as well as strum a guitar, but Rose’s voice came from her mother, Judith Hoffman Robinson a soprano with a three-octave range. Petra couldn’t hold a note to save her life, as if all Judith’s talent had seeped into her youngest child. Rose hadn’t wanted to do any more with her own three-octave endowment than sing rock and roll, causing her mother some disappointment. That Rose was still doing it eighteen years later was a testament to the band’s longevity and her husband, both.
Liam had nibbled until only the crust was left, and Rose let him go, hearing Emory brushing her teeth. School began at eight fifteen and it was a quarter to eight. Petra wasn’t a morning person and if she was late, they would leave without her.
“Let me take some pictures of you.” Rose hoped to distract her children. Emory could tell time and either child could look at the microwave or stove.
Rose snapped photos of Emory with a mouth full of toothpaste, then a wide, toothy grin. She had lost her front baby teeth at the end of last school year; now big adult teeth dominated. Their dentist had told Rose both children would need braces, but Rose only considered her firstborn wasn’t tiny anymore.
“Is Aunt Petra coming?” Emory spat into the sink one last time.
Rose scrunched the ends of her daughter’s hair, bringing a spring to the wave. Almost a curl, but not quite, and she kissed the top of Emory’s head. “Well…”
Emory spat again, but it was only saliva. “It’s okay. We’ll see her tonight right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s going with you to see Aunt Margaret and then is having dinner with us, right?”
Rose wanted to sigh, hearing Emory’s delayed anticipation. “Right.”
Emory moved away from her mother, then returned for a quick hug. “I love you Mommy.”
“I love you too Em.”
They waited as long as Rose could stretch it, and as she locked the front door, Emory already to the next house with Liam in between, Rose heard screeching, her daughter’s thankful, excited voice. “Aunt Petra! Aunt Petra’s here! She made it!”
Rose skipped to the street, her sister’s car idling in front of the house. Petra didn’t get out, only rolled down the window. “Listen, if I drive, we can use my placard. And then we’ll have time for pictures.”
Emory had wanted to walk, but Petra could occupy a handicapped spot, and they wouldn’t be late. “Em, that okay with you?” Rose asked.
Her daughter nodded, a huge smile showing those large teeth. “Yeah! Oh Aunt Petra, I’m so glad you made it.”
Rose opened the back door and the kids piled in, then she took the front passenger seat. Her sister looked tired, but that was usual in the mornings. She also looked like she’d had sex. Taking a long breath through her nose, Rose smelled it. Petra had been with someone.
Emory and Liam were as unaware as if they were lying in their parents’ bed, chatting of how exciting it was, and that Daddy wasn’t able to be there. Emory was still carrying that and Rose hoped it would be gone by the end of her day.
They reached the school and Petra parked in a disabled space. Outwardly no hint of illness showed. What no one but Petra’s boyfriends and Rose saw was the enormous scar running down the middle of her chest from where she’d received a new heart fourteen years earlier. That scar was hidden, as well as her other ailments, including possessing only her left kidney. Rose had offered one of hers, but so far, it wasn’t necessary.
It wasn’t just the heart transplant to hinder Petra; her right lung only harnessed half its capacity. She had type one severity of Brittle Bone disease, which had hampered her as a child, becoming less of an issue as she aged. That was the main reason they had driven, Petra not good with walking long distances. Also she was slightly deaf, a byproduct of Brittle Bone disease, but also Rose’s fault, all the nights Petra spent in clubs and bars watching the band.
Rose never let that go without a fight, but that morning she knew it was none of her sister’s physical ailments to make Petra late. She’d had sex, probably with Garth, unable to rouse her butt from bed.
The foursome walked around the front of the main building to a porta-cabin in the back. Emory had been to school every day last week, Gray taking both children to the site, then spending time on the playground. Emory had been here last year for kindergarten, but first grade seemed a huge step forward, and Rose’s heart ached for her husband’s absence. They might have enjoyed a quickie that morning, but it was no consolation for their daughter now.
Petra took pictures and Rose did too, then Emory took one of the sisters, with Liam standing between them. The mother of one of Emory’s classmates then snapped all four. As Emory started recognizing other children, she was itching to leave.
“Gray not able to make it?” Petra whispered as Liam chased after his sister.
