Page 38 of The Blessing

“Ronnie, this is my mother,” I say weakly.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Ronnie attempts to exchange pleasantries with her—but her endeavor is futile. I’m happy she tried because I know my mother can be fucking intimidating when she’s like this. My dad steps back, excusing himself to grab another beer. This is probably the best opportunity I’ll have tonight to ask him for Grey’s birth certificate and the records I’ll need to file for his benefits.

“Ronnie, do you mind hanging out for a bit? I need to get that stuff from my dad.”

She gives me an encouraging smile and kisses me on the cheek before I follow after my dad. He’s heading to his office, so he must be getting the “good stuff” he keeps stashed away from my mother. I look over my shoulder toward Ronnie, and find her sitting at the kitchen table, playing with Grey on her lap. I notice Mother is completely ignoring her. At least Ronnie’s got our little man to keep her company. I pick up my step and catch-up to my dad before he opens the door to his office.

“Can—can you wait up for a second? I need to talk to you about something.”

He nods and gives me a tired smile before opening up the door to his home office. I haven’t been inside this room since high school, but it’s exactly as I remembered. It has the same leather furnishings and old pictures of our family lining the walls and covering his desk. I stop and stare at a picture of Dean and me. He must’ve been seven or eight at the time, and I must’ve been in kindergarten. It was taken at a park we used to go to all the time near our old elementary school. Dean had his arm around my shoulders—towering over me at nearly a foot taller. He was so tan back then. In the photo, his dark brown hair was sticking up in all directions from hours of playing after school. I smile as I look at him and reach out to trace his features with my index finger. He looks so much like our mom—with his dark hair and brown eyes—whereas I take after our dad. I always thought he and I looked sort of like him—but now, as I’m studying this picture, I realize we don’t look alike at all. We’re more likes opposites when it comes to our looks. I suppose our personalities were similar; even though I was the fuck-up and he was the star athlete, we both had the same kind heart. I just didn’t show it off quite like he did. We grew up fighting all the time, but we always made up, and he was always my best friend. Fuck, I wish you were here, Brother. A lump develops in my throat and I have to look away before I break-down. Hopefully, one day I’ll be able to remember the happy times without feeling this survivor’s grief.

“That’s my favorite photo of the two of you,” Dad comments as he steps up to stand by my side.

“You used to take us to that park every weekend,” I muse, unable to look away from my brother’s smiling face in the picture. It’s awful looking at his bright, shinning face and knowing he had no idea what the future had in store for him. “I don’t know how you had the patience to watch us like that for hours,” I continue, trying to lighten my mood.

“Well, you guys meant the world to me. Watching you was no trouble. I know you’ll understand when Greyson’s old enough to do that stuff. Sure, it’s stressful at first, but it’s worth it just to see your child happy.”

“I can’t wait for him to get a bit older. I just want him to be able to talk to me.”

“Has he said his first word yet?”

I contemplate whether or not I should tell him that he’s been saying “da” today. Would it hurt my dad the way it had initially hurt me to hear? I decide to tell him a half-truth. “He’s been babbling a lot, but I’m sure he’ll say his first word soon enough. Some of what he garbles on about sound like words—but they also sounds like gibberish.” My dad laughs and gives me a knowing look. “He stood up for the first time, though. So, that’s exciting.”

“Really?” he asks, pride filling his tone due to his grandson’s milestone. “Your mother never mentioned that. Maybe he’s only stood up around you.”

“Maybe,” I agree—although, I know he’s done it for Ronnie, too. “He acts shy sometimes.”

“That’s the way you were when you were a baby. You were shy, but once you warmed up to a person, you were hilarious. You were the happiest baby I’d ever seen.”

I smile, even though the idea of me being a happy baby seems like a foreign one. “I must’ve been really annoying.”

“No, you were wonderful. You were a great kid, Trevor.”

“I know I was a pain in the ass.” At least, that’s what my mother has led me to believe. “Grey’s wonderful, though. Actually, he’s the reason I wanted to talk to you.”

Dad grows serious all of a sudden, and with a concerned look he takes a seat at his desk and gestures for me to sit across from him.

“I just need his birth certificate and whatever records you have on him to apply for benefits. I need the guardianship documents from the will and Dean and Cat’s death certificates, as well. I need to apply for Survivor Benefits for Grey. I’m not entirely sure what he’ll be eligible for because I just found out all about this the other day…” I nervously trail off, not wanting to sound like a complete fucking idiot to my dad.

Dad looks at me for a very long time, his lips morph into a frown and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Trevor?” he finally asks, a hint of anger filling his voice. “How have you not been receiving benefits for Greyson? I thought your mother gave you all that information you needed and helped you file the applications? I told her specifically what she needed to do and she told me she went over it with you. I would’ve helped you out myself, but I’ve been really busy at work as of late. I guess I should’ve been keeping track of this. However, she told me you filed and were already approved for full benefits.” Dad’s voice grew louder with each word, and by the time his explanation is finished—he’s practically fuming.

“She never spoke to me about it, Dad,” I quickly defend myself. “I never even knew about any of this shit until my therapist brought it up to me the other day.”

“I’ll have to have a word with your mother then,” Dad says quietly. I learned early on to fear my father when he’s quiet. He’s not one to lose control or make a scene, but when he’s angry, his voice becomes dangerously soft and his stare can cut through you like a knife. Luckily, it appears his anger isn’t directed at me. “File for the benefits as soon as you can, Trevor.” He stands up from his seat and runs an agitated hand through his hair. He walks over to a family portrait which is hanging on the wall. He removes it and opens the wall safe. I never knew that safe was there. He retrieves a file—which I assume is the paperwork I need. “You must excuse me. I need to have a word with your mother.” He gives me a tight, apologetic smile before briskly walking out of the room.

After my dad leaves, I look over the documents from the file. When I see Dean’s death certificate, my hearts drops and my lungs constrict. Unconsciously, I rise from my seat. I feel myself move toward the door—but I’m too far gone to gain a semblance of control over my own body. I end up in front of the picture of Dean and me that I was looking at earlier. We were young; we were happy; we were so carefree. It’s strange to look at a picture of someone who is now long gone. I stare at his contented face with the sickening feeling that he had no idea how short his life would be. That little boy didn’t know he would grow up, have his dream family, and then would tragically meet his end. I’m surprised to feel wetness on my cheeks; I was so lost in thought, I didn’t even know I was fucking crying. I leave the office, unable to stand being surrounded by these memories a moment longer.

I’m in a daze as I walk down the vacant hallway—my mind still filled with thoughts of my brother. The sound of my dad’s voice coming from the end of the hall brings me back to reality. He’s yelling. I’ve never heard him yell like this before. I hear my mother’s voice, as well, sounding defensive. I follow their voices, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“Evelyn, how could you do that to him? How could you do that to that your own grandson? What the fuck were you thinking?”

I’ve never heard my father curse.

“It must have slipped my mind. I’ll make it right, I promise. You know how much I love them.” Her voice sounds so artificially sweet. “Let’s not fight. Not tonight. There’s a party going on downstairs and everyone we know is here.”

Dad’s silent for a long time. I can imagine him standing utterly speechless, contemplating what to do next.