Chapter 9 - MARCUS AND I DIDN’T BECOME SIBLINGS OVERNIGHTMarcus called.
“Can we have lunch?”
I almost said no.
Then agreed.
Neutral restaurant.
No attorneys.
At first, awkward.
He was forty.
Fourteen years older.
He remembered Eleanor as his mother.
I did not.
He told me she loved gardening.
Hated opera.
Burned toast constantly.
Collected tiny ceramic birds.
I listened.
Then asked:
“Did she ever talk about me?”
He looked down.
“Once.”
My chest tightened.
“What did she say?”
“I heard her fighting with Dad.”
“I was maybe twelve.”
“She said, ‘I already gave up one child for you. I won’t give up my company too.’”
Silence.
Marcus had spent years thinking she meant a miscarriage.
Now he knew.
Me.
I asked:
“How do you feel?”
He thought.
“Guilty.”
“You were six.”
“I know.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
Fair.
Then he asked:
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
“Do you want Bellstone?”
I almost laughed.
“I want the truth sorted.”
“That sounds very Carter.”
“Apparently.”
He smiled.
First time.
It felt strange.
Not sibling intimacy.
May you like
Possibility.
Enough.
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