Rose nodded. She took Petra’s arm and they ambled behind the crowd to the front of Emory’s classroom. The cabin had a ramp, but Rose knew Petra didn’t need to see the inside.
The day felt warm, Rose noting the small hills not in darkness or even near darkness. Bright sunshine filled the area and Rose squinted, even in her sunglasses. Small children and some not that small carried packs and lunchboxes, yelling and running. The bell was yet to ring and while taking in all around her, she missed Petra’s tug on her arm.
Rose thought it was just her sister, getting her bearings. Then it was more pronounced and Rose turned, seeing her son in arms. The glare blocked her view, but her husband’s voice rang in her ears.
Just like he’d told her that he loved her after she slid from his torso only a few hours ago, or as he said he loved her all the times before, so many times and Rose felt like crying. She didn’t, as she rarely wept, but there, with no reason for his presence, Rose wanted to fall into his arms, find some secluded place and… “What in the world?”
“I snuck out,” he grinned, his blond-gray hair dry and blowing about his face in the slight breeze.
Rose heard her children, the cries of Daddy sharp and pleased. How and why were broached, but all Gray noted was how good Petra looked, Rose hearing in his voice the knowledge that perhaps Petra and Garth weren’t as apart as they claimed.
As the bell rang more pictures were quickly taken. Emory stood still long enough for Petra to get three shots. Then Emory hugged her mother and father and was gone.
Rose watched her daughter’s departure, then kissed her husband while her sister took Liam’s small hand, returning to the car.
As they walked to Petra’s car, Gray promised to reveal just how he slipped from class to attend this milestone. Rose giggled, noting he had set a precedent Liam would remember. Then she felt her husband’s hands along the small of her back. Reaching the handicapped spaces, Gray motioned he was down the street. While Petra and Liam got into the car, Rose and her husband shared one more kiss, then Gray knocked on his son’s window, gave him a wave, and headed to his vehicle.
On the drive back to Rose’s, Liam asked Petra various questions, receiving a few answers. Rose wanted some answers too, but would save her queries for the sisters’ trip to Sessay to see their aunt. The Robinson family had called Evanston their home, but Don and Judith were buried in Sessay, an hour away, where Judith had been raised. There was a perfectly good cemetery in Evanston, but it had been in their will, to the sisters’ surprise. So many things had been shocking about their parents’ deaths; that Don and Judith didn’t want to rest in their daughters’ hometown had been another storm to weather.
Petra had a cup of coffee as Rose checked her grocery list. With Liam nearby, the women only chatted about Emory’s big day, their outing that afternoon, then Petra was ready to leave. She claimed she needed to water her plants, but Rose knew her sister wanted to nap. Petra wore a strange face, no guilt that Rose could ascertain, but certainly some regret. Rose assumed it was Petra’s longtime boyfriend causing trouble; maybe someone between them had caused the split.
“We’ll chat later,” was all Rose said. Petra nodded, kissed her nephew, then was off. Rose had her son use the toilet, then they left, heading for the store.
When Petra returned three hours later, Lise stood in the front yard with Liam, blowing bubbles. The young woman waved to Rose’s sister, translucent orbs floating through the large wand, heading to the sky. Petra received a hug from Liam, who walked her to the door. Then she was forgotten as bubbles from Lise’s wand again filled the air.
Petra sniffed beef, salt, and MSG. “Did you use onion soup mix?”
Rose came from the back, laughing. “My god, what a snout you have.”
“You always use it. Doesn’t it make you sick?”
Rose kissed her sister, peeking into the slow cooker. “No. One day, I’m sure I’ll wake up dead from it.”
They giggled, Petra’s health not allowing for such luxuries. “I suppose this’s your way of telling me to find dinner somewhere else.”
“No, I have something for you,” Rose smiled. She opened the fridge, pulling out cheese tortellini. “And pesto sauce.”
“Okay. So, Lise is here all afternoon?”
Rose gathered her keys. “Yeah. Emory will be on a cloud that her dad showed up. We’ll hear the stories when we get home. And I want some on the drive.”
Petra shrugged. “What’s to tell?”
They left the front door open, seeing Liam and Lise near the mailbox. “Oh, a lot I think.”
