Page 27 of Requiem

“Yeah, I think so. My mom is hard to read. But, Aunt Elise seems to get her.”

Julia is nodding as she pokes at something in the bottom of a container with a chopstick.

“And you? How are you holding up? You came back on tour pretty soon, all things considered.”

I sigh and take a second to think about the answer to that question.

“I really don’t know, Julia. As long as I keep moving, I’m okay. I’m just afraid that once I stop …”

“You’ll just collapse,” she finishes the sentence for me.

“Exactly.”

She looks at me with those emerald green eyes, and can see a hint of concern behind them. There’s something else on her mind and I can guess what or, rather, who it is. Better to address it head-on, I suppose. “I saw Jeremy in Detroit,”

One of her eyebrows goes up. “Oh? And how was that?”

“Awkward. Irritating. Frustrating. Infuriating.”

“Sounds about right.”

She gives me a small, tight smile.

“Yeah, well, he’s still a pain in the ass. I knew he’d find me. He just can’t help himself. And he’s so fucking smug.” I grumble.

Julia pulls a bottle of wine out of David’s diaper bag and puts it on the table.

“Mother’s little helper,” she informs me with an impish grin when I look surprised. “I think we need something to help this conversation go down easier, what do you think?”

“Why, Mrs. Ayers!” I pretend to be scandalized. “Are you suggesting that we imbibe before we take the stage?”

“Nope, not at all,” she shakes her head as she pours the chardonnay into two paper cups. “I’m insisting.”

“Oh, well, if you insist, then …”

I take a sip and wonder why I hadn’t thought of a pre-concert cocktail hour myself.

“So …” she encourages, leaving me to fill in the rest of that blank.

“So, he was waiting for me on a bench outside of the hall. He convinced me to have a beer with him. He wanted me to know that he was aware that I hadn’t invited him to the wedding. That didn’t sit well. And I got an earful about how much better he is than the girl playing first horn in Detroit. Just your usual Jeremy bullshit.”

She nods thoughtfully and sits back on the couch, tucking her legs up under her skirt and swirling the wine in her cup.

“Did he say anything about your father?”

I haven’t told many people about my brother’s role in our father’s death. I just can’t bring myself to do it. But Julia is different. If anyone can appreciate the lengths to which Jeremy will go, it’s her.

“He asked how the service was, that’s all. I mean, what is he going to say at this point? ‘Hey, Brett! Sorry I stood by and watched Dad die!’ Yeah, actually, now that I think about it, I’m kind of surprised he didn’t say that. But then again, Jeremy doesn’t apologize for anything.”

“Does he know I’ve joined the Walton?”

I’ve been waiting for this to come up.

“Yes. But I told him you weren’t there in Detroit. I didn’t mention you’d be on this stop of the tour either, in case he got the bright idea to surprise us.”

“He must see it as a betrayal, you working with me.”

“He does,” I confirm quietly. No point in trying to hide it from her, but no need to elaborate on how ugly the actual discussion was, either.