She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be

by J. D. Barker

  I tried to explain.

  She said there was no need.

  Gerdy’s hand felt nice in mine, but her soft, black gloves reminded me of another.

  Father Garland Hopps welcomed everyone, and I tried so hard to listen to his words. I knew they were kind, but he could have been reciting the lyrics to a Zeppelin song or the preamble to the Constitution. I comprehended none of it.

  After Jo’s funeral, a few people came back to the apartment. Krendal supplied sandwiches. The mood was quiet, somber.

  Dunk left after about thirty minutes—something urgent. One of Crocket’s cars picked him up in front of the apartment building. Gerdy left shortly after that. Others took that as a cue and filed out behind her.

  When I found myself alone in the apartment, sitting on the edge of Jo’s hospital bed at the window, I spotted a crumpled pack of Marlboro 100s jammed between the cold metal frame and the mattress.

  I buried my head in my hands and let the tears come.

  I wish I could say the death of 1993 ended with my Auntie Jo, but I’d be lying. More would come soon—two close to me, one other not so close, but horrible all the same.

  Log 05/03/1993—

  Subject “D” within expected parameters.

  Audio/video recording.

  “Why’s everyone got a collective stick up the bum today? That nimrod Cody even made me show him my ID at the gate—he’s known me for four years,” Carl said.

  Warren’s eyes didn’t leave the shift-start checklist. “There was an incident today.”

  “An incident?”

  “I don’t think the powers-that-be figured out how to handle it, so instead they tightened security and they’re running interviews again.”

  “Seriously? They ran interviews two weeks ago. Other than some bad Mexican on Saturday, I’ve got nothing new to add. My life is so boring, my mother only calls me once a month, and I can hear her banging around the kitchen, doing the laundry, and God knows what else while she pretends to give a shit.”

  “Yeah, well, be prepared to discuss your formidable burrito habit in detail on the record. I was in there an hour ago, and they made me run through the past ninety days—recount things that happened here, at home, at the grocery store—right down to what I watched on television each night. Like I could remember. Random questions about mundane stuff. Crazy.”

  “You’d think they’d ask about all the supplies you steal from this place and take home.”

  “I took one roll of toilet paper six months ago,” Warren said. “Hardly a criminal enterprise.”

  “What exactly happened?”

  Warren let out a breath. “The kid whispered something.”

  “Huh?”

  “Subject ‘S’ was in there with him, and at some point he leaned over and whispered something to her.”

  “What did he say?”

  Warren rolled his eyes. “That’s the problem. Nobody knows. The microphones didn’t pick it up.”

  “What about the doc? She reads lips, right?”

  “According to her, he told Subject ‘S’ he loved her.”

  “Well, that’s not so bad. Kinda cute. Our boy was bound to develop a case of blue balls at some point. Imagine being a teenage boy locked up like him, only girl he knows—aside from the doc, anyway. His hormones are probably eating him alive.”

  “They don’t believe her.”

  “Who?”

  “Corporate. Hibbert was on, and he said they scrambled—pulled Subject ’S’ out and isolated her in 304 down the hall, then dragged the doc off for an interview. Grilled her, from what I heard. She didn’t waver, though. She insisted all he said was ‘I love you.’ Said they were overreacting.”

  “The girl’s okay, right? I mean if he would have said something else, if he wanted to hurt her, he would have.”

  Warren shrugged. “Seems okay. She said the same thing, he said ‘I love you.’ The Oliver woman took her out about thirty minutes ago, took her back to the house.”

  “If everyone is okay, why are they making a stink of it? Why the interviews?”

  Warren lowered his voice. “Rumor is, corporate thinks the kid may have planted some type of command. Something delayed.”

  “Can he do that?”

  Again, Warren shrugged. “Who knows? It’s not like he came with an instruction manual. We’re figuring this out as we go. I guess they’re worried the kid is figuring it out, too.”

  “That still doesn’t explain the interviews.”

