Page 25 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth

Twenty-Four

Alex

A fter our second glasses of wine, I suggest we eat.

Emily’s looking glassy-eyed, and I don’t know her well enough to know whether it’s the effect of the wine or the aftermath of telling her story.

Either way, food can’t hurt. And if I’m being honest, her comment about always being identified with her past—being defined by it—hit me hard.

I know I need to tell her my story, but I want to put it off a while longer.

So we move into the kitchen and I slide the lasagna out of the container and into a casserole dish then place it on the counter while the oven preheats. She aims a pointed look at my microwave, and I shrug.

“Things taste better this way,” I say. “Besides, it won’t take long to heat this.”

She removes the bread from its brown paper bag and scans the counters. “Cutting board?”

I hand her one from the stack in the top middle drawer and nod toward the toaster oven. “Why don’t you reheat that, too?”

She’s arranging the bread on the tray, her back to me, when she says, “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he has a brother.” The betrayal in her voice is palpable.

And even though I don’t owe Tristan Rose a damned thing, I feel compelled to defend him.

“In fairness, Emily, if Tate were my brother, I don’t think I’d tell anyone either.”

She twists around to look at me. “Why?”

I exhale heavily. “It isn’t my story to tell,” I begin.

“I think we’re past that, don’t you?”

She’s right, but, nonetheless, I feel dirty as I explain the little I know about the Weakes’ home life.

“The Weakes family was troubled. I think today, people would probably intervene. I hope they would. But in the eighties and nineties, that’s just not something people did, especially not in a town like Windy Rock.”

She’s already frowning. Just wait, I think.

“Troubled how?”

“Tom had a temper. And as a result, he had a hard time keeping a job. But Tara wasn’t allowed to work outside the house because her job was to be a mom. So they were pretty much broke.”

“Wasn’t allowed ?”

I nod. “That’s the way I heard it, at least.” I indulge my curiosity. “Does she have a job now?”

“She’s a realtor. A successful one.”

“Good for her,” I say, and I mean it.

“I can’t imagine the Tara I know letting someone push her around.” She’s shaking her head.

“People change.” I should know this better than anyone.

“I guess. And they had two kids?” She asks like I might not be sure. She’s really fixated on this brother thing.

“Yes, Emily. Two sons with a pretty big age gap between them. I think Tate is eight years older than Tristan. Maybe nine. Something like that.”

“That is a big gap. Any idea why?”

“Not really. A few times, right after Tristan was born, I heard my mom and her friends speculating that Mrs. Weakes might have had fertility problems or miscarried or …”

“Or what?” she demands as I trail off.

I let out a sigh. In for a dime in for a dollar.

“They wondered if she might not have terminated some pregnancies along the way because the family couldn’t afford another mouth to feed.

But by the time Tristan came along, Mr. Weakes had been holding down a job for the longest stretch anyone could remember. ”

“Doing what?”

“He was a landscaper for a company that had a contract for both of the town’s apartment buildings and the school.”

The lasagna should be warmed through by now.

So when the timer dings on the toaster oven, we plate the food and carry it to the dining room table.

I bring the rest of the wine, too. I figure we’re going to need it.

I sprinkle some shredded Parmesan on my pasta and savor a bite.

It’s good, not too cheesy or spicy, and really flavorful.

Emily’s toying with her fork, not eating. “When you say everyone knew Tristan’s father had a temper, do you mean he was violent?”

“I don’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me to learn he was. It’s not like Tara ever showed up with a black eye and said she ran into a door, but there was always a lot of yelling coming from their place. He was a big guy, a physical guy, and he didn’t have a good handle on his emotions.”

“It sounds like an awful situation.”

“I’m sure it was,” I agree. “And after Tristan came along, it got worse. Tate didn’t react well to going from only child to the older brother with a baby getting all the attention.”

“He was nine years old,” Emily says, with a note of disbelief in her voice. “Surely he wasn’t jealous of an infant.”

“All I know is what I heard. And I remember one Saturday in particular when Mrs. Weakes was getting her hair cut at the same time as my mom. My mom told me to come by the salon to pick up some groceries that needed to be refrigerated. When I walked in, Tara was telling the hairdresser that her sister had sent her the money to get her hair done as a treat months earlier for her birthday, but she was afraid to make the appointment and leave the baby home with Tate and Tom. She literally said she wasn’t sure what Tate would do, and she didn’t know if Tom would stop him if he hurt the baby.

I remember because Tristan was sleeping in a little bassinet at her feet. ”

She looks stricken. She puts down her fork and picks up her wine glass.

She takes a sip then shakes her head. “Sibling rivalry’s not exactly a valid reason to disown your child, though.”

I’m not sure the fear of bodily harm can be chalked up to sibling rivalry but I let the comment pass and continue, “When Tom died and Tara decided to move away, Tate was finishing up his senior year. He didn’t want to go.

He was eighteen, so she agreed to let him finish out the school year and graduate from Windy Rock. ”

“She left him behind?”

It’s hard to explain this to a Millennial, but I try. “It wasn’t so unusual back then. Tate stayed with a friend’s family. He was supposed to, at least. He moved out of the friend’s place—or got kicked out, more likely—and dropped out of school.”

Emily processes this then asks the question I’ve been dreading. “Do you know how Tristan’s father died?”

I drain my wine glass. “He killed himself.”