Bud

Chapter 1-2

“Sheldon, I have some news for you,” he said. “I don’t know how to say this, but I’ve always felt bad news is like a Band-Aid. Yank it off, and it doesn’t hurt as much. So I’m just going to say it.” He paused—a long time.

What is all this yank it off stuff, if he isn’t going to tell me? It can’t be as bad as he makes out. My mother probably is going to be gone longer than the two days Greta said she’d promised.

“Son, your mother’s car slid out of control tonight. She was going up the mountain, the road must have been more slippery than she planned for—who knows?—and she lost control.”

What? I yelped. “What hospital is she in? Take me there. Now.” The anger I wanted to text her was gone, replaced by worry.

Mr. Stern held his hands up, palms out. He patted the air like he was motioning for me to sit, although I hadn’t gotten up, and he was not even close enough to touch me. Greta put her arm around me. Even Shawn, I noticed, looked sad.

“Boy, I’m sorry. Your mother’s dead.”

Uh-uh. Not possible. Mimi’s in Park City. She’s at a client meeting.

“You hear me, son? Amelia died tonight.”

“No,” I lunged at him. “You’re crazy. My mother’s with her client. She made Shawn take me to the ballet. Very important meeting.” I beat his body with both fists until I suddenly stopped. I stood a moment. “Somebody’s told you a lie, Mr. Stern.”

Mr. Stern was playing a joke or he’d been given bad intel, as they say, or something, at least, was wrong, very wrong. My mother was not dead.

“Sheldon,” he said, “you’ve got to face it.” As he pushed me back to the sofa, he said, “Your mother, Amelia Sheridan, is gone.”

Greta leaned over and talked in my ear. “It’s true, liebchen. I wish it weren’t, but it is.”

Greta would never play a trick on me like that. If she said it was true, it was.

I screamed. A blood-curdling wail. A scream that coulda woke the dead. Neighbors miles around musta heard it.

When I stopped, I stopped. I wasn’t wasting another tear because it wouldn’t bring my Mimi back. I remember thinking, Lord—I didn’t even believe in God—please put my life back together. I’ll go to church. I’ll be the best little Mormon boy I can be. Just bring Mimi back to me.

But God wasn’t listening.

And if God wasn’t hearing me, then this had to be a joke, right? My mother cannot be dead. Nah. That’s not possible. He’s lying. She’s at her business meeting. Mr. Stern’s just trying to scare me. If someone went off the mountain road, it wasn’t my mother. The police make mistakes. They do. My Mimi cannot be gone. No. No way.

Greta squeezed me tighter. She pulled me into her. Her chin rested onto my head. “I’m so sorry, liebchen. You can cry if you want to.” And she tried to rock me in her arms, like she did when I was little.

I jerked away. “Leave me alone.” I found calmness in the middle of all this madness. I looked at Mr. Stern. “You’re wrong, Mr. Stern,” I instructed him. “My mother’s at a business meeting.” Greta continued to pat my arm.

He looked to the ceiling, shaking his head. Then he looked me straight in the eyes. “Boy, I’m telling you, your mother’s dead. You have to face it. Things are going to start moving around here very fast, and you’ve got to be on board.”

Mr. Stern was a hard, cruel man. I knew that. But this was the worst. But something suddenly clicked.

I knew he was telling me the truth.

As Greta held me, Mr. Stern laid it all out: “You can’t stay here. No provisions in the will for that. You’ll live with your uncle.” What? I have an uncle? My mother said we, her and me, were the last ones left in her family. “I see that look, boy. Your mother had—has—an older brother. She told me he left home when she was young. Just recently, for whatever reason, she hired a private investigator to track him down. I don’t know if she planned to contact him or not, but she didn’t get around to doing it. I’ve already left a message with him. He may get back to me before morning, but if not, I’ll call again. He lives in Las Vegas, so that will be your new home.”

Panic. “But I can’t leave here. My ballet classes. School. Greta.” Stricken, I also had a bad feeling deep in my gut. I never told Mimi. She either knew or wouldn’t have cared. She loved me just the way I am. Different. But this uncle? What will he think? Sure, I don’t like my school, I’m not even totally happy at ballet except when I’m dancing. But I can’t move away. Away from Greta. Away from my home. I know how to be me here.

“Vegas is a happenin’ place, Shel,” Shawn said. “You’ll like it. Lotsa dancers there. You won’t have to give that up.”

The whole time Shawn was talking, Mr. Stern was eyeing him like Shawn was interrupting a business deal. He stared Shawn down as he talked. With Shawn’s final word, Shawn folded his hands in his lap, leaned back, and got an expression on his face like he’d just been scolded by his daddy.

