Page 4 of Requiem

“What?”

“How your father and I decided to divide our assets is up to us …was up to us,” she corrects her use of the present tense, my father being dead and all. “I don’t want to hear about this again. Do you understand me?”

She waits for an answer, and I feel as if I’m a naughty schoolboy again.

“Yes.”

We spend the rest of the ride in an awkward silence. I sneak a glance back at Maggie. She’s stunning, with her wild black curls pulled back into a severe bun at the back of her head. Even in the head-to-toe black that is the universal uniform of mourning. She catches me watching her and offers a weak smile.

All I can think about is getting back to the house so I can spend some time alone with her, talking through all of this. She’ll give me some perspective. I pull my mother’s sedan into the driveway and we all climb out into the crisp fall afternoon. I notice that the gutters need cleaning and the leaves need raking and add them to my mental ‘To Do’ list. With my father gone, the ‘man of the house’ duties now fall to me.

Maggie and I trail behind her on the walk up to the porch, the three of us still silent. Maggie looks at me, and smiles sympathetically. I give her a faint smile back as Mom gets the door unlocked and we follow her into the house.

“Honey, I need to lie down for a little while,” my mother is saying even as she’s crossing the living room. “I’m going to make a quick cup of tea and go to my room. Maggie, there are salad fixings in the fridge. I’ll be up to make dinner at about …”

My mother stops cold. Stops speaking and stops walking, standing rooted and staring into the kitchen from its doorway.

“Mom?”

I’m so busy looking at her, that I don’t immediately notice him.