  “I think they’re concerned he might have done it to somebody else.”

  “Planted instructions?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s not possible. Aside from the doc and the girl, nobody else goes in there. There’s no opportunity. Even if he did somehow get to somebody, there’d be a record. Someone is always watching.”

  “I’m not sure, but I think that might be why the interview focused on my day-to-day activity. They wanted to see what I remembered and what I didn’t.”

  Carl understood, then. “They were trying to figure out if he made you forget something.”

  “Yeah.”

  —Charter Observation Team – 309

  3

  Monday morning brought the sun, and the temperature had already climbed into the mid-seventies by ten. I showered and shaved and tried to prepare for a day I hoped would never come.

  The law offices of Matteo, Santillan, and Veney stood in a nondescript three-story brick building on the northeast corner of Brownsville Road and Clairton Boulevard. The second and third stories were residential while the first floor housed the law office, a small pet store, and a laundromat. A Giant Eagle grocery store and shopping center dominated the opposite corner of the intersection, and I spotted no fewer than six women cross the street with laundry baskets (and sometimes kids) in tow, either dropping off laundry prior to grocery shopping or picking it up after, and as I sat in the uncomfortable pleather chair next to the receptionist desk of Auntie Jo’s lawyer, I wondered why someone didn’t move the laundromat across the street into the same shopping center as the grocery store.

  Gerdy sat in an equally uncomfortable chair beside me, thumbing through a back issue of People pilfered from the small table next to the waiting area. Someone named David Koresh was on the cover with the title The Evil Messiah – Inside the Waco Cult blazoned across the front in bright yellow. Gerdy wore a pink sundress and flip-flops. With her legs crossed, her left shoe dangled precariously from her toe—I expected it to drop to the tile floor, but it never did, only swayed back and forth. I had been excused from school for two weeks. Gerdy was simply ditching.

  The receptionist was in her mid to late fifties with close-cropped platinum blond hair and large glasses with a red frame. Today’s newspaper was spread out on her desk, open to the horoscopes and a crossword puzzle. She had one word filled in when we arrived fifteen minutes earlier—canine—and her pencil had yet to return to the page.

  The phone on her desk buzzed, and she picked it up, glanced over at the two of us, then hung up. “Mr. Matteo is ready for you.”

  We followed her down a narrow hallway with dozens of white file boxes stacked against the wall on the left to a small conference room filled with even more boxes. She cleared two spots at the table nearest the door and motioned for us to take a seat. “Give him a minute. Would you like coffee or anything?”

  Gerdy and I both shook our heads and she left us alone, disappearing down the hallway back toward her desk.

  “I think I’m gonna sneeze,” Gerdy said, her nose crinkled. “It’s dusty in here.”

  I recently read a book by John Grisham called The Firm, and I suppose I expected Auntie Jo’s attorney (and all others, for that matter) to be housed in spacious offices trimmed in rich mahogany, richer leather, and carpet deep enough to swallow you whole. Instead, I was fairly certain I could hear the whir of washers and driers on the opposite side of the conference room wall, and my eye was drawn to the orange stain glistening with
dripping water on the beadboard under the air conditioner at the window—the loud unit held in place by a length of 2x4 braced with old books.

  I smiled at Gerdy. “Thanks for coming with me.”

  She grinned. “Anytime.”

  The truth was, Dunk was supposed to come with me. Mr. Krendal said he’d come, too. Dunk backed out last night and Krendal called me thirty minutes before we left the apartment. “Lurline called in, she’s running late. I’m stuck here. So sorry, buddy.”

  “Dunk’s working, huh?”

  I nodded.

  If Gerdy knew what Dunk did to line his pockets, she never pressed me on it. Lurline had called Gerdy when she knew she’d be late to the diner—her little boy was running a temperature and she had to wait on the sitter. Gerdy had arrived at my apartment and was standing in the hallway about to knock, when I opened the door to head out. She smiled, simply said, “This is not something you should have to do alone,” and took my hand, leading me out before I could object.