Liam approached the women and while Rose spoke to Lise, the little boy blew bubbles for Petra. Bubbles swirled around the sisters, slipping into Rose’s car. Liam waved the big wand through the air, sending his mother and aunt on their travels with more bubbles in their wake.
The hour-long drive was spent in dialogue between two women three years apart, but much closer than most sisters. Part of it was due to Petra’s poor health and their parents’ early deaths. The other was a lasting bond that some sisters shared when friendship was the underlying tie.
They were friends as well as siblings, never competing for boyfriends or their parents’ affections. Petra was Don’s girl, while Rose belonged to her mother, those sentiments carried in looks as addition to Judith’s voice. Margaret Leinhart had treated the girls without favoritism, and they spoke of her illness until Rose demanded to know just who had spent the night at Petra’s.
“You know who,” Petra sighed, once they were halfway to Sessay. The road was flat, brown, endless. It was an hour, but always seemed like more.
“I thought it was over,” Rose said.
“It is, it is. He just came by and I told him about Margaret and…”
“Why’d he come by?”
“Said he needed papers or something, hell I don’t know.”
Rose giggled. Garth and Petra were supposedly finished, Petra’s weepy visit only last Thursday. Maybe not so much grief, Rose pondered. “So, is he coming for dinner tonight too?”
“I don’t know. You invite him?”
It emerged as a growl and Rose laughed out loud. “Jesus, no. As far as Gray and I know you two hate each other’s guts, remember?”
“Shit,” Petra sighed.
They were quiet as Rose merged into a two-lane highway that would lead them straight to Sessay. The towns were of equal size, nearly fifty-thousand inhabitants, but Evanston was only that quantity in summer. Nine months of the year it mushroomed to nearly seventy-five thousand, the university where both sisters had graduated providing Evanston a different flavor than Sessay. The band sometimes traveled that hour to do a show in Judith Hoffman Robinson’s hometown, but other than a trek once or twice a year, they never strayed far from their base, Evanston full of bars, clubs, and a few dives that The Pool Gurus had fronted at one time or another over the last eighteen years.
Yet, the girls had traveled to Sessay to see their aunt, cousin, and maternal grandparents since they were small. Long before they even remembered this road, Petra and Rose had been sitting in the back seat of their father’s car, talking and chattering, rarely sleeping. Their parents hadn’t driven late at night, starting in the morning, heading home in early evening. Sometimes they had stayed for dinner, but even then little girls managed to keep each other awake, stories again occupying their thoughts. Even with three years between them, Petra and Rose always had something to say.
“So, is he coming over tonight, I mean, not to our house, but yours?” Rose asked after enough silence had elapsed.
“I don’t know. Can’t we talk about something else?”
“No,” Rose said. “I thought it was over.”
“It IS!”
“Not if he slept with you last night.”
“Rose! Christ. It is over. It was just, well, you know.”
“No, I don’t. You tell me.”
“What’s to tell? He was there and I was crying. And you know how he is.”
Rose did know for Garth Emory was Colin’s older brother. Emory Burnett was Colin’s namesake, Emory a name for Rose’s first child whether it had been male or female. That it was a girl seemed easier for everyone, especially for Garth, who at the time of Emory’s birth wasn’t yet Petra’s lover. Rose had asked Garth if he minded, and he’d been touched, shedding a few tears. That he and Petra had slept together after the news of Aunt Margaret didn’t surprise Rose, what she would have imagined if the couple was together. That they weren’t only added to Rose’s curiosity. Margaret’s illness surely wasn’t enough to brook reconciliation, but it was adequate for sex to be shared. “Well, what I mean is are either one of you wanting to use this to, you know…”
“Maybe he thinks something’s gonna come of it. I don’t.”
“What if he shows up tonight?”
Rose glanced away from the road. She had to see Petra’s face and her suspicious were confirmed. If Garth stopped by Petra’s apartment that night, he wouldn’t be sent away.
“So should you stay late tonight?” Rose offered, her tone polite.
“Maybe,” Petra smiled.
