“Hollywood,” she says dismissively and with disgust.
“And yet they make all those Tom Cruise movies I’m sure you still love to watch.”
Trudy’s face beads with sweat. I cannot tell if it’s the heated debate or escalating temperature, but she tugs at her sweater and dabs her dewy face with a cocktail napkin that was hidden under a basket of rolls. My eyes bulge, and I look at Teddy.
Damn it, Teddy! You picked these napkins on purpose.
He smiles at his sister as she dabs her forehead again.
Please, I pray.Don’t look at the napkin.Crumple it up and toss it on the table.
“Would you like to go change, Trudy?” I ask. “It warms up quickly here. Cool mornings, hot afternoons.”
“She’s leaving, Ron, remember?” Teddy admonishes. “Believe me, she’s not changing either her clothes or her way of thinking. And we need to get used to this heat, Ron, since we’ll both be burning in hell, right, sis?”
Trudy shifts in her chair. She looks light-years older than Teddy with her red cheeks, wash-and-set, pursed lips and figure that is more SpongeBob than SilverSneakers. When I look at Trudy, I do—God, forgive me—picture Shelley Winters in the movieThe Poseidon Adventuretrying to make it off the ship alive.
Trudy leans over to grab another napkin. This time, she dabs the corner of her eyes.
“Save your crocodile tears, Trudy,” Teddy scoffs. “The only time I’ve seen you really cry is when you caught me wearing Mama’s wedding dress and realized it not only fit me better but that I looked better in it than you ever would.” Teddy takes a step toward her. “As I told you, I’m not the one living in drag, sis. You are. And you will never fully know yourself until you remove that mask you wear to please the world.”
“You’ve always tried to wound me, Teddy. We used to be so close.”
For a long moment, there is only the dead calm silence of the desert, a whisper of a breeze through the palms.
Trudy stops dabbing her eyes. She places the napkin on her lap and smooths it nervously.
Then her eyes narrow. She picks up the napkin as if it is a snake and tosses it onto the table, where it lands face up.
The napkin features an image of Jesus before a rainbow-colored world. His cloak is emblazoned with a big heart. Above His head, it reads: Ah, Men!
“Do you believe in Jesus, Teddy?” Trudy asks, her voice clear, high and steady as if she has begun to sing a hymn.
I am in hell already.
“I’m not doing this, Trudy. I played this game for too long.” Teddy stops. “Actually, do you want to know what I really believe?”
“Please, enlighten me,” she says.
“I believe a wonderful man walked this earth and was probably killed by haters who didn’t understand his purpose in life, and, sadly, that has not changed much over time. But I do not believe that you or I are any more righteous or right than Jews, Muslims, Catholics, Methodists, Unitarians...”
Trudy laughs. “Unitarians believe in nothing.”
“I’m done,” Teddy says. “You think your faith is the only appropriate way to believe. That shows you have no ability to change, much less think for yourself.”
He turns to leave once more but stops again.
“I believe you weaponize your faith against people like me. I believe you live your life out of fear instead of joy. I believe you hate yourself. I believe you don’t believe half of what you say you do. And I believe you’re the reason your husband probably died. He couldn’t take living with you anymore.”
My breath hitches in my chest.
Trudy squares her shoulders. Her face morphs into steel. She raises one eyebrow at Teddy.
“And I believe your husband killed himself because he was sick, inside and out,” she says without an ounce of emotion in her voice. “The difference between them is that my Ralph isliving in eternity in the Holy Kingdom, and your John is burning in eternal damnation.”
My breath catches again. My chest aches. Angina.
Teddy stands as still as the Marilyn Monroe statue in downtown Palm Springs. I wait for him to toss his drink into her face. I wait for him to slap her. Instead, Teddy says very quietly, “Don’t you ever utter his name again.” Teddy shakes his head pityingly. “Do you even know what love is, Trudy? Real, true, unconditional love for another human being?”