  Not that I would.

  I was grateful for the company.

  We heard a bang from the hallway, followed by a man swearing under his breath. Then: “Tess, how about spending a little time today on these boxes? Maybe relocate them to the storeroom?”

  “Storeroom’s full!” the receptionist shouted back from the front.

  “Maybe the basement, then?”

  “I’m not going down there. You go down there.”

  An overweight man in a brown tweed suit side-stepped into the conference room, the buttons of his jacket straining against his belly. He was frowning toward the front of the office as he tugged at the door and forced it shut behind him, the bottom catching on a rumple in the carpet.

  Gerdy sneezed.

  “Bless you,” we both said.

  He reached a chubby hand out to me. “I’m Dewitt Matteo, your aunt’s attorney. I am so absolutely sorry for your loss. She was a fine woman. We actually went to Brentwood High School together back in the day. Back many days, now that I think about it. We reconnected when I started my practice here; I ran into her at that diner up the road. I’ve seen the both of you there, too. I was thin as a stick back in school. Tell Krendal I blame him entirely for this.” He grabbed at his belly and gave it a jingle, then unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat. “Played varsity basketball back then, if you can believe it. Josephine Gargery, fine woman,” he said again.

  There was a folder in his free hand. He set it on the conference table, opened it, and skimmed the first page, then the next, and the page after that. I could make out LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT at the top of the first but little else. Beside me, Gerdy squeezed my hand.

  Matteo cleared his throat, then glanced down at his watch. “I was expecting one other person for this but looks like we got a no-show. I guess we’ll get to that in a second. Let’s get the formalities out of the way. Then we can talk specifics.” He reached into his jacket pocket, retrieved a pair of glasses, slipped them on, then looked at me. “Ready?”

  I nodded.

  He returned to the pages and began to read aloud, “Last will and testament of Josephine Laura Gargery. I, Josephine Laura Gargery, an adult residing at 1822 Brownsville Road apartment 306, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 15210, being of sound mind, declare this to be my last will and testament. I revoke all wills and codicils previously made by me. Article I. I appoint Dewitt Matteo as my Personal Representative to administer this will, and ask that he be permitted to serve without court supervision and without posting bond. If Dewitt Matteo is unwilling or unable to serve, then I appoint Donovan Santillan or Emanuel Veney. They’re my partners,” Dewitt said. “…to serve as my personal representative, and ask that he be permitted to serve without court supervision and without posting bond.”

  Matteo turned to the next page. “Article II. I direct my personal representative to pay out of my residuary estate all the expenses of my last illness, administration expenses, all legally enforceable creditor claims, all federal estate taxes, state inheritance taxes, and all other government charges imposed by reason of my death without seeking reimbursement from or charging any person for any part of the taxes and charges paid, and if necessary, reasonable funeral expenses, including the cost of any suitable marker for my grave, without the necessity of an order of court approving said expenses.”

  Matteo looked up. “Just so you know, we already took care of all that. We didn’t want you to be burdened with any of the funeral arrangements. I know Jo didn’t either, so all those bills have already been settled by my office. Tess handled the logistics, if you’d like to thank her. We’ll deduct the expenses from the estate.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my voice thin. Although, I had no idea where that money would come from. Auntie Jo’s checking account was flat and closed months ago. I had some cash left but not much.

  He returned to the will. “Article III. I devise, bequeath, and give all my worldly possessions, known and unknown, to my nephew, John Edward Thatch.”

  Matteo paused here, reading the next section to himself before continuing. “Article IV. If, at the time of my death, John Edward Thatch is still a minor in the eyes of the law of the state of Pennsylvania, I appoint Elfrieda Leech his legal guardian until such time he is considered an adult in the eyes of the law of the state of Pennsylvania.”

  Gerdy leaned over to me. “Who is Elfrieda Leech?”

  “She was supposed to be here today,” Matteo said.

