by Mary Miller
“I bathed her recently,” I said. “She’s not dirty or anything.”
“Well, she might snap.”
“The dog doesn’t snap,” I said, but she was a dog and dogs were unpredictable. It was possible she could snap. You couldn’t trust a dog any more than you could trust a person but I knew in my heart that Layla wouldn’t hurt a child. She was good and she was kind, if goodness and kindness were ways to describe an animal. “Did Frank tell she took a disliking to him?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I was sure Frank had told her; it was the kind of thing he’d call her up to tell her. My image of him as a nice bland man, a dull and sober man, had really taken a hit.
Maxine wasn’t going to let me off the hook. I’d known a number of people like her in my lifetime, the kind of formerly messed-up person who had gotten herself straightened out and led such a rigid and orderly existence that her only pleasure came from judging others. She genuinely seemed pleased by the situation because it confirmed her choices and place in the world. While the rest of us spun out of control, Maxine would do everything correctly, check off all the boxes. She was more of a grown-up than I’d ever been, would ever be, and I both hated and loved her for it.
“Laurel, honey, say goodbye to Grandpa. We need to pick up the ham and get home.”
“I don’t like ham,” Laurel said.
“You like ham,” Maxine said. “She’s in her contrary phase, as you can see.”
“I like chicken nuggets,” Laurel said.
“Don’t say that again,” Maxine said.
“Do you know what contrary means?” I asked, kneeling down so I could look my granddaughter in the eye. She had a frenzied look about her, her eyes unfocused.
“Give your grandfather a kiss,” Maxine said, and Laurel refused, and then Maxine and I shrugged and said goodbye.
Once the door closed behind them, I felt disoriented, flushed. I wanted to run screaming from all the women, go someplace where there were no women at all. I needed to check my blood sugar, which was something I was supposed to do every morning but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d pricked myself and I still hadn’t been by Walgreens to pick up my medication. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I check my blood sugar every once in a while, take a few pills after my morning bacon and toast? There was nothing so hard about it, and yet I couldn’t seem to do it, couldn’t provide the most basic amount of care for myself.
Sasha came out of her room without the blanket and sat on the couch like a normal person. Crossed her legs, even. I felt like I was supposed to apologize but I was done apologizing. “I should have gotten you out of here for that,” I said. “Maxine is difficult, always has been.”
“She didn’t seem difficult, she seemed nice. She’s very pretty, and your granddaughter, too. They don’t look anything like you, though.”
“We’re one of those families that don’t look alike. Ellen and I come from the same kind. You should have seen my brother.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Handsome. Like a movie star, like a goddamn movie star.”
“Where is he?”
“He died in the war. It was a long time ago.”
“Which one?”
“Vietnam. He had the chin and everything. He had a little—what do they call it?—a cleft. A butt chin I used to tease him. Actually I never teased him, he would have beaten my ass, but I thought ‘butt chin’ whenever I looked at him. I would’ve killed for one.”
“I’d like to see a picture.”
“I have one somewhere,” I said. There weren’t any pictures on the walls or on the tables: no black-and-white photographs of my great grandparents, Laurel holding an Easter basket or on Santa’s lap. And there certainly weren’t any of my brother. I imagined hanging a picture of him in his uniform next to the window in the kitchen where I would be forced to look at him every day.
“Does Maxine have a limp?” Sasha asked. “It seemed like she was limping.”
“She was in a car accident a long time ago. I hardly notice it anymore.” This was an opening to ask about her scar—had she been in an accident as well?—but I didn’t have the energy for it, or didn’t care any longer. “I think I’ll go lie down for a while,” I said. “I put a key on the counter if you and Layla want to get out of the house, go for a walk.”
She told me to take a nap, to take a nice long nap, said she’d fix me something good for dinner.
I went to my room and closed the door. I hoped she’d take the dog and leave, leave me there where I could be alone, where I knew what to expect. She was going to take Layla at some point and go back to Harry Davidson so it was better if we just got it all over with. I felt done, done with it all. And if I hadn’t known before, it was clear what Maxine and Frank and Ellen had to tell me, why the lawyer wasn’t calling me back. The lawyer was in no hurry to tell me what I hadn’t inherited, what my father had not left me. Even on his deathbed he thought I should live as if I wouldn’t inherit a dime, wanted me to pull myself up by my bootstraps, be a man. It was easy for people who had been given everything to expect others to make their own way.
CHAPTER 12
THAT EVENING WE sat down to a meal of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and steamed broccoli. Sasha had her hair in a ponytail, was wearing her short shorts and a Rolling Stones T-shirt with that horrible enormous red tongue. She poured me a glass of wine and told me to dig in.
“I found the wine in your pantry. It was behind a bunch of stuff so I hope it wasn’t special.”
