"I know," she said softly, still watching something across the room.
"Let me guess. More skeletons in the closet. More secrets."
She looked at him sadly, then gave a slight shrug as if to say, what the hell.
"He is, after all, my first cousin," Adam said. "And to my knowledge, and barring any further revelations, he's the only first cousin I have."
"You wouldn't like him."
"Of course not. He's part Cayhall."
"No. He's all Booth. Phelps wanted a son, why I don't know. And so we had a son. Phelps, of course, had little time for him. Always too busy with the bank. He took him to the country club and tried to teach him golf, but it didn't work. Walt never liked sports. They went to Canada once to hunt pheasants, and didn't speak to each other for a week when they came home. He wasn't a sissy, but he wasn't athletic either. Phelps was a big prep school jock - football, rugby, boxing, all that. Walt tried to play, but the talent just wasn't there. Phelps drove him even harder, and Walt rebelled. So, Phelps, with the typical heavy hand, sent him away to boarding school. My son left home at the age of fifteen."
"Where did he go to college?"
"He spent one year at Cornell, then dropped out."
"He dropped out?"
"Yes. He went to Europe after his freshman year, and he's been there ever since."
Adam studied her face and waited for more.
He sipped his water, and was about to speak when the waiter appeared and rapidly placed a large bowl of green salad between them.
"Why did he stay in Europe?"
"He went to Amsterdam and fell in love."
"A nice Dutch girl?"
"A nice Dutch boy."
"I see."
She was suddenly interested in the salad, which she served on her plate and began cutting into small pieces. Adam did likewise, and they ate in silence for a while as the bistro filled up and became noisier. An attractive couple of tired yuppies sat at the small table next to them and ordered strong drinks.
Adam smeared butter on a roll, took a bite, then asked, "How did Phelps react?"
She wiped the corners of her mouth. "The last trip Phelps and I took together was to Amsterdam to find our son. He'd been gone for almost two years. He'd written a few times and called me occasionally, but then all correspondence stopped. We were worried, of course, so we flew over and camped out in a hotel until we found him."
"What was he doing?"
"Working as a waiter in a cafe. Had an earring in each ear. His hair was chopped off. Weird clothes. He was wearing those damned clogs with wool socks. Spoke perfect Dutch. We didn't want to make a scene, so we asked him to come to our hotel. He did. It was horrible. Just horrible. Phelps handled it like the idiot he is, and the damage was irreparable. We left and came home. Phelps made a big production of redoing his will and revoking Walt's trust."
"He's never come home?"
"Never. I meet him in Paris once a year. We both arrive alone, that's the only rule. We stay in a nice hotel and spend a week together, roaming the city, eating the food, visiting the museums. It's the highlight of my year. But he hates Memphis."
"I'd like to meet him."
Lee watched him carefully, then her eyes watered. "Bless you. If you're serious, I'd love for you to go with me."
"I'm serious. I don't care if he's gay. I'd enjoy meeting my first cousin."
She took a deep breath and smiled. The ravioli arrived on two heaping plates with steam rising in all directions. A long loaf of garlic bread was placed along the edge of the table, and the waiter was gone.
"Does Walt know about Sam?" Adam asked.
"No. I've never had the guts to tell him."
"Does he know about me and Carmen? About Eddie? About any of our family's glorious history?"
"Yes, a little. When he was a little boy, I told him he had cousins in California, but that they never came to Memphis. Phelps, of course, told him that his California cousins were of a much lower social class and therefore not worthy of his attention. Walt was groomed by his father to be a snob, Adam, you must understand this. He attended the most prestigious prep schools, hung out at the nicest country clubs, and his family consisted of a bunch of Booth cousins who were all the same. They're all miserable people."
"What do the Booths think of having a homosexual in the family?"
"They hate him, of course. And he hates them."
"I like him already."
"He's not a bad kid. He wants to study art and paint. I send him money all the time."
"Does Sam know he has a gay grandson?"
"I don't think so. I don't know who would tell him."
"I probably won't tell him."
"Please don't. He has enough on his mind."
The ravioli cooled enough to eat, and they enjoyed it in silence. The waiter brought more water and tea. The couple next to them ordered a bottle of red wine, and Lee glanced at it more than once.
Adam wiped his mouth and rested for a moment. He leaned over the table. "Can I ask you something personal?" he said quietly.
"All your questions seem to be personal."
"Right. So can I ask you one more?"
"Please do."
"Well, I was just thinking. Tonight you've told me you're an alcoholic, your husband's an animal, and your son is gay. That's a lot for tine meal. But is there anything else I should know?"
"Lemme see. Yes, Phelps is an alcoholic too, but he won't admit it."
"Anything else?"