Chapter 3 - Lucas never wanted the bed
My sister Audrey Mercer Hale called the next morning.
She sounded exhausted.
“Lucas is crying.”
“Why?”
“He thinks Etta hates him.”
“She doesn’t.”
“He says Mom told him the window bed was supposed to be his because he’s the oldest boy.”
I closed my eyes.
“There is no reason for him to have a hospital bed.”
“I know.”
“He wasn’t a patient.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you let Mom bring him?”
Audrey became quiet.
Because she knew the answer.
Our mother always wanted Lucas present when anything happened to Etta.
Birthdays.
School performances.
Hospital visits.
Holidays.
She called it:
“Keeping cousins close.”
But the comparisons followed.
Lucas was stronger.
Lucas was older.
Lucas carried the family name? He did not. His surname was Hale.
That never stopped Lenora.
After my son Oliver died, Lucas became the boy nearest to her.
She treated him as if proximity made him a replacement.
Audrey said:
“Lucas told her three times he didn’t want the bed.”
I sat beside Etta while she slept.
“What did Mom say?”
“That Etta was wasting the view.”
I almost laughed because the cruelty was so absurd.
A six-year-old recovering from surgery was wasting a hospital window.
Audrey continued:
“Cormac, what did Mom mean about your son getting nothing?”
“I don’t know.”
Silence.
Then:
“You think she’s been sending money somewhere.”
“She said it like there is an account, a person, something ongoing.”
Audrey breathed out.
“Mom gives Lucas money.”
“How much?”
“Birthday. School things. Camps.”
“How much?”
“I heard defensiveness enter her voice.
“I don’t know exactly.”
“That means you do.”
“Cormac.”
“How much?”
She finally said:
“More than I’m comfortable with.”
May you like
That was not an amount.
It was a warning.