For most of their visit Margaret was asleep. To Rose and Petra, Alicia looked horrible, as if she’d not had a minute’s rest. Rose felt small guilt for her peace of mind, that while she loved her aunt, her mother had been dead for ten years; Alicia had enjoyed time with her mom that Rose and Petra hadn’t. Judith Robinson hadn’t lived to see her grandchildren, but Alicia’s three teenagers flitted in and out of their grandmother’s room. Craig and Chris were seventeen and fifteen, daughter Kelly was thirteen, and all three looked like their father, divorced from Alicia since the middle of the decade. No sight of Carl Hester, but the teens spoke of him having visited last night. Alicia and her ex weren’t friendly, married for over fifteen years before splitting. Rose knew Carl well enough that his total absence would have been odd. She didn’t expect to see him that day, only at the funeral. Rose hadn’t needed to be there long before realizing the next time they traveled would be for a funeral.
While Rose noticed the three kids’ similarity to their dad, she never saw the ways in which she and Alicia were alike. They shared the same wavy hair, although Alicia’s was now short and nearly blonde, highlights added since the last time Rose had visited in June. The golden bob lessened Alicia’s forty-two years, but Rose didn’t see that or her cousin’s large brown eyes so much like her own, or the prominent cheekbones. She thought her cousin was gorgeous, but rarely did Rose accept her own beauty.
Petra said it kept her grounded, to made Rose laugh; what the marijuana combated all those years. They used to joke about Rose’s habit, her stoner days ending with Emory’s conception. Until then Rose got high all the time, especially after Don and Judith died. Once trying to conceive, Rose had cut back, then eliminated weed altogether until Liam was two. She’d been happy not smoking, proving to herself and anyone concerned she could quit, and now only imbibed before a show. She was grounded most of the time, she laughed with her sister, soaring wings clipped by offspring.
Alicia’s children looked old to Rose, much older than the ones she’d seen that morning at Emory’s school. As Rose watched her aunt struggle for breath, she realized that Emory and Liam wouldn’t see their aunt again. Margaret was doing to die, maybe within a few days, but probably before the weekend. Rose wouldn’t pull her daughter from this first week of school to see a woman Emory only knew as an aged relative. Rose could bring Liam, but again, that was even with less purpose, Liam only four. That child would be bored and fidgety, a two-hour round trip for Rose’s son to be shushed. That Alicia’s children were present was enough.
Rose had been wasted after learning of her parents’ deaths, but would only have a glass of wine, maybe two that night. Gray would have a beer, Petra needing a drink, and maybe Petra would even want to spend the night like she did last Thursday, before they knew Margaret was ill, but after Petra and Garth had called it quits, for what that meant. Maybe that night Petra would hide at Rose and Gray’s, not sleep with her ex-boyfriend. Rose wouldn’t get high and Petra wouldn’t screw Garth, an even trade. It was fair, neither sister employing their usual crutches to get through their aunt’s passing.
Margaret was passing, her skin the hue of Rose’s white-gray tiles. Margaret hadn’t stirred and the sisters had been there since noon. Rose wanted to leave in another hour and had hoped to speak to her aunt one last time.
It wasn’t that Rose didn’t want to return, only that she knew. Rose had known her boyfriend wasn’t going to last long after one failed suicide attempt. She hadn’t expected him to try again so soon, and certainly hadn’t wished to be the one to find Colin Emory with half his head blown off. She’d been horrified at the time, but later recognized it was better than if Garth had found his brother.
That inner sense of timing had wafted within Rose all through her parents’ trip to Europe, Rose certain she wouldn’t see her mother or father alive again. She hadn’t said a thing to her sister, but Gray had been warned. It came to Rose at a show while singing a Carly Simon tune, “Never Been Gone”, one of Judith’s favorites. As Rose finished that song on a Saturday night in 1999, she knew. She wouldn’t see her mother or her father ever again.
That night she had been high, not overly wasted, only buzzed. As if she’d had a couple of wine coolers, just a few tokes of Lovie Jones’ exceedingly good weed put Rose in a pleasant place in which to perform. She didn’t suffer stage fright, only that from when the band had come together, Rose had smoked pot. She always sung while high until the first show in which she was pregnant.