  At first I didn’t answer, my mind trying to wrap my head around what he just said. “She’s my neighbor, apartment 304 across the hall. She used to babysit me when I was a kid. She’s a complete shut-in. Years ago, she was robbed. I think they raped and beat her. Left her for dead, from what I heard. When she was released from the hospital, she locked herself up in that apartment and hasn’t left since.”

  “My God, that’s horrible!” Gerdy said.

  I went on. “Auntie Jo used to buy groceries for her. Then, when she got sick, I started doing it. Every Thursday, Ms. Leech tapes an envelope to her door with fifty dollars inside, along with a shopping list. I pick up whatever she needs and leave the bags outside her door. I always knock, but she never answers. At some point, she pulls the bags inside. I haven’t seen her in years, though.” I looked at Matteo. “Are you sure this is current?”

  “Jo came in shortly after she was diagnosed, about a year ago. I walked the paperwork over to Ms. Leech myself and witnessed her signing.”

  “She opened the door for you?”

  Matteo’s eyes shifted at this. He fumbled with a pen beside the folder. “Well, no. ‘Witness’ may not be best word. I explained who I was, why I was there, and she asked me to slide the paperwork under the door. Said Jo had told her I would be coming, explained why. Ms. Leech signed the documents and slid everything back. I asked to see her driver’s license to confirm the signature. That seemed to take her a minute, but she eventually located it and slid it under the door to me as well. The license expired some time ago, nearly twenty years ago, in fact, but the signatures were a match.” He tapped at a form in the folder. “Tess left several messages for her regarding today’s reading. She was supposed to be here.”

  “She wouldn’t leave her apartment,” I muttered. “Like I said, I don’t think she ever leaves.”

  Matteo laid his palm flat on the folder. “This is just a formality, really. You’re almost eighteen, right?”

  I nodded. “My birthday is in January.”

  “So, seven months.” Matteo lowered his voice. “Your aunt didn’t want to risk you falling into social services, foster care, none of that, so she worked this out with your neighbor. Your legal address will change to apartment 304, with Ms. Leech, but as long as you can keep up the rent, I see no reason why you’d have to leave your own apartment. Anybody asks, you live with Ms. Leech. Got it?”

  I nodded, still trying to process.

  Matteo returned to the folder, turned the page. “Article V. Should my beneficiary not survive me by 30 days,
then his share shall be distributed to my surviving relatives in equal share. Signed, Josephine Laura Gargery.”

  “We don’t have any other relatives,” I said softly.

  “Well, don’t die then. The state would get everything.” He returned to the will, flipped to the next page. “Because you’re a minor, the proceeds from the various life insurance policies will be placed in a trust administered by my office. We’ll pay your regular bills directly from here, for a small fee, of course, and you will be given a monthly allowance. The remaining assets will be distributed to you on your twenty-second birthday, providing you graduate from college. Josephine was very adamant about that. Her preference was Penn State. She was rather insistent, actually.”

  “What life insurance? Auntie Jo didn’t have life insurance.”

  Matteo reached into the folder and removed a small stack of documents bound with a metal clip at the top. “Your aunt took out three separate life insurance policies. The first dates back to August 6, 1980.”

  “That’s two days before my parents died.”

  Matteo continued. “She took out the second one in 1984 and the third one about two years ago, before she was diagnosed.”

  “But, how could she afford that?”

  Matteo shrugged. “She was relatively young and in good health. I imagine the premiums weren’t very high.”

  “So, there’s enough to cover the funeral expenses?” At least I wouldn’t have to worry about that.

  Matteo pulled a yellow Post-it note from the top of the stack and slid it over to me. “Once we settle the estate costs and subtract our administrative fees to date, you’re looking at a remaining balance of $2,823,000.84. Like I said, your aunt included a stipulation that only allows you to collect the balance once you graduate from college. You need to get on that, if you haven’t started already. I can help with the application process, if you need it. Of course, I’ll have to charge you for my time. How are your grades?”