Reunion: A Novel Read Free Page B

It’s as if I don’t know that his wife’s name is Mirabelle, that his dog is his best friend, that he keeps a stash of Elmer T. Lee in the hull of the boat in his basement. My father has ruined everything. I should offer to help Frank with his bag, but he’s already grunting and pulling it down all by himself. He thinks, because I spent the last forty-five minutes sleeping and not crying, that there is something wrong with me. He takes it personally. There’s a daughter somewhere out there. Or maybe a son. And Frank is scared to death that this daughter or son is one day going to respond to his own passing in such a brutish, callous manner. But here’s where Frank’s wrong—and I would have been happy to tell him if he’d bothered asking—Frank’s a good man, he’s no doubt been a good father. No one’s ever going to talk about him the way I talk about Stan. The problem isn’t me. The problem is my father. But Frank didn’t give me the chance to explain.
    By the time I’m off the plane and walking toward baggage claim, my cell phone’s thumping and I see there are four more messages. I don’t bother listening. Two are probably from Elliot. One from Nell. Maybe one from Rita, just to say she’s sorry. I delete them all and call Elliot. He answers on the first ring.
    “Where have you been?”
    “On a plane,” I say. “What’s the story?”
    “Did you know Sasha hasn’t been living with Dad for half a year?”
    Sasha is our father’s fifth wife, and is a year younger than me.
    “I did not know that,” I say. “No.”
    “She and Mindy moved out,” says Elliot.
    Mindy is one of our multiple half siblings. She’s the youngest, the fattest, and now, officially, the last.
    “Who found him?”
    “A neighbor heard the shot,” says Elliot. “Called Sasha. Sasha called the building manager. He went over there. Knocked. No answer. Went around back, there he was.”
    My luggage tips over on its rollers and I forget to speak.
    “Hey,” says Elliot, suddenly sounding sincere, the business in his voice falling away. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine.” I right my luggage and follow the flow of other arriving passengers.
    “Kate,” he says. “We’ll get through this.”
    “Right,” I say.
    “We’re a family,” he says. “You and me and Nell.”
    “Of course,” I say. I am thinking now of Peter. I am thinking of breaking the news to him. I am thinking that this might earn me some sympathy points. He can’t leave now. Of course not. That would be too cruel. He’ll have to wait until I’ve grieved. His friends would disapprove if he didn’t. And by the time I’m done grieving, I’ll have won him back. I’ll have won everything back. And Billy—Billy will be nothing more than an afterthought, nothing more than the dot above an i .
    “I’m leaving for Atlanta in four hours,” says Elliot.
    I’m almost to baggage claim, but now I stop short. The person behind me steps on my heel, mutters something, then goes around. I am in the middle of the walkway, standing completely still. If I were seeing me, I’d be annoyed. If I were seeing me, my skin would be itching; I’d be making that insane smile. I’d be thinking about screaming. I am aware of all this, but I can’t help it. I can’t make myself move.
    “What?” I say, though I’ve heard him perfectly well. It never dawned on me that any of us would have to go down, would want to go down, would be willing to go down. I haven’t been back in more than ten years, since before my wedding. It’s the same for Elliot. The same for Nell.
    “What do you mean you’re going to Atlanta?”
    “ We’re going to Atlanta,” he says.
    I’m shaking my head. This is all happening too quickly.
    “Nell’s already in the air,” he says. “She’s stopping at the Denver airport and getting on my flight.”
    “Wait,” I say. “I don’t understand.”
    “We’re going to Atlanta, Kate.”
    “Why?”
    All around me, people with luggage.