Page 99 of Rev
If Rev could go anymore still, he’d be an actual statue.
The gaggle of adults includes Mom, Aunt Jeannie, Uncle Roger, and my cousins Pam, Grayson, and Laney.
“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Rev mutters his breath. “So many fuckin’people.”
I laugh. “You don’t know the half of it,” I say back. “Dad is the oldest of eight, and Mom is in the middle of seven.”
His eyes flick to me, widening slightly, which on anyone else would be the equivalent of nearly fainting in shock. “As in, siblings? As in, you’ve gotthirteenaunts and uncles?”
I nod. “And each of them is married, meaning twenty-six just in aunts and uncles. And each of them has at least two kids, most of them more like four or more, which means I have atonof cousins. And by that, I mean most of my cousins are married and most ofthemhave several kids each. And this house is where we all gather, in some capacity, all the time.” I gesture at the tire swing, which now features six kids either hanging on or pushing. “That’s just my nieces and nephews. There’s more kids in the backyard, others in the basement, and probably some out in the barn playing with the barn cats.”
“Whoa.” He seems downright shaken. “And youknowthem all?”
I laugh, leaning against him. “Every single one.”
“Jesus.” This is whispered, as the group of adults reaches us.
“Mikey!” Mom is first, slinging her arms around my neck and crushing me in a tight hug, only letting go to kiss my cheek and then my hair. “So good to have you home, baby girl.”
“How’s Dad?” I ask, not letting go of her.
She sniffles. “The stubborn old goat. He’s fit to be tied, he wants to be home so bad. But he’s gotta stay until they’re sure his concussion is better, plus they have to watch his leg for infections.” She shakes her head. “Two broken ribs and his leg is broken in three places, plus the concussion and any number of scrapes, cuts, and bruises everywhere else. He’s going to be on the mend for a while. Lucky to be alive, is what he is.”
“Oh, Mom,” I breathe, blinking back tears. “How’d it happen?”
She huffs. “How’d’ya think? Bammie got stuck in the crick and he was trying to haul her out with the tractor. Got twisted around and rolled down the bank. Bill had to borrow a dozer from the yard to haul the tractor out, and if the tractor can be salvaged at all, it’ll be a miracle of the Lord.” She huffs again. “All this drama for one darned cow.”
“You’ve been telling him for years he needs to fence off that section of the creek,” I say.
“Well, now it’s happening and ain’t no two ways about it. Sending some of the boys out tomorrow to put up the fence, since your father won’t be here to cut a fuss about it. Lon is coming with the supplies later on.” Mom lets me go, finally, so I can greet and be greeted by everyone else—which means hugs and kisses.
Finally, I can step away from the group and tug Rev into the circle. “Everyone, this is my…Rev. Rev, this is my aunt and uncle, Jeannie and Roger, and their kids, Pam, Grayson, and Laney.” I point people out as I name them.
The hesitation and the wide-eyed looks only last a moment, and then the men are shaking Rev’s hand. Rev, for his part, is looking from person to person as if trying to commit names and faces to memory.
“Well, ya’ll get in,” Mom says, shooing us toward the house. “There’s a roast on, and pies in the oven.”
I hold Rev’s hand as we cross through the cars in the drive and up the steps—I feel Mom’s eyes, her attention, but I ignore it. Rev holds the screen door for me and follows me in, only to shuffle to a halt as we enter the foyer, and I feel his shock as he takes in the interior of the home.
Pure Donovan chaos.
There are kids ranging from babies in diapers to teenagers, adults ranging from younger than me to older than my parents, all crowded in groups and pairs and clumps, in the kitchen and the den, the formal room, and spilling out onto the back deck. The home is larger on the inside than it looks, extending back, with high ceilings and a lot of space; it’s huge, rambling, always a mess, filled with aging and well-loved furniture.
Through the front door, you enter a small foyer, with the formal room on the right—an antique upright piano at the bay window facing the driveway, a fireplace opposite the doorway, a seating area surrounding the fireplace, and bookshelves lining the walls wherever there’s not a fireplace or window. Straight ahead from the foyer is the kitchen, the deep copper farmhouse sink with a huge picture window facing the backyard, a huge island in the middle separating the foyer area and kitchen, a stretch of counter and upper and lower cabinets to the right leading to a sliding glass door to the deck, a huge space with a handmade deer antler chandelier over a butcher block dining table with benches long enough to seat ten per side, and beyond that the den, with a massive sectional facing an old but huge TV. To the left of the sink, kitty-corner is the stove, beyond that a hallway leading to a walk-in pantry, the laundry room, the mudroom, a half bath, and the garage. Left of the front door, Dad’s small but tidy home office from which he and Mom run the family business—home building; next to the office, the stairs leading up to the second floor, a long hallway running the width of the house with all the bedrooms and bathrooms. Between the formal room and the den is a short hallway leading to Mom and Dad’s main floor master suite.
The attic was long ago converted into what we call “the cousin room,” with built-in bunk beds running along the walls on both sides creating sleeping spaces for twelve, open space in the middle which is always littered with LEGOs, Lincoln Logs, and various toys. In the basement, another, newer TV with an array of aging but functional game consoles, a DVD player, and cable, as well as a pool table, foosball, and air hockey, and yet more toys. The only place where kids’ toys don’t abound is the main floor.
Currently, every square inch of the main floor is crammed.
It’s very,veryloud.
It’s also home, and I feel a frisson of happiness to be back, and a bigger jolt of happiness that I get to share my family and childhood home with Rev.
Although, feeling him beside me, tensed and rock-solid, I wonder if he shares my happiness.
I lean into him, glance up at him. “Okay?”
His jaw pulses. “Fine.”