This is her version of apologizing without apologizing.
I wait silently for her to rephrase her thoughts in a more personal way. I’ve waited my whole life for this. Instead, Trudy sips her coffee.
“Why are you really here, sis?” I ask. “You could have waited to wire me the money. Sent me a text to let me know your attorney needed to talk.” I look at her. “I’m touched you did this for me. But we haven’t been family in decades. You have your family, I have mine. Let’s not pick at old wounds, okay?”
I look into my sister’s eyes. They are hazel, but—right now—they just look dead to me.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” she says with a small shrug.
“You have a home. You have friends from church. So why pack up and come to Palm Springs to connect with a brother you haven’t spoken to in years and whose existence you’ve never approved of?”
“My husband just died, Teddy. I couldn’t be in my house, my church, my town without seeing my past. I had to get out of there.”
She steps back to lean against the kitchen counter. I cannot stop myself around my sister when anger takes control. She was supposed to protect me. I was never safe.
“I’m sorry, but where were you when I got kicked out ofthe house?” I ask her. “Where were you when I was sleeping alone at truck stops? When I was shattered, broke, starving and prostituting myself to survive? Where haveyoubeen, Trudy?” I spread my arms. “Where? Your recent acquaintance with grief, pain and loneliness does not suddenly wash your soul clean and allow you to waltz back into my life and seek the comfort, love and forgiveness you never gave me.”
“Teddy...”
“Just be honest with me, for one damn time in your life,” I say, holding up my hand.
“Well, Ava is interested in studying design. She’s even talked about going to college in California. She needs a mentor. She doesn’t look up to me or her family.”
“She’s a stranger, Trudy. I can’t be a mentor to a stranger.”
“And I needed to see you, too, Teddy. I... I... Can’t that be enough of a reason? A sister wanting to see her brother?”
“No, it can’t,” I say. “You’re a stranger, too. And if you came for sympathy, you will not get it from me, and I certainly don’t need your pity, or want your acceptance. I deserve your love and respect. You used to tell me that God makes no mistakes, and yet that’s how you’ve always seen me.”
“Teddy, Jesus walked with prostitutes and lepers.”
I laugh.
“You will never get it, will you?” I ask. “Still equating me as someone defective, ill, sick, less than. I’m not. I’mmore than, Trudy. And, believe me, I am not worried about my one-on-one with God. I’ve changed this world by being me. Who are you, Trudy? Sixty-eight, and you still don’t know.”
“I don’t. But I’m trying. Teddy, look at me. Please.” I lift my eyes to meet hers. “I’ve changed, Teddy. God knows I’m not perfect, but I’m still evolving. Please. Give me the benefit of the doubt. I never understood your lifestyle.”
I shake my head.
“It’s not alifestyle, Trudy! A lifestyle is when you decide to walk more for your health, cut back on your sugar or give upsmoking. I’m gay. I didn’t have a choice in the matter from my first breath.”
“I keep saying the wrong things. I know I messed up. I know I was a bigot for so long. I don’t mean to say the wrong things.”
“It’s too late, sis. But I’ve had a great life.”
I don’t catch myself quickly enough and see those words floating in the air:hada great life. Past tense.
“I haven’t Teddy. I’ve had a miserable life.” Trudy’s voice quivers. She steps forward and leans two shaking arms against the island. Her voice is a whisper.
“Do you want to know why I really came here?” Trudy asks.
She clamps her eyes shut, and her face contorts in agony. She opens her eyes. A tear rolls over her cheek just as Ron saunters into the kitchen.
“Good morning! I didn’t mean to break up your coffee talk. But I’m glad to see everyone is playing nicely.” Ron nudges me as he walks past.
He fills his mug. I look at Trudy. Her face is flushed, but she wipes her eyes and puts on a smile.
“I came because I was thinking of how Mom and Dad rented that old fishing cabin every summer on Suttons Bay. Remember? We’d take the pontoon over to Gull Lake?”
