“Yep,” I replied.
His eyes went to Ham and his head tipped way back.
“Whoa, you’re, like,
“That I am, boy,” Ham stated.
“Zander, honey, this is your Aunt Zara and your, um… I guess, your uncle, uh…” Aunt Wilona stammered.
“Reece,” Ham grunted.
“What kind of name is Reece?” Zander asked.
“It’s my last name,” Ham answered.
“What’s your first name?” Zander went on.
“Graham,” Ham replied.
“Don’t you call yourself Graham?” Zander queried.
“Would you call yourself Graham?” Ham returned.
Zander grinned.
My heart flipped.
“Nope,” Zander said.
“So you get me,” Ham noted.
“Yep,” Zander agreed.
“Why don’t we sit down?” I butted in. “Get you a drink and something good to eat.”
“Cool,” Zander muttered and scrambled into the other side of the booth.
I watched and then my eyes went to Aunt Wilona. She was looking at Zander then she looked at me. I nodded and gave her a small smile. She returned the gesture.
After that, we all piled in.
Once we were settled, Zander launched in.
And he did it looking at me.
“Okay, so, I forgot to bring my clothes to school to change but I wanted to get here so I told Nona to just come here and that’s why I’m wearin’ this,” he stated, flipping his hand in front of him. “I go to a school where they make you wear uniforms.”
He was excited to meet us.
My heart squeezed.
“I know,” I replied.
“The girls hate it ’cause they can’t wear fingernail polish or different shoes but I don’t mind much,” he shared.
“Well, that’s good,” I told him.
He kept chattering. “Nona says girls that age shouldn’t wear fingernail polish anyway and ’spose she’s right, but really, it’s the older girls who’re always whinin’ about it. The school goes from first grade to twelfth,” he stated proudly, then added, “Though, first to fifth is in one building. Sixth through eighth in another and the high school is all the way across the way so we don’t see them much except at assemblies. Still, I hear the high school girls complaining about nail polish, even at assemblies.” He paused, then finished with, “The older kids talk a lot during assemblies.”
“They probably shouldn’t do that,” I remarked.
“Nah, they shouldn’t,” he agreed. “But they’re better at it. They’ve learned to talk quiet so they don’t get into trouble.”
“Well, uh…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say to that.
Zander didn’t need a response. He kept right on yammering.
“What I don’t get is, who cares about fingernail polish? I mean, is it that important?”
“I’m thinking that at nine you probably shouldn’t tax yourself to try to understand the female mind,” I advised and he grinned at me.
My heart turned over again.
“Just sayin’,” Ham put in, “I’m way past nine but I quit tryin’ to do that a long time ago.”
Zander laughed.
It sounded beautiful.
So beautiful my hand shot under the table and I curled my fingers tight around Ham’s thigh.
When I did, his hand covered mine, pried my fingers away so he could wrap his fingers around mine and hold them close.
Trudy came to the table with menus. Drinks were ordered and I got my chance to suggest Zander try the mile-high mud pie.
Without even looking to see if it was okay with Aunt Wilona (Dad never let us have dessert unless it was a special occasion), he went for it.
Aunt Wilona went for one, too. In fact, Ham was the only one who took another road and got a slice of turtle cheesecake.
After Trudy left, Zander turned back to me.
“So, do you look like my mom?”
My fingers still held in Ham’s squeezed hard and I felt the tension coming from Aunt Wilona but I powered through all that and held Zander’s gaze.
“No, darlin’. She was blonde but lighter. And she had blue eyes but they were very pretty,” I told him.
He nodded.
“You’re gonna be real tall, I can tell, and she wasn’t all that tall either,” I went on.
He scrunched his lips to the side and I didn’t know if that was disappointment or him simply not knowing what to do with this information.
“I”—my eyes went to Aunt Wilona and back to Zander—“brought a picture if you’d like to see?”
Zander looked at Aunt Wilona. She gave him a shaky smile and then he turned back to me and nodded.
I let Ham’s hand go and went to my purse that was shoved into the seat at my side. My fingers fumbling with nerves, I found the picture of Xenia I’d chosen to bring. I’d done it carefully. And I hoped I’d done it right.
In the picture, Xenia and I were outside at a party. A barbecue some friends were giving in a park. I was sitting cross-legged on the top of a picnic table. She was beside me, standing, leaning into me. We were both smiling, big and bright at the camera, but my goofy sister had her hand behind my head, giving me rabbit’s ears.
She looked beautiful, young, and happy.
I pulled in a breath, put the picture to the table, and slid it across to Zander.
“That’s her,” I whispered. “That’s your mom. My sister. Xenia.”
Eyes riveted to the picture, hands in his lap under the table, he just stared.
“She joked a lot,” I told him, my voice husky so I cleared my throat and felt Ham’s arm slide across the back of the booth and around my shoulders. “She was always joking around,” I continued. “And she told really good scary stories.”
Zander’s eyes lifted from the picture. “Scary stories?”
I nodded. “She’d have you trembling so bad, you’d shake your bed. And when she went in for the kill, you’d jump out of your skin.”
He turned his head to look up to Aunt Wilona and then he looked back down at the picture.
Moments passed and no one said anything.
Zander broke the silence. “Do you remember those stories?” he asked, eyes still on the picture.
My throat started tingling and through it I forced my lie, “Every last one.”
It was a lie but if I got my shot to tell him the ones I remembered, I’d then make up new ones and lie again and say they were Xenia’s.
I just hoped I made up ones that were as good as hers.
He looked again at me and tipped his head to the side, his eyes weirdly astute.
“Why didn’t you come see me before?” he asked and Ham’s arm curled tighter around my shoulders as more tension came from Aunt Wilona.
