My shoulders lower a few inches as I let out a slow breath. “I’m happy I’m here too.”
“You come down when you’re ready.”
She shuts the door behind her, and I take a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling at the laces of my boots. I carry them over to the trashcan and knock off any remaining dirt, cursing myself.
I know I must’ve tracked mud into the house when I arrived.
I set them by the door and pull an old Rolling Stones T-shirt out of my duffle, slipping it on and tossing the one I was wearing onto the chair in the corner of the room. I could put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket, but I don’t want my aunt thinking she has to do my laundry. In fact, I’d rather do all of their laundry, just to show my appreciation somehow.
After brushing my teeth, taming my wild bed-head hair, and washing my face in the hallway bathroom, I head down the stairs, following the sound of voices in the kitchen.
Hattie is standing at the island, setting silverware and a bottle of syrup next to the plate that’s stacked high with pancakes. She looks up and taps the shoulder of the man standing next to her, getting his attention off the magazine he’s flipping through.
He’s tall, his thin frame towering over Hattie, who resembles my mother and me in size. His dark hair is tucked behind his ears, hanging down to his shoulders, which makes him look younger than I imagine he is. His features are prominent, a thin nose and strong jaw, and his skin has a light tan to it.
Hattie smiles as I step up to the island. “Beth, darlin,’ this is your Uncle Danny.”
He sets the magazine down in front of him and extends his hand to me, the sleeve of his flannel sliding up higher to reveal the ink on his arm. It’s colorful, bright purples and blues, and my eyes appreciate it for several seconds, trying to decipher the design before I finally settle on his face. His thin lips spread into a smile.
“Nice to meet you, Beth.”
“You too. It’s so nice to meet you.” His large hand encloses around mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you both so much for opening your home to me.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, letting go of my hand. A deep frown line sets into his forehead as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You don’t ever need to thank us. You’re family. Our home is yours for as long as you need it.”
I blink away my tears as I take a seat at the island.
Family. I have a family.
“Beth, I know you just got here, and I don’t want to bombard you with questions . . .”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt, smiling at Hattie. “You can ask me anything you want.”
I figured this was coming. Our two conversations on the phone had been brief, and I know I’d be filled with questions if I was her.
She blinks several times, folding her hands in front of her on the island. “What was she like?”
I reach up and tuck my long hair behind my ears, clearing my throat before I begin.
“I’m sorry,” she adds, before I have a chance to speak. “It’s just . . . it’s been twenty-seven years since I talked to my sister. I know the kind of person she was when she ran off, and I’m really hoping you’re about to tell me she was at least a good mom to you. I don’t think I could bare to hear it if she wasn’t.”
“She was,” I reply, nodding my head quickly. “She loved me, I know she did. I have some really great memories with my mom.”
“Have you always lived in Kentucky?”
“I think so. I don’t really remember where we lived before we moved into the trailer. I was six when we got that place.”
Danny opens the refrigerator and pours three glasses of iced tea, handing one to me and then one to Hattie. I take a sip, quenching my thirst while Hattie does the same. It’s sweet, with a hint of lemon.
“So, she had a job?” she asks after setting her glass down.
“No.” I look between the two of them, wrapping both hands around the chilled glass in front of me. “I . . . I’m not sure how my momma got money. I didn’t want to know, so I didn’t ask. We got food stamps, and the bills always got paid. I wanted to get a job to make some money on my own, but she didn’t want me to do that. She said she was the parent, and she would provide for me.” I take another sip of my drink, licking the tea off my lips. “She was very adamant about that.”
“What about your dad?” she asks, timidly. “Was he around?”
“No,” I answer. “I’ve never met him. I don’t even know who he is.”
Hattie looks over at Danny, and I drop my head, feeling slightly ashamed from that admission.
“You said you found a picture your mom kept of the two of us,” she says after a few moments of silence. I look up, and she gives me a weak smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have it with you, would you?”
I reach into the back pocket of my jeans, sliding out the old photo I stuck in there before I left Kentucky, and hand it over to her.
She brings the photo up to her face, her eyes instantly welling up with tears. One hand presses against her mouth. “Oh my God. I remember this. This was taken a few months before your Mom took off.”
She shows it to Danny, and he wraps his arm around her waist while they both study it.
“I found it in this old shoe box my mom kept our photos in. It was the only thing I took with me besides clothes when I got evicted from the trailer, but I never really looked through it until a couple days ago when I was missing her. I found that and . . .” I pause, gaining Hattie and Danny’s attention off the photo. “You two looked so much alike. Growing up, Momma never talked about her family. I figured if she had any siblings, she would’ve mentioned them. So, I thought maybe you were a distant cousin or something.”
“How did you know my name to search for me?”
I lean over the island, running my finger along the back of the photo. “Your names are on the back.” She turns it over, and smiles. “I got lucky. I really didn’t think I would find you on Facebook, but I had to try.” I look over at Danny. “What’s your last name?”
“McGill,” he answers, dropping a kiss to Hattie’s head. “This stubborn woman never would take my name.”
“And thank God I didn’t,” she teases, pushing playfully against his chest. “Beth never would’ve found me if I wasn’t still Hattie Davis.” Her smile fades when she gazes back at the picture in her hand. She stares at it longingly.
“Annie was always troubled. Even when we were little, she just never quite fit in. Not with us, anyway. She found other people, the wrong kind of people to fit in with. She took off when she was fifteen, and at that point, my mother was too tired to care where she went. I figured she would come back, maybe after a few months, but she never came home.” Her eyes reach mine, the sadness blistering behind them. “It was drugs, wasn’t it? It was drugs that killed her.”
I swallow heavily, dropping my gaze to my lap. “The paramedics said she had a heart attack, most likely brought on by whatever she took. I don’t know if it was too much, or maybe it had something in it.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t really have any details. I couldn’t afford an autopsy to find out what exactly happened.”