Cheated Continued, Again

Now that part about how many times did my mom marry my dad, well, that didn’t actually happen to me. But it did happen to my sister-in-law, Lori. My sisters and I like to say her family put the “fun” in dysfunctional. And honestly, she’s the only female in the family not to earn the “Sue Ellen” nickname. She’s proud of that now but she’ll be sorry someday. I’m just waiting.

During a recent visit home, my brother Jim, Lori, and their three kids came over for dinner at my parents house. Once the meal was done and the kids moved on to games or television, Lori began telling us her suspicions over her paternity. “In between dad and dad the first time,” she says, “I think there was another one.”

My dad’s open-mouthed gaze said it all. His body moved into a heaving laugh that made him look like he was choking. My mother, the real Sue Ellen, naively asks, “another what?”

Lori is about five feet tall and has dark brown hair and olive skin. Most everyone in my family needs to move to the shade in the rain so they don’t get sunburned. Lori wears her hair short and highlighted and her clothes always match. She grew up in Morganfield in Union County, which is several hours southwest of Louisville. As we like to say back home, “She’s not from around here.” She looks at my mom pathetically and answers, “Another husband.”

My mom is now just as shocked as my dad and mumbles, “Oh really.” My brother, meanwhile, shakes his head a little then stares at his plate. I wonder if he is thinking, oh God, not this story again or maybe, shit, please don’t tell my parents this.

I perk up and egg her on. I feel like running to the kitchen to get a pen and paper to write it all down but I’m afraid I’ll miss something. Instead, I ask, “Is this a different one than John’s dad?”

Lori turns to me and lights up, “Yup, this was between dad and dad the first time. John’s dad was between dad and dad the second time. See there was dad, then this unknown guy (who God only knows could be my real father), then there was dad again, then there was Eddy (that’s John’s dad), then dad again.”

My dad’s body is still convulsing but now it’s more with disbelief rather than laughter. Mom sits back in her chair and doesn’t know what to say. Even an experienced “Sue Ellen” couldn’t get around this uncomfortable silence.

My brother’s neck is on fire and his head is stuck cocked to one side. He lets out a laugh here and there, but it really just looks like he’s got the hiccups. I am loving every minute of this, so I ask another question. “Now, what happened to Eddy again?” I know the answer to this one but it’s such a great story, I have to hear it again. My parents have raised their eyebrows now in this, oh geez, what’s she gonna say now look.

Lori says, in a way that most of us would say What’s for dinner?,“My mom had him killed.”

My brother stands up and starts gathering plates. I smile at him and he fights back a smile as he turns quickly toward the kitchen. My parents are still sitting there with their eyebrows raised.

Lori’s clearly going for the effect now. She’s got most of this audience wrapped around her finger, but I don’t let her go on it. “I thought his car was blown up at the coal mine or something like that?”

“Well it was, but I think mom did it. I’ve read the reports. She had to have done it.” Lori goes on to say how Eddy was blown to smithereens when he put his foot on the gas pedal but the woman in the truck with him barely had a scratch on her. Lori reveals that this woman was married also.

My mom breaks in. “Well, couldn’t it have been her husband that did it?” I imagine my mom is thinking, I’ve driven this woman to church. When Lori’s mom still lived in Union County, she would come up to visit and my mom would pick her up and take her to church.

Lori admits, “I guess it could’ve been, but I still think it was mom.”

My mom returns with, “It seems impossible that the woman in the truck could just walk away, if he was blown to bits.”

Lori’s face becomes all distorted and excited when she replies, “He worked at mine. That’s what they do. They blow stuff up. They’re paid to figure out how to blow up one small place so they don’t damage the goods.”

I realize that this concept is so far from my mom’s ability to comprehend that I change the subject. It’s just to painful to watch her try to reason it out while my dad lets out these cackling uproars amidst his convulsions. I ask, “So what about this mystery husband?”

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