His annoyed expression flew off and a smile of amusement settled in to replace it. He glanced back at my girlfriends, who were all looking our way with interest, and then he slipped back into the chair across from me.
"So, what's up? Why are you ostracized from the henhouse today?"
"I'm not ostracized. I'm just... just not in the mood for their silly talk."
"Who ever is?" he said. "What happened to put you out of the mood-- or is that me sticking too much nose into your life?"
"It's complicated," I said. "What isn't?" he retorted.
I glanced up at him. When he spoke, he had an accent that suggested his Haitian mother's influence. There was a unique sort of cadence and melody. He had an intelligence in his eyes, a look that reflected something more mature than most of the boys I knew, and all that was reflected in the confident way he held himself. walked, and talked to people.
"My mother gave birth yesterday." I said. "I have a new brother. His name is Claude. He's named after my mother's father."
"Any other brothers or sisters?"
"I have twin half brothers, my father's sans, but they would deny they're related to me in any way if you asked them."
He sat back. "Is your mother your real mother?"
"Yes. I know what you're thinking, and that's part of what makes everything so complicated."
"What am I thinking?"
"Why did my mother wait so long to have another child?"
"Did your mother just get remarried or something?"
"No. She's been remarried about sixteen years."
"Okay, I'll bite, Why did she wait so long?"
She didn't want to interrupt her career. I guess." And now she does?"
"I don't know." I said with more annoyance than I had intended, but I did hate answering the questions. "Like I said, it's complicated."
"So, make it simple." he said, standing again.
"How?"
"Do what I did." he replied, picking up his books,
"Start thinking more about yourself. Stop worrying about everyone else, and especially," he added, glancing at the girls again. "what they think."
He walked away. My eyes followed him until he was gone, and then I looked at my girlfriends. They were all chattering at once.
It made me laugh.
They did look like hens in a henhouse.
I saw Heyden a few more times in the afternoon between classes. He smiled, but he didn't stop to talk to me. I couldn't help being disappointed, and that just added weight to the burden of heavy emotions I was lugging about all day. When the school day ended. I was looking forward to going to see my uncle Linden. His home, his world never seemed more appropriate. I felt like moving in with him.
Neither Mommy nor Miguel really knew how often I visited my uncle Linden. Whenever I was able to get Mommy's car, it was the first place I thought I would visit. It was an easy ride, only a mile and a half off 1-95. Nothing about the house Uncle Linden was in suggested it was a supervised residency. It was a big, front-gabled house with a two-tiered porch. The flat jigsaw-cut upper balustrade and the gable trim were all in a fresh-looking linen white. The rest of the building, except for the shutters, was in a dark chocolate wood cladding.
Stuart and Elizabeth Robinson, who owned and operated the residency, were a very pleasant couple in their fifties. There were only four clients, as they were known, presently living in the house. They had supervised as many as six since I had been visiting Uncle Linden, but two were now gone, one to live with her family, and the other, an elderly man, had become very ill and passed away in the hospital.
Uncle Linden was barely two years older than Mommy, but he looked more like twenty. years older. I once asked Mommy about that, and she said it was probably a result of years of medication and depression.
"The mind has more influence on the body than most people think. Hannah." she told me. "Stress, emotional turmoil, worry, and depression all take a great toll."