Read Online Stay With Me by Garret Freymann-Weyr - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Garret Freymann-Weyr
Tags: General, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Suicide, Social Issues, Emotions & Feelings, Stepfamilies, Social Themes
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me recently. Since she can't prevent the travel for work, she thinks she shouldn't also leave to be with Gyula. I actually think that's the best reason of all. It seems fitting that Clare and Gyula should meet only in hotels or in what I imagine is his large and elegant Budapest apartment.
"It's fun being at your place," I tried telling Raphael in an effort to go to Brooklyn when my sister is with her boyfriend. "I like it."
And I do. Raphael is still fixing up his third floor and I love how there's a bathroom with no floor or shower and two rooms littered with sawdust and tools. Although, I have to say that when Raphael is at Clare's, his presence removes how much Rebecca still lingers in the apartment. Seeing his shaving stuff in the bathroom makes me happy. But guilty too. That he's had to pack it all up and bring it here.
"Clare's life with Gyula is already complicated," Raphael said when I asked again if he didn't think I should come to Brooklyn. "It's easier for her if I am the one moving around. That way she doesn't have to feel she's putting you out of your bed."
I've already put Clare out of
her
bed. I looked at Raphael, waiting for him to make some sense.
"So to speak," he said.
Okay, then. "Well, she's putting you out of yours," I said.
"In her mind, she still owes you," he told me.
From things they've both said, I know that Clare views herself as having been the worst sister. Ever. She thinks she clearly failed Rebecca in some way. And that, until now, she avoided me entirely too much. I haven't found a way to tell her that I admired her for being both distant and polite. And that I had avoided her too.
"She doesn't owe me a thing," I told Raphael.
"Well, she's more used to my doing things for her," he added. "Don't worry, Leila. This is easy for me. And a pleasure."
Raphael is thoughtful in a way that the words
completely
and
totally
fail to describe. His thoughtfulness is
thorough
(a word with a spelling I always have to double-check and will never trust). I wonder if Clare ever thinks about what she does, in fact, owe him. More than I owe him for pointing out how a play about a suicide isn't going to inspire me to build its sets.
In early March, during Clare's third or fourth business trip, I finally ask Raphael if he's one of the people Rebecca saw during the weeks before she did it.
"I'm not sure," he says. "We had lunch, but that wasn't so unusual."
I tell him how I wasn't one of the people, but that she did say goodbye. I give him a version of seeing her through a window at Acca without mentioning anything about how I will one day sit in a café with a book I like and, possibly, a great love.
"So I sort of saw her," I say. "Maybe she meant for me to think that."
"That's probably right," Raphael says. "And in a way it's nicer not being one of the people she saw ... before she did it."
"How's it nicer?" I ask him.
"You're one of the people she couldn't bring herself to say goodbye to," he says.
This is, as usual, really sweet of Raphael. But totally unbelievable. Rebecca took time to have lunch with him and he's surely someone it was hard for her to see one last time. Harder than seeing me would have been. Unless he's right and they had lunch because they often did. Not because she had to see him one last time.
If I knew who that was at Acca with her, I'd know something more. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'm certain it's important. Not necessarily the reason behind her death, but part of it.
"Why do you think she did it?" I ask Raphael. "I mean, do you know her reason?"
He's quiet for a while. I'm supposed to be doing homework and he's made a fire in the living room to make it less unpleasant. The deal at his house is I do homework for two hours and then I can watch half an hour of television. At home, I'm not allowed to watch at all—my mother believes TV will make me flunk out of school. Having a television, along with the equally forbidden Instant Messaging, has never seemed
"It's fun being at your place," I tried telling Raphael in an effort to go to Brooklyn when my sister is with her boyfriend. "I like it."
And I do. Raphael is still fixing up his third floor and I love how there's a bathroom with no floor or shower and two rooms littered with sawdust and tools. Although, I have to say that when Raphael is at Clare's, his presence removes how much Rebecca still lingers in the apartment. Seeing his shaving stuff in the bathroom makes me happy. But guilty too. That he's had to pack it all up and bring it here.
"Clare's life with Gyula is already complicated," Raphael said when I asked again if he didn't think I should come to Brooklyn. "It's easier for her if I am the one moving around. That way she doesn't have to feel she's putting you out of your bed."
I've already put Clare out of
her
bed. I looked at Raphael, waiting for him to make some sense.
"So to speak," he said.
Okay, then. "Well, she's putting you out of yours," I said.
"In her mind, she still owes you," he told me.
From things they've both said, I know that Clare views herself as having been the worst sister. Ever. She thinks she clearly failed Rebecca in some way. And that, until now, she avoided me entirely too much. I haven't found a way to tell her that I admired her for being both distant and polite. And that I had avoided her too.
"She doesn't owe me a thing," I told Raphael.
"Well, she's more used to my doing things for her," he added. "Don't worry, Leila. This is easy for me. And a pleasure."
Raphael is thoughtful in a way that the words
completely
and
totally
fail to describe. His thoughtfulness is
thorough
(a word with a spelling I always have to double-check and will never trust). I wonder if Clare ever thinks about what she does, in fact, owe him. More than I owe him for pointing out how a play about a suicide isn't going to inspire me to build its sets.
In early March, during Clare's third or fourth business trip, I finally ask Raphael if he's one of the people Rebecca saw during the weeks before she did it.
"I'm not sure," he says. "We had lunch, but that wasn't so unusual."
I tell him how I wasn't one of the people, but that she did say goodbye. I give him a version of seeing her through a window at Acca without mentioning anything about how I will one day sit in a café with a book I like and, possibly, a great love.
"So I sort of saw her," I say. "Maybe she meant for me to think that."
"That's probably right," Raphael says. "And in a way it's nicer not being one of the people she saw ... before she did it."
"How's it nicer?" I ask him.
"You're one of the people she couldn't bring herself to say goodbye to," he says.
This is, as usual, really sweet of Raphael. But totally unbelievable. Rebecca took time to have lunch with him and he's surely someone it was hard for her to see one last time. Harder than seeing me would have been. Unless he's right and they had lunch because they often did. Not because she had to see him one last time.
If I knew who that was at Acca with her, I'd know something more. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'm certain it's important. Not necessarily the reason behind her death, but part of it.
"Why do you think she did it?" I ask Raphael. "I mean, do you know her reason?"
He's quiet for a while. I'm supposed to be doing homework and he's made a fire in the living room to make it less unpleasant. The deal at his house is I do homework for two hours and then I can watch half an hour of television. At home, I'm not allowed to watch at all—my mother believes TV will make me flunk out of school. Having a television, along with the equally forbidden Instant Messaging, has never seemed
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