“It’s not special. This looks great,” I said. The wine was an anniversary gift from Maxine and must’ve cost at least fifty dollars, a bottle Ellen had been saving for a special occasion that hadn’t come. I thought about the last time I’d prayed before sitting down to a meal and wanted to suggest it, but Sasha was already eating.
“Most of the time I serve green beans with this dish but I like broccoli better. Harry preferred beans.”
“I like broccoli,” I said. “It’s a fine choice. And you were being modest—you didn’t mention that you could make mashed potatoes and vegetables. You can do all sorts of things.”
The food was surprisingly good and I was feeling better. While we ate, it started to storm and Layla, who’d been underfoot, slunk back to the windowless guest bathroom to hunker down as though she knew it was the safest place in the house. It was where Ellen and Maxine had taken refuge during hurricanes. I’d settle them into the bathroom with pillows and snacks and a hand-crank radio, a sink full of ice and a bathtub full of water, and brave the storm alone in the rest of the house, feeling like a king. Untouchable. Daring the wind to tear the house apart plank by plank and brick by brick. There had been occasions when the storm had taken me up on it, once sending a tree down on top of the garage.
“Maybe I should go check on her,” I said as I took another bite. It really was good.
“She’s fine,” she said. “What a baby, such a baby.”
“I had her out the other day and there was a loud crack of thunder and she just turned around and walked me right back to the house.”
“That one was a real gully washer,” she said.
“It was,” I agreed.
After that, she told me about her trip to the grocery store, which didn’t seem remarkable in the least. In the soup aisle, two old men talked about soup, recommending soups to each other. She was still able to hear them from one aisle over! In the checkout lane, a lady cut in front of her and instead of getting angry or saying something rude she’d just let the woman go ahead. She reported that the dog had done all of her business. And then she touched my leg and I was so surprised my knee knocked the underside of the table.
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
She looked at me like she didn’t know what I was talking about and then got up and started removing things from the table. I was still working on the potatoes but she took my plate, too.
“A m
an phoned while you were resting,” she said. “Somebody called Lucky. I wrote down his number.”
“What’d he say?”
“Just his name and number.” She showed me her palm, the blurry numbers in blue ink stretched across it.
“I have his information,” I said. “That’s the lawyer who’s dealing with my father’s estate.” Estate sounded so fancy. I liked saying it. Estate, I thought. My father’s estate. I should enjoy it while I had the chance.
“Are you going to inherit a lot of money?” she asked, and turned the water off. I supposed I didn’t look like the kind of man who would be coming into an inheritance, didn’t live in the kind of house or drive the kind of car. My shirt had been washed but the barbeque stains hadn’t come out.
“It’s possible he’s left it all to Maxine.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You must have some idea.”
“Why do people do any of the things they do? Perhaps he wanted to leave me one last surprise. That would be enough reason for him.”
“People like to surprise you,” she said, “it’s true.”
We settled into the den to watch TV, back in our usual spots. She held Layla like a baby, her piggish stomach exposed, pink with brown splotches. Layla didn’t protest, but she’d shoot me the occasional glance as though she would appreciate my help. The movie we hadn’t finished was back on, the one with the virus. I’d lost track of what was happening and who was who because she’d apparently watched some of it without me. They were still yelling and running around. I closed my eyes, opened them. I liked all of the running and yelling.
“We should go to the beach tomorrow,” she said. “I’d like to get some sun. And after that maybe we could go to the casino and eat crab legs, play the slots.”
“I could do those things,” I said, though I didn’t know how I’d pay for them.
She talked at the TV, trying to assist the characters, telling them which way to run and when to look out, advising them that so-and-so was now working against them, for the other side. She wondered where they were using the bathroom, the last time they’d had anything to eat or drink. I wondered those things, too, but told her the show was only so long and they had to cut that stuff out, or it would only be important if, for instance, someone was starving to death or had to piss so badly they messed themselves, but those things never happened, which was how it differed from real life. I felt like I was teaching myself by way of teaching her. And I appreciated her interactions with simulated worlds, was reminded of how she’d propelled her entire body forward to help the retarded guy land his jumps.
When it was over, she promptly fell asleep, so I took Layla out for a walk.
It was dark and clear and the stars were out. I let the dog stop and sniff wherever she wanted to stop and sniff instead of jerking her along. There weren’t any cars around so I unhooked her leash and then took her collar off because one of the neighbor ladies said she’d gotten a ticket for having her dog off-leash. She said I’d get a ticket, too, if I wasn’t careful. If anyone tried to give me a ticket I’d tell them she’d seen a squirrel and slipped her collar. I’d act frantic, ask for help. I felt downright clever and was feeling fine about everything but then I started to worry again. I knew exactly how much money I had in my accounts and it wasn’t enough; it was nowhere near enough. I couldn’t afford to pay a fine for such a goddamn stupid thing. I couldn’t afford to take Sasha to play the slots and eat crab legs and I wondered if she’d have mentioned the gambling and the crabs if the lawyer hadn’t called, if I hadn’t told her about the thing I shouldn’t have told her about.
