Kitty kept speaking as we walked down the hall, but I didn’t understand what she said. I felt the ceiling was too high above us, so high it might not have been there if I tilted my head up to look, so I did not look. We all walked deeper into the house.
At the end of the hall was a room full of leather sofas and chairs, all of them pointed at a massive television on one wall, an altar. Several people were in the chairs and sofas, all of whom looked like variations of Kitty—pale hair, skin gleaming as if damp, clothing spotless and pressed—all in blues and greens and whites, coordinated like an army. They stared through the television. A person in a sparkling dress was singing into a microphone in one hand. Something cloying and pungent hung in the air—not flowers, something else, something closer to the smell of a baby’s head.
OK, company’s here, y’all turn that thing off, will you? There’s some lemonade here and Cokes if you want them. I can’t handle the caffeine this late, myself, but it’s there if you want it. And fix yourself a little plate here, too, but don’t spoil your supper because like I said our girl has been cooking near all the ever-living day, excuse my language.
No one moved. None of us and none of them.
OK, y’all, really, turn that thing off now, Kitty shouted while smiling at the people who looked like her. A large man reclining in a chair watching the television, chewing a cigar butt, aimed a remote at the screen, making the singer vanish into gray.
Does everybody remember everybody? Well, y’all know Butch, of course. The man with the cigar put up a hand almost like a salute, a gesture that Steven returned. And these are my daughters, Annie, Rachel, and Jill, and my sons, Ronnie and Butch junior, the woman said, speeding through the names as if it was something between a prayer and a chore. The daughters and sons were all dazed, distant. And where is Nelson?
He’s still upstairs, one of the daughters said without looking up from the screen in her hands. She was the smallest in the room but she looked the most identical to the woman. She and Kitty were wearing the same dress and sweater and necklace. Both of them had hay-colored hair sculpted into stillness.
Nelson! the woman shouted up a stairwell. Company’s here, Nelson, come on down!
And, little darlin’, the woman said, remind me of your name again, will you?
Pew, Hilda said. It’s just a nickname. For now.
Pew! You mean pew like a church pew?
Yes, Hilda said. It’s temporary. It’s just—
Isn’t that something! Hilda, can I get you a glass of white wine? I’ve got a pinot grigio open and Butch can fix Steven up with a glass of Scotch, how about that? But don’t you go telling Joe or Mary-Lee that you had any fun over here because we always hide the liquor when they come over—ha ha!
Just what the hell is wrong with those people? Butch said to Steven.
Butch! Kitty turned to him with a face suddenly still and hard. What did I tell you? And just as quickly her face softened and loosened and laughed. Well! Well, let me see about that pinot!
I went back down the hall to where the bathroom was, passing a room full of trophies in glass cases, a room lined with wine bottles, a bedroom that looked as if no one had ever slept in it, and a room that was just empty, just a big empty room. Eventually I found the bathroom, larger than a large car, all marble and chrome, everything perfectly clean. I washed my hands for a long time, and when I came back out to the hallway, a short woman in a white uniform was there, waiting. She took my arm and whispered, Habla español?
I just looked at her and did nothing and she nodded as if something obvious had flown between us and we both knew exactly what it meant.
Sea lo que sea, pase lo que pase, puedes contarme. Recuerda eso.
She started back down the hall, stopping a few steps away to turn to me again—Recuerda eso. I looked at her. She looked at me. She vanished around a corner.
When I returned to the main room, Kitty shouted, Now there we are!—and took me by the elbow toward someone who didn’t look like the rest of them. He was wearing a baseball cap and blue jeans and a loose white shirt. In the shadow of his cap, I could see a thick scar that ran from his temple to his neck.
The woman spoke quickly, gesturing to the person in the baseball cap, to me, and back again. She did not seem to notice or care that neither of us was listening to her. She said the word Nelson as if it were something she had long wanted and worked hard to own.
Hello. My name is Nelson. Each word was an exertion, each word very clear.
And this is Pew, honey, like a church pew, isn’t that special? Pew’s not much of a talker but I’m sure you two will get along just perfectly. Now, honey, I think maybe you’ve forgotten to take your cap off, honey, you know we’ve talked about that before, haven’t we? About what to do when we’ve got company?
Let that boy alone, he’s got his reasons, Butch called from the other side of the room where he shook a glass full of wet ice. The woman in white who had spoken to me outside the bathroom appeared beside him, refilled Butch’s glass from a small bottle, and vanished down a hallway.
Without removing his cap or letting on that he’d heard anything, Nelson went to the refrigerator and took out a red soda can, opened it, and left the room. Kitty said something quietly for the first time since we arrived, something to Hilda and Steven, who each nodded with impressed horror. The woman in the white uniform appeared beside Kitty and said, Dinner ready, in a tiny voice, and everyone moved down another hallway, past various rooms and closed doors, flower arrangements, and hundreds of framed photographs of Kitty and Butch and these other people. Then we reached a room with a long table, huge bowls and platters of food, even more various and plentiful than the night before. Nelson was sitting at one corner of the table and I was ushered over to sit beside him. Once everyone had sat down, they all joined hands, but the chair to my left was empty and Nelson didn’t take my hand, just squinted at me with something like a smile. Everyone shut their eyes while Butch said a list of memorized words, and when he’d reached the list’s end, he added, And God bless Nelson and God bless Pew, amen, his concentration clumsy and honest, like a child gluing two pieces of paper together.
The plate before me was filled with food, soft heaps leaking oil. I had known hunger so well and for so long that fullness had been difficult to recognize, but now, faced with all this, I could hardly eat. Since I had woken up on that pew, the meals had been endless and I wished I could have reached back and given one of them to those days of hunger in the past, or that I could have moved this plate to a place—there must have been such a place—where someone else was hungry. Nelson ate as if in a contest with someone, his throat a constant swallow. How was it I could have forgotten hunger, that feeling I knew so well? Nelson stabbed the whole chunk of black meat from my plate and ate it, not looking at me.
The rest of the table spoke in overlapping voices, passing bowls and platters around. The woman in the white uniform went around refilling glasses with water or ice tea or wine.
Nelson, having cleared his plate and mine, pushed his chair from the table, stood up, and I followed him by instinct.
Don’t y’all want some dessert? the woman at the head of the table called out to us.
No, ma’am, Nelson said. No thank you.
It’s pecan pie. I didn’t think I’d ever live to see the day—