Skeletons

☠️1☠️

I stared at my old lady who was looking more worn than ever―face grey and saggy, wet with tears. She hadn't looked this bad since finding out the divorce hadn't gone in her favour.

"Your Uncle Greg," she sobbed, clutching the grey roots of her brown hair.

I sat down across from her at the ugly, white kitchen table, glancing at her phone sitting in the middle. "What about Uncle Greg?" I asked, but I knew. I knew my mom wouldn't be crying in the kitchen at 8 in the morning, about her brother who we hadn't been in contact with in nearly a year, unless he was dead. Had he gotten sick while we were out of touch?

"Your Aunt Janice called." Mom sniffed. "The divorce was about to be finalized. She thought―"

I grabbed a paper towel off the counter and handed it to her, but she didn't take it.

"She thought he'd gotten depressed. Killed himself. But..."

Uncle Greg depressed? I remembered when I was a kid, growing up, there always seemed to be something a little sad about him. He was nice as hell and funny, but after the laughter had died down and the gifts had been passed out, his smile would fade and he'd look off into nothing. As a kid, I always wondered why it sometimes felt like Uncle Greg was smiling through me instead of at me.

My mom sighed and took the paper towel then rubbed it across her eyes. "He was murdered, Raphael."

"Murdered?!" I jumped to my feet, heart pounding as anger overcame me. "Did they catch the bastard―"

Mom started bawling again. I stared at her, confused.

"Mom, what is it?"

But my mom had lost it again. I wasn't getting another word out of her.

"I'll call Aunt Janice," I said, taking her shaking shoulders. "Go lie down."

I watched her wobble to her room and, after making sure she got to her bed safely, sat down in her empty seat. I grabbed her cell phone and redialed the last received call. The phone rang twice.

"Fiona―"

"Aunt Janice? It's me, Raphael."

"Oh, Raphael," Aunt Janice breathed.

"Mom told me about Uncle Greg, but she couldn't tell me everything. He was killed, she said."

"He was," Aunt Janice replied with a tightness in her voice.

"I wanted to know did they catch the guy."

"They didn't. I just need you to come down here," she continued, her Southern American accent audible. I always thought her on-and-off accent was cool, so I forgave uncle Greg for leaving Canada to be with her. "Your mom isn't well enough. I know he was her last family. Greg and I didn't have any children... We just need you, Raphael. How old are you now?"

"Twenty-three."

"You're plenty a man to take charge of this."

I glanced down the hall at the wooden door of my mom's bedroom. "Aunt Jan, what happened?"

She was quiet for a moment. "They found his body outside a bar. Beaten to a pulp."

Across my my mind, a disturbing image flashed. Uncle Greg, face mauled beyond recognition. Why would someone do that to him? "Was he mugged?"

"He wasn't mugged."

That coldness was still in her voice and I didn't understand why. Even if they were getting a divorce, I'd heard it had been done without any ill feelings. Her ex-husband had been killed. Why was she sounding like this, I wondered.

"You know... Raphael... Even when we got divorced, I told myself no one would ever know. I was so ashamed. 15 years with a man who couldn't even love women."

What?

"Got so old I lost my chance to have kids. I was so angry. I swore to God, no one would know. But now look. I'm the woman whose husband got killed outside a gay bar."

Outside a what? Uncle Greg was outside a... Uncle Greg was... gay?

"The news is askin' me for interviews. Neighbours are talkin'. My own parents are demandin' to know whether I already knew and if he was a coverup for me!"

Gay? Uncle Greg? He was one of them? But he never gave any signs. He was hiding the whole time? All my life, he was lying to us?

"Raphael... Dear Raphael... Come help me put this to rest. I want to bury him and bury everything with it. Fiona―your mama feels the same."

I'd seen gay people before. Even up close. My Catholic school classmate, Alex, who was flaming as hell but always denied it, ended up openly gay in high school. But I never thought my own family....

"Raphael?"

"Yeah. I'll book some plane tickets and let you know when we'll get there. I'll take care of it, Aunt Jan. Don't worry."

"Thank you."

"Talk to you soon."

I hung up the phone and fixed my mom a cup of tea while I making a mental list of all the things I'd need to do.

Once the tea was made, I carried the cup to my mom's bedroom and knocked on the cracked door. She was sitting on her bed, staring at the closed blinds of the window.

"Mom," I handed her the cup. "Why couldn't you tell me? How long did you know Uncle Greg was... gay?"

"How could I know my own brother was one of those people?!" She threw out her free arm, but the tea in her other hand still rocked with the force. "He grew up right. And how could I say that? He was my brother! I don't want any drama, Raphael. We just," she sobbed, "have the funeral. Then be done." I watched my mom swallow a lump. "I don't want any of that stuff involved. We are burying my brother, who I grew up with. Not this 'gay man' who was a 'victim' or whatever the headlines say. I want him to have a respectable funeral."

I had my own feelings about everything. But at this point, there wasn't really much of a chance to process them. I just knew my mom and aunt were upset and grieving and it was my job to handle business and make it easier on them. Especially my mom.

I lived with her not as one of those lazy ass sons, but because after her divorce from my dad, she'd hit rock bottom. Becoming a grandmother after the birth of my daughter, Mia, had been what lifted her to her feet again. Every weekend, when I had Mia, my mom never looked brighter. So―for now―never mind my feelings about this Secretly Gay Uncle Being Killed Thing; I had to handle things for my mom in the exact way she wanted.

"I'll make sure of it, Mom," I promised, rubbing her shoulder as I stared at those dusty blinds. "We'll give Uncle Greg a respectable funeral."