Now, as then, Rose knew death was coming. She and Gray and later Petra and Lovie had discussed it, a year after Don and Judith’s plane from New York to California slammed into the Rocky Mountains. Freak weather was the cause, but Rose had kept mum after that Saturday show played there in Sessay, the one show that year in Judith’s hometown. Rose waited for three days, having spoken to her mother one last time, telling her to be careful. Not that it was Judith’s fault, only the clouds, a snowstorm, weather, fate. Karma, and then Rose endured an entire year before she felt able to tell her sister of what she had known. Gray learned that Saturday night, driving their car back to Evanston. That evening he and Rose went separately from the band and Rose wept the entire trip home. She wasn’t a teary sort, didn’t think she would cry at Margaret’s funeral, but in telling her husband she wouldn’t see her parents again, Rose Cathleen Robinson Burnett bawled like a baby.
She hadn’t shed a tear when she told Petra later, but Petra sobbed, aware Rose knew things. Rose had known about Colin, having shared that with her sister, but not their parents’ impending demises. Petra had been glad to remain unaware, but Rose had felt guilty until she told her.
There, sitting with her seventy-four-year-old aunt, Rose nudged Petra, who was holding Alicia’s hand. Rose nodded to the ill woman, Petra releasing a long sigh.
Fortunately, Alicia didn’t know of her cousin’s propensity to predict the future. Rose wouldn’t have said anything even if Alicia was aware, but since she wasn’t, Rose only stood, pulling her chair closer to her aunt. Petra remained next to a teary woman three years’ Petra senior as Rose spoke softly to anyone interested in listening.
“Aunt Margaret, you remember when you came to see me after Emory was born? You told me what a beautiful name she had, maybe you’d forgotten about Colin. It meant so much to me for you to be there, with Liam too. I think I allowed, for a few minutes, you to be Mom. I hope you don’t mind.”
Rose heard her cousin’s weeping subside. “I’d have brought the kids with me, but Emory started school today, and Gray surprised us by showing up. He’s at work today, or he’d be here too. They all send their love, but I left Liam with a sitter, the girlfriend of our drummer. He’d have only been bored, probably would have done something to get us hauled out of here.”
Craig and Chris had small chuckles, what Rose had wished for. “We love you, Petra and I, everyone here. I heard that Carl came by last night, I hope you gave him a good what for.”
That eased Alicia’s heart, Rose heard it in her cousin’s small giggle. “I’m going to step out for a minute, need to call the babysitter. Maybe you’ll be awake when I come back.”
Rose stood again, but left her chair. As she passed her sister, Petra got up with slow legs and took Rose’s place.
The hallway was quiet, Rose seeing Alicia’s daughter at the end of the corridor, talking on her cell. Rose wouldn’t bother Kelly, her dying grandmother not as big of a pull as what might be going on with her friends. It was fine to miss a day of lessons, but to be yanked from the social whirl was altogether different. Rose only wanted a minute, setting her dying relative in a proper place. She inhaled, smelling a hospital, no sex, weed, or pot roast anywhere.
For a few minutes, right before the sisters left, Margaret Hoffman Leinhart opened her eyes, but Rose wasn’t sure her aunt recognized them. Margaret mumbled a few words, more like asking for something to drink. Rose kissed her cheek as Margaret had done to Rose after Emory was born.
Slower to stand, Petra had been next, was sure Margaret realized their presence. Margaret had said her name, Rose’s too, but Rose had to wonder. Petra’s hearing wasn’t great and it could have been anything. Maybe Margaret wanted her daughter. Or to leave. Maybe she only wished to be finished.
Outside the room, the sisters embraced all their relatives, the teens stiff but Alicia was soppy, and Rose wondered how her cousin would take this. Was it easier knowing, Rose pondered as she held Petra’s arm exiting the hospital. The day was warm, Rose almost forgetting it was summer. Hospitals were cool, regulated, cut off from what was happening outside. Rose would drive home exceeding the speed limit. All she wanted was to see her children, hear Emory’s stories, then hold her husband. Hear how he snuck out, then it would be a matter of waiting.
Rose wasn’t so aware as to know when the call would come. She hadn’t been sure with either Colin or her parents, but it was two weeks with her suicidal boyfriend, three days with her mother and father. Three days, then their plane crashed into the mountains, but the two weeks with Colin were like months; Rose was with him, right to the end.
