When she knocked on the door, Seth was sitting on the other side of the bed and he said, “I can go.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Seth said.
Marabeth nodded, “There’s really no need for it.”
And then she began to explain everything, to review how Pamela had lain with Friederich and begotten Steiger, then how she had lain with her own son to beget Delia and while Jim shook his head, Marabeth said:
“There is more.”
“More?”
“You can read if you want. I’m reading through it now. But… you are not Byron Strauss’s son,.”
“What?” Jim looked stricken. He had never known Byron, but Byron was the link into the family. Except…. He supposed Pamela was the link into the family. But…
“What did Mom do? Did she climb into the grave with Friederich, or… What? Seriously, what the fuck?”
“Your mother,” Marabeth said, seriously, looking at Jim, “was my father’s lover. Always. Jim, you are the son of Nathan Strauss. You are my brother.”
My brother Byron is dead. I don’t want to write about him, though. I want to write to you, my son. Jim, I’ve always tried to do the best by you. And I always will. I wish I could tell you that you weren’t without a dad. I have told you, but I don’t know if you understand. I don’t know, my little golden boy, if you can understand how much I love you, how much we all do. There are so many things I wish I could say, but for the peace of our family I can’t, and that’s my fault. I look at my two little blue eyed boys, sort of like something our a fairy tale, my serious black haired son and the other one sunny and gold, and sometimes you all are like best friends, but sometimes you all just don’t get on, and I guess that’s what family’s like. Still, I always want you all to watch out for each other. Kris is your big brother and he loves you even if he acts like he doesn’t. And I hope one day you can watch out for him. He’ll watch out for you. I just want all my children to love each other, and I want all of you to know just how much I love you. But especially you, James. I will always love you. I will always be your Dad.
STRAUSS
Pamela
Passed away peacefully on April 29th, 1992
aged 92 years.
Beloved Daughter of Friederich Strauss
Cherished Sister to Maris, Claire and James,
Beloved Aunt and Great-Aunt of Many
By day the Lord went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide
them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light,
so that they could travel by day or night.
Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar
of fire by night
left its place in front of the people.
Exodus 13:21–22
Relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend Pamela’s
homegoing to be held at Saint Agatha’s Catholic Church
With Requiem Mass
commencing at 11 am
on May 5th, 1992
My aunt is dead. Who could have believed it? She passed on as she would have wished, grave and austere and having said everything she wished. She died in bed surrounded by us and was even more terrifying as a corpse. I wonder how many lies we put on the death notice. A homegoing! I wonder where her true home is. I can’t imagine it being a heavenly one or her wishing for it. What a needle she stuck in the eye of Saint Ursula’s, though, insisting on being buried from Saint Agatha, the church she always loved even if she barely went.
Beloved aunt. For beloved we should have written terrifying, and of course, none of us really know how old she was, but she ran this family. Everyone else only pretended to. How much truth can a funeral notice bear? What will we do now?
It never stopped, me and Delia. We’re doing the same thing we’ve always done. Why make it glamourous? But we always go to the third floor, where no one else is.
Today, why does she come up there? Why does Becca come up here? I’m fucking Delia against the window, and she’s calling me names and I’m calling her names, and then Becca starts screaming, and when she sees that it’s Delia, she begins to tear at her face. You bitch. How could you do this to me? You were supposed to be my best friend. You were my sister. Delia is crying. I’ve never known her to cry about anything. She’s saying Rebecca, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry! I’ve never known Delia to be sorry about anything. I pull Rebecca away. I take her downstairs. On the second floor she’s screaming at me and we’re in Mara’s room. Mara’s at school and Rebecca is screaming at me, smacking me across my face when she shrieks and I turn to look out the window,
“Oh my God!” Rebecca cries, but I just hear the thud.
We run downstairs and Rebecca runs out the door. Mom is already following us.
The police leave as the kids are coming home from school. Rebecca hugs Jim and takes him upstairs. The sidewalk is still being cleaned. Later that night, as Jim is sobbing, I try to say something, but Rebecca says to me, “You go sleep upstairs. You like the third floor so much.”
“Del—”
“Never speak her name again,” my wife says.
I never do.
STRAUSS
Delia
Nee Frye
Her life was cut short on June 21st , 1999
aged 45 years.
Beloved Widow of Byron Strauss
Devoted Mother of James
Cherished Daughter of Caroline and Steiger Frye
He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."
Revelation 21.4
Relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend Delia’s
funeral to be held at Waverly Cemetery in the chapel.
on November 11, 1999
This whole time is desolate. The last few years were. A funeral in a cemetery with no Mass. For a woman who took her own life. I failed her. I could hardly get out of my own despair. I failed her, and I failed my Jim. Jim, you’re not alone. You got us. I hope you understood she loved you. I hope you can forgive us.
Forgive me.
