Page 9 of Whatever Will Be

“Your mom was a couple of years older than I was. But I always liked her. And I spent a lot of time here, some of it right in this room. My best friend was your Uncle Danny.”

“Oh!” Caitlin looks to her sister and then back at me. “Mommy told us about you. You’re Trentcassini.”

I’m surprised and I can’t help but chuckle at the way she spits out my name like it’s all one word. “That’s right.”

Mara points at the television. “Do you like Frozen?”

I have no clue what she means. “Sure.”

“We just started the movie again,” Caitlin says. “You stay and watch with us.”

She says this as if I have no say in the matter. But I don’t really want to leave them in here alone. Their grim little faces are a reminder that I know how they feel. I was older when my own mother died. Two months past my thirteenth birthday. But the choking suffocation of loss must be the same no matter what age you are.

“I’d like that,” I tell the girls and do my best to look like I’m interested in what’s happening onscreen.

The twins sing along and recite the dialogue together so it’s clear they’ve already watched this movie a hundred times before. The shy one, Mara, keeps glancing at me like she’s worried I’m not enjoying myself so I make an effort to seem as interested as possible. In between all the singing and dancing I take a look around the room where Danny and I used to play video games a million years ago.

The far wall is still a shrine to Rosebriar, the old summer resort that was owned by the Aaronson family for generations and has since been sold off and left to rot while developers haggle over what to do with the land. Most of the framed wall photos are a lot older than I am, featuring people dressed in clothes that now look like theater costumes. Lots of polyester and checkered pants and fake hair. There’s a faded eight by ten shot of a little boy standing on a polished wood stage in front of a line of smiling people. The boy is probably the same age as the twins and I can’t remember being told that he is Alex Aaronson but I know this to be the case. Directly behind him stands a petite brunette weighted down with a huge rose bouquet and I know she’s a famous singer but I’d never heard of any of her music and didn’t bother to remember her.

“Let It Go is the next song,” Caitlin informs me. “So you need to sing along.”

Mara is less bossy. “We’ll help you, Trentcassini.”

“Thanks,” I’m unsure what I’ve just signed up for.

It’s funny that the girls know my name. Jules wouldn’t have much reason to talk about me at length. I guess they might have heard stories about me from their uncle, although I was under the impression Danny was too busy to visit often.

“Get ready to sing,” Caitlin says just as the worn brass doorknob shakes.

I brace for an unpleasant reunion with the Aaronson matriarch, who never liked me much, but it’s not Sharon who walks through the door.

Up close it’s easier to see that Gretchen has been crying. Her eyes are red and puffy but she’s no less pretty. She shows no shock at finding me in here with her nieces. Maybe she’s all shocked out after the sudden loss of her sister.

I raise my hand in a pathetic wave. “Hey there, Gretchen.”

I really have no talent for sounding friendly.

Gretchen stares at me. “Trent.”

Seconds of silence pass. Seconds that I should be filling with condolences or a hug or whatever.

I don’t do any of that.

Instead I just stay where I am, hunched on the footstool like an unshaven troll while Gretchen eyes me from the doorway.

“Gramma left us in here,” Caitlin pipes up. “But Trentcassini likes Frozen too.”

That breaks the ice and Gretchen’s mouth twitches. “Does he?”

“Yup.”

I’m no good at eloquent statements so I don’t bother trying to supply any. “I’m sorry about Jules. I didn’t mean to intrude today.”

Gretchen throws me an odd look. “You’re not intruding, Trent. I saw you walk in. I’m sure you’re looking for Danny.”

“Is he around?”

“Somewhere.” She briskly runs her palms over her hips and turns to the twins.

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