So long was that time, what she considered as Petra rambled about their aunt and Garth. Garth had found Colin the first time, entering the brothers’ apartment just as his younger and only sibling jumped from a chair with a rope around his neck. Rose wasn’t sure if that initial attempt was serious and for two weeks she never left her boyfriend’s presence. Either they were surrounded by his family, practicing with the band, or sleeping together, but Rose hadn’t been able to tie herself to Colin’s side every minute. The second time, he’d made sure that once it was started, there would be no errors.
None with a gun to his head. Rose had to pee, and she’d left him right after they made love. It was there, sitting on the toilet, where Rose heard one shot. She didn’t note Colin taking a firearm from underneath his bed or setting the prewritten note on his side table. She only heard the weapon discharge. Then it was over.
Aunt Margaret wouldn’t be so dramatic or messy. Rose hadn’t been listening to Petra, then wondered if she’d missed anything important. “What’d you say?”
Petra smiled. “Where’ve you been?”
“Thinking of Colin.”
“Oh. Is she gonna be that soon?”
“Yeah,” Rose said. “Before the end of the week. The kids or Gray won’t see her again.”
The road was quiet, but Rose did pass one dawdling car, driven by an old man. She resumed her previous speed, that of seventy-five miles an hour, ten over the limit. If she got caught, she didn’t care.
“I’m glad you didn’t say anything. Alicia’s pretty whacked as it is.”
“Nothing to say. She’s just not going to have that many more days.”
“Rose?”
“Yeah?”
“If that happens to me, don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.”
“I won’t. I don’t wanna know either.” Rose smiled, then turned on the radio, jazz returning the sisters to Evanston.
Chapter 4: A Most Favored Teacher
When Gray came home, the first thing Emory wanted to know was how he had managed to be there that morning. “Daddy how?” she pleaded.
“I’ll tell you when you mother gets back,” was all Gray said.
It wasn’t the first thing Rose wanted to know, but in the top three. First were stories from Emory’s day, then from Gray’s. Liam had started back to his educational base last week, so that child’s tales were perfunctory. After Rose heard Emory’s news, the usual from her husband followed, students returning, new faces to learn, and a few altercations with those unaware of how Mr. Burnett ran his classroom. Then she asked. “So Gray, how did you get there this morning?”
Petra was close, also keen to hear. On the front porch, Gray sat on the left of the wicker settee, Rose in the middle with Liam on her lap. Petra was on Rose’s other side and Emory had a small red plastic chair alongside Petra.
Everyone said Gray Burnett was a nice guy, a smile that never threatened, a voice never on edge. Grayson Noel Burnett had always suffered from that stereotype, though he was an exceptional guitarist and talented singer. Even with those rock and roll attributes, Gray never escaped from being seen, labeled, and ultimately called out as Mr. Nice Guy.
His children had no idea, only viewing him as their daddy. Rose and Petra recognized Gray hefted that other halo-heavy title, but the sisters also knew him more intimately, Rose as a lover, Petra as a sister-in-law. Petra also accepted Gray as the best friend of a one-night stand from her past, but Gray Burnett was nothing like Michael Roddy. Everyone adored Gray but few could stomach Michael.
Petra hadn’t slept with Rose’s husband, but a long time ago she’d spent a weekend with his best friend. After Rose and Gray got married, after her heart transplant, Petra Robinson let the antithesis of Gray Burnett into her bed, and paid for it in the worst way. Michael didn’t know about that, no one did except Gary, Rose, and Lovie.
All admitted it was an incestuous group. The Pool Gurus was one reason. That all except Gray and Michael had grown up together was another. The band had been a logical offshoot of those childhood friendships, then relationships emerged; Petra had slept with two-fifths of the current lineup, guitarist Michael Roddy and keyboardist Lovie Jones. She had not been with Gray or drummer Dane Hammond, Dane far too young, even if he’d been single. She’d also not slept with the bassist Buster Cutler, but his marriage had suffered due to the severe familiarity these people shared.
Gray was the nice guy; he was also glue and peacemaker, and he hadn’t even been around when they formed. Gray arrived after Colin died, after the band had pulled itself from that tragedy. A new drummer had been found, who Dane replaced only a few years previous. Michael had been Gray’s introduction, his method of further integration into a group that knew all the other’s secrets, or near enough. As they aged, some pieces remained off limits. People needed some private moments and as Gray sat with his family, Petra always included in that term, he shared only with them how he’d managed to see his daughter on her first day of school.
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