Mr. Stern was mean. Shawn didn’t need to feel that way. All Shawn was trying to do was make me feel better.

Better? Not possible. Mimi was gone. I didn’t want that to sink in. I wanted to run away from Mr. Stern and all this stuff he thought I needed to hear. If Mimi’d been with me at the Capitol, she’d still be alive. Mr. Stern just wanted to get his business done. So he sprang this new uncle on me, like I should just be happy to leave my life and go to some man I never knew.

Mr. Stern continued. “Your mother provided for you to continue your ballet classes in Las Vegas. And we will find a school to provide you with the Christian education your mother wanted, as well. As for Greta, she has family here, and your uncle, no doubt, will not need her services.”

Greta once again squeezed me. “Liebchen,” she whispered, and a tear dropped from her cheek to my hand.

“There is a trust provided for you. I will be the trustee.” I had no idea what he was talking about. Trust? Trustee? “You will gain access to the funds when you turn twenty-two, after you finish your schooling. Meanwhile, you will have a generous allowance, your uncle will be given a stipend to care for you, and all your ballet expenses will be covered. Anything else, money-wise, will go through me.”

I don’t understand any of this. And I don’t like it. I don’t wanna live with a stranger. I don’t wanna move someplace else. I don’t wanna leave Greta.

I just want my Mimi back.

“This house will be sold. Everything in it, the furnishings, the artwork, the antiques, will go to auction. Your mother amassed quite a small fortune, and the proceeds of this will just add to the funds you will one day access, at your majority.” He had lost me, not that he ever had me. My mind reeled with thoughts I didn’t want to have.

“As for your personal belongings, you will pack those tomorrow. The artwork in your room—your mother mentioned a Degas she had purchased—we will have it crated and shipped to Las Vegas. Everything else will be sold. You will not be burdened. I, as the executor of the estate and your trustee, will handle everything.”

Words, words, words. They tumbled around me. And I didn’t understand any of them.

Greta spoke. “And when can we plan on the funeral? Will my sweet boy have a say in his mother’s arrangements?”

“No services, as per Amelia’s request. She will be cremated and her ashes disposed of.”

My mother wasn’t your friend. Quit saying her name.

“Ach! Horrible!” Greta cried out.

“Nevertheless, it was her wish. Any questions?” That was directed to me.

I wasn’t about to say anything to this monster.

Mimi was gone, and she would never, ever come back.

I wanted Mr. Stern outta there.

Mr. Stern waited a moment, I guess to give me a chance to talk. But what did I have to say? He had my life all planned for me. It was like my mother had gone on a trip, and she’d left Mr. Stern in charge. New home, new school, new ballet teacher, new life.

“Very well,” Mr. Stern said, “I’ll get back to you tomorrow after I talk to the uncle. Meanwhile, get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.” I looked up at that. Yeah, tomorrow’s another day. But it will be my first day without my mother. He looked at Greta. “I trust you’ll help the boy pack? And by the way, you’ll be given a generous severance package.” He turned and left.

Shawn stood. He came to me, and held out his fist for me to bump. It seemed strange to me, but I did it. Then he said, “I’m really sorry to hear about your mom, kid.” There was a tear in his eye.

And he left too.

Greta started crying again. She looked helpless. I hugged her and said, “It’ll be all right,” even though I didn’t believe anything ever again would be all right.

I said, “I’m goin’ to my studio.”

She held on to me, saying, “It’s late. You need your rest, liebchen.”

What I needed was to dance. It was how I blocked out feelings. Kids at school don’t like me? Okay, I can dance that away. Nobody understands me? Dance it away. My mother is dead? Dance it away.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” I hoped she didn’t hear the tremble in my voice. Or that I didn’t believe what I’d said. “After all, tomorrow’s another day.” I tried to make it a joke, but I don’t think either one of us felt like laughing. I hugged her once again, this time a tight one because who knew how many Greta hugs I had left?

A lot of changes were in store. I wish I’d known what was ahead. It might have made everything easier.

As I crept up the stairs to my room to change for the studio, I remembered. The necklace. I took it from my pocket where I’d put it when Greta gave it to me. I undid the clasp, and then I fastened it around my neck. It would always be near me.

A promise, Mimi.

But did I dance away the fact she was gone? That she was never coming back? No. No amount of dancing can do that.

And then I found myself in that Jeep, with a man I didn’t know, and his husband who sat like a dummy in the back seat.