May sweeps by the two who are still standing in the doorway, rudely. “Excuse me,” she says, snarling before passing by me, as well.
“I’ll just take a look for myself,” Diane says.
“No, you may not go through my things,” I tell her.
“You have a nerve, young lady. A real nerve, you know that?”
May presses her hand against my chest, pushing me back a few steps. “I’m sorry, why does my sister have ‘A real nerve?’”
Diane laughs and sweeps her hair off her forehead with just her pinky finger. “Fay? Is that your name?”
“You know my name is May, Diane,” May corrects her.
“May, I suggest you mind your own business.”
“August is my business, and you, I suggest you back the hell up.”
“All right, all right, settle down, ladies,” Lenny speaks up. “Diane, let’s just take these boxes and sort through Keegan’s things at home.”
“You can’t be serious, Lenny. Do you know how much of this apartment must be his? Our Keegan’s stuff,” she says, choking herself up. She pulls a tissue out from the cuff of her sleeve and presses it up to her long, crooked, ruddy nose. Her head twists from side-to-side. “Our baby is gone.”
“Your baby,” May says, stifling a snort. “I didn’t realize you gave birth to him. I wonder what his mother would think about that?”
“She’s dead, ain’t she?” Lenny retorts.
“Yes, so is your son.”
Lenny breaks out into a fit of sobs, which seems out of character for someone who never showcases much emotion. He pinches the bridge of his nose and silently heaves through his pain. I want to offer my condolences, but I don’t know if I can muster the words. Lenny did nothing to protect Keegan from the turmoil he endured after Karen, his late wife, caused.
“Look what you’ve done,” Diane snarls, pointing her forefinger between May’s eyes.
“Look what I’ve done?” May replies, moving closer to Diane, unaffected by her attitude.
“Do you have any clue what Keegan was responsible for?”
“May,” I interrupt wherever she is about to add to this conversation.
“No, August. You promised to protect Keegan, but I didn’t.”
“May, please don’t,” I beg, grabbing her arm.
“Your quote-unquote ‘son’ was a raging alcoholic who spent more of his time in a bar than he did at work or in this apartment. He had been in and out of AA ten times since he finished high school. You know you took care of him all that time?”
“May,” I shout. “Stop it.”
“No, I’m not going to watch this—this woman speak to you this way, not after you wasted your entire adult life caring for a man-child, too weak to help himself. Instead, he selfishly took his own life.”
Now, I’m in tears from listening to the brutal truth—having it spelled out in front of me. “Please,” I beg May.
“Keegan was not an alcoholic,” Diane says.
“Yes, he was,” I scream at the top of my lungs. “He was always drunk. I told him I didn’t want to be with him anymore because he couldn’t get sober. So, you know what he did, Diane? He killed himself. Are you happy now?”
I fall to my knees, feeling my chest cave in, my stomach churn, and my head throb. “It’s not true,” Lenny cries out. “You’re lying.”
May runs into the kitchen and returns with an envelope. I didn’t know she knew what was in the envelope I left on the counter for the last couple of weeks.
“Open this. Go ahead,” May says to Lenny. “Open it.”
