Consequences be damned.
Mercifully, many folks either don’t remember the schism between me and my family, or don’t care, and they approach us with their condolences regardless. Greg accepts their sorrowful smiles, never acknowledging he had anything to do with our removal from their lives.
“He was taken too soon,” he agrees with everyone. “A hugeloss to bluegrass and country music,” he affirms to the artists and music professionals.
“My goodness,” a few of them say. “Your daughters look just like your father David. So do you, dear. You always have. A spitting image of him.”
Greg is glued to my side the entire time, and when I inevitably find my mother, her eyes bloodshot and watery, my stomach lurches. She spots me at the same time and her chin quivers before she breaks out into a full cry. My mother, older than I’ve ever seen her, steps toward us, abandoning the person she was talking to. I panic, unsure what to do in this situation because she’s legally not allowed to be anywhere near us, but today we had to make an exception. Do I accept this interaction? Can I?
Before my mother can make it five feet closer, Greg pushes me back and stares her down. “Don’t,” he growls. My mom stops, her longing gaze falling over my daughters. I don’t get the chance to read into her expression any further before my husband directs me away.
We walk into the grand theatre, down the red carpeted aisle, and past the hushed murmurs of on-lookers, my extended family and friends. My heart races and a sense of wrongness nearly steals my breath as Greg leads us straight to the front row, as if we belong here.
My arms are tired as Loretta squirms, begging to be put down so she can crawl around. Delta won’t stop tugging on my dress, trying her best to glue herself to me and keep safe from all these strangers.
I don’t notice the casket on stage until Greg has me sit. Hot tears spring up fast as lightning. My jaw trembles.No, no, no, I tell myself.Stop crying. He’s gonna be mad at you.
They used me,I remind myself. Cutting them out of my life was the right thing to do, and yet all I can remember was the good. The songs. The afternoons spent writing music as it flashed in my mind like a flood, followed by the over-the-topjoy my parents had when they read it for the first time.
I know there were terrible things they did to me, but as hard as I try, I can’t think of a single one sitting here now.
Greg stands in front of me watching over the crowd, for what, I’m not sure. I don’t want him to see me cry because I can’t let him think I miss them. To my surprise, he hands me a packet of tissues from his old suit jacket, but says nothing.
The rest of the seats fill in, and my mother takes the seat at the farthest end of the front row, while I sit at the other. My outpouring of emotion is put on the back burner as I wrangle the kids. Delta takes off her shoes in a huff of frustration and Loretta rips an enormous poop.
Ughh.
My husband looks at his watch. “Service is about to start.”
I fling the diaper bag over my shoulder, pick up Delta’s shoes, and take both girls out of the auditorium for the bathroom. Greg stays back, which both surprises me because he hasn’t left my side since we got here, and doesn’t because changing diapers is not his thing.
The smell makes him sick.
Barely anyone is in the lobby when I hurry to the women’s room. There are several stalls, and the whole bathroom is empty. Before I can shimmy Loretta’s tights off on the changing table, the door swings open.
My baby sister stands before me, eyes red-rimmed, and she stares at me so intensely that I’m instantly transported to our childhood. She looked just like this when she’d come into my room at night, scared of the dark or a shadow or monsters under her bed. And just like then, I open my arm for her.
Amber1crashes into me as I keep one hand steady on Loretta. “I miss you so much,” she cries.
It’s been years since I’ve seen her. Greg didn’t want me around someone who thought my parents were good people. “You can’t trust her,” he would tell me. But this hug is telling me something different.
I want so badly to say I miss her too, but I don’t. “It’s been so long,” I whisper instead.
She pulls back and tries to shake off her emotions before studying my daughters. “Hi,” she says. She starts bawling. “Oh God, they’re beautiful, Renée. Oh, I love them so much.”
“Hi,” my oldest child says, stepping away from me to get a better look. “My name is Delta.”
My sister squats down, her bare knees hitting the floor. “Hi Delta. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m your—” She cuts herself off and looks at me for an answer. I don’t say anything and she turns back to her. “I’m Amber. I’m your momma’s sister.”
“I have a sister.”
Amber wipes tears from her eyes. “I know. And I bet you’re the best big sister.”
Delta nods.
I nudge her. “Sweetheart, please put your shoes back on.”
Amber stands and takes the package of wipes from my hands. “Let me,” she says. “I could tell from watching you out there you don’t get much help.” For a second I’m stunned while she coos to Loretta on the changing table and swiftly pulls down her tights. “Such a stinky girl. That’s okay, I can be stinky too. We Wilde girls are a tooty bunch, so you need to wear that badge with pride.”
