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“Oh my goodness, where are my manners,” Mom says, sniffling and taking a step toward the couple. “I’m so sorry. Kids, I’d like you to meet my brother, Orval, and his wife, Emma.”
Now it makes sense. Mom left today to drive about three hours north to see her half brother that she hadn’t spoken with in nearly forty years. It was a shock when we all learned about our extended family recently, a secret she kept, not out of spite, but out of distance.
They were never close, according to Mom. In fact, there’s a twenty-five year age difference between them. Apparently, Grandpa was married before. He and his first wife had a son, Orval, and lived in Virginia. When his first wife passed away, Grandpa remarried quickly to a much younger woman. A woman who was almost the same age as his son.
Grandpa Samuel and Grandma Phoebe moved to North Carolina, where my mother, Mary Ann, was born. She grew up not knowing her half brother, not even when Grandpa passed away when Mom was twenty. For forty years, she moved on with her life, not really knowing the man who shared her blood.
Then, one day a few weeks back, Mom received an invitation. She didn’t recognize the names printed on the beautiful document, but the handwritten note that accompanied it explained. Emma, Orval’s wife, had written to Mom and invited her to come meet her family. She explained that it was far past time for the two siblings to get reacquainted. Life was too short to not know your family, and neither one of them were getting any younger.
Mom had showed us all the note, the delicate handwriting of an elderly woman, and contemplated on whether or not to go. For me, it was an easy decision. They were family, and I was intrigued. Samuel, being the sole voice of reason, and often opposition, argued that it wasn’t the appropriate time for a three-hour long drive to surprise family that may, or may not, be happy to see her.
In the end, she decided to go, which is why she was gone when the fire started just a few short hours ago in the en suite bathroom of her bedroom at our family bed and breakfast.
“It’s lovely to finally meet you,” Aunt Emma says, taking a few steps forward. She steps up to my brother Jensen first, and as he extends his hand toward her, she pushes it aside and brings him in for a tight hug. The image is almost comical since she’s half the size of my brother.
Suddenly, he jerks back a bit, his eyes as big as saucers, and turns toward me and mouths, “She just patted my ass.”
The shock and fear in my brother’s eyes causes laughter to bubble in my chest. My first bit of emotion that isn’t sadness, and I can barely keep it contained. I actually have to cover my mouth with my hand and fake a cough, which draws a bit of attention from my other siblings.
“Emma, Orval, this is Jensen. He’s my third child,” Mary Ann introduces as my brother gives the petite old woman the stink eye.
“Sorry about that, Jen. Old habits die hard. Every day is like a locker room to me,” Emma says sweetly, drawing everyone’s attention. She also doesn’t release my brother.
“You coached?” Jensen asks, a look of shock on his face.
“Of course, back in the day. Dan was such a troublemaker when he was younger, and a real charmer with all the ladies. I knew he’d make it professionally, though. Miami was a great choice for him. No Super Bowl ring, but he played with passion and intensity, just like in high school, on and off the field, if you know what I mean,” Emma adds, everyone’s eyebrows pulling together in question.
“Wait, you coached Dan Marino?” my oldest brother, Samuel, asks.
“He was definitely rough around the edges, but he shaped up to be amazing at handling his balls,” she replies casually, as if she didn’t just tell our family she used to coach high school football…and Dan Marino!
“And this lovely woman?” Emma asks, changing the subject just as quickly as she started it. She releases my soldier-still brother and makes a grab for my sister, Harper.
“This is Harper. She’s the second oldest,” Mary Ann boasts proudly.
“What a beauty, you are. Come give Auntie Emma some sugar,” Emma says, pulling my sister into her arms and squeezing tightly. “You know, Uncle Orvie and I know some people, if you’d like to model. Your hips and boobs are fabulous,” Emma croons, making my shell-shocked sister choke on air.
“Actually, Harper owns a business in town,” Mom adds, trying to gloss over the weird compliment.
“What kind of business?” Orval asks, stepping forward and giving my sister a friendly hug.
“A lingerie store,” Harper brags proudly.
Emma’s eyes light up. “Tell me more later, dear. I have six granddaughters who I love to shop for,” she says, excited in a way that I’ve never seen when an elderly woman talks about lingerie. Most of the old biddies in town frown upon my sister’s store. In fact, when she opened it, the mayor and aldermen gave her way more grief and trouble than anticipated. But in the end, Harper followed their rules to a T and was still able to open the store of her dreams.
No one seems to be complaining now that they’re seeing a huge influx in tax dollars.
“This young lady is Marissa, my youngest,” Mom says, drawing our attention away from Harper (and the awkwardness of Emma shopping for lingerie for her granddaughters), waving a hand toward me.
“Oh, from the website. I recognize you, dear. You help run the bed and breakfast,” Emma says, not really asking a question.
“I do,” I reply, my eyes instantly tearing up again as memories of the last few hours slam back into my chest with the force of a tire swing.
“And finally, my oldest, Samuel,” Mom says, all eyes turning toward my brother.
“Samuel,” Orval says quietly, almost to himself.
“Yes,” Mom says, shifting her weight. “I named him after Dad.”