The next morning, over coffee, the bird banging into one window and then flying around the house to bang into another, I called the lawyer. I was afraid of the lawyer as well as everyone associated with the lawyer and the law. They had done their jobs of convincing me of their importance. I took great big gulps of coffee to try and steel myself.
The secretary surprised me with her friendliness, asked how I was doing, said she hoped I was enjoying this beautiful weather before putting me through to Lucky. I imagined every morning she was given a sheet of paper with a list of names alongside a bunch of acronyms with meanings that only she could decipher: whether to take a message or put a client through, how friendly or cold she should be.
While the lawyer was going through his own set of pleasantries, I interrupted him to ask if the old man had left it all to Maxine.
“No, but I’d like to sit down with you and go through everything. Are you free this afternoon? Could you come in around one o’clock?”
“That should be fine,” I said.
“Good, I look forward to it.”
He was a good-natured son of a bitch, or that was the act he played. I supposed he had no other choice with a name like Lucky. When I first met him I’d asked about it and he’d said his mother couldn’t get pregnant—all of the doctors had said so—and then he’d come along; he’d been called Lucky since he was in the womb. This disclosure, with its talk of wombs and pregnancies, had embarrassed me, and I’d disliked him for it.
I wanted to go to the beach. It was a nice day and I wanted nothing more than to take the dog to the beach before I died, and I wanted to do it as a potentially rich man, to continue living as though I might be a rich man while I looked out at the water with Layla, let her go for a swim—all I had to do was put on my shoes and get in the car—but I continued to sit and listen to the bird run headlong into the window, drink cup after cup of coffee. Sasha had yet to emerge and I could feel a dark force behind the door, a brooding energy, same as teenage Maxine.
- - -
I ATE a piece of toast and left a bed-headed Sasha and Layla bundled up on the couch, drove to the lawyer’s office. The firm was one my father had been with for years, but since old Mr. Veach and his unfortunate toothpick accident, I’d been passed off to this young guy who wore funny glasses and had a shuffling, falsely humble way about him that made him seem even younger.
The secretary, who wasn’t pretty, wasn’t what I thought a secretary at a good law firm should look like, stood to greet me and asked if I cared for anything to drink.
“No thank you,” I said, though I would have liked some water. My first response was to say no and I generally regretted it, but I’d already had too much coffee. I held out my hand to watch it shake.
“He’s on a call but it shouldn’t be long.” She smiled and returned to her desk. I waited. These people always made you wait. I pictured Lucky in his office, eating salted peanuts and texting his girlfriend, shifting the power dynamic in his favor while I flipped through an issue of Garden & Gun. What a goddamn stupid name that was for a magazine. I read an article called “Good Dog,” which was about a man who’d adopted a puppy after his son fell off a cliff in Italy, but then the puppy died in the third paragraph. This was what passed for literature these days, apparently.
“Actually, I am a bit thirsty,” I said.
I watched the secretary type for a few seconds too long before looking at me in an irritated manner, which she immediately corrected, but only after she was sure I’d noticed, and then that same bland smile. She had a large mole on her face that was hard to look at but also the kind of thing you wanted to stare at all day. I berated myself for disliking her for something she had no control over—the mole, her thick legs. So many thick-legged women in the world. . . . She could have had the mole removed, though. It seemed like the sort of mole removal that insurance would cover. You’d tell the doctor it had grown in size, that it was suspiciously shaped. Any doctor could see it was suspicious. She could also lose thirty pounds, go to the gym a few times a week. Do it after work, or before work in the morning. I couldn’t imagine her social calendar was full.
She brought me a bottle of water that was so cold it was dripping, as if it had been in an ice chest. It dripped all over my pants.
“Thank you,” I said, getting a good look at the
mole up close. I bet she constantly had to pluck hairs out of it. What was it about moles that made hair so eager to grow in them? I had a lot of questions and no answers. There never were any answers. The fact that I hadn’t been named executor of the will should have been all I needed to know from the beginning. Ellen was the executor. Ellen, who had left me, who wasn’t blood related and was no longer a part of my life, was the executor of my father’s will. She had always been close to him, though, and nearly all interactions between the two of us had gone through her. She was the one he’d loved, not me. He would have married her if he could’ve. Of this I was certain. Instead, she became his daughter. He called her daughter and she called him dad. She’d kissed his cheeks, would sit with him for hours watching golf or the news, would cater to him in a way I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to.
It had been so easy between the two of them.
By the time Lucky came to get me my pants were dry. I sat across from him in his office full of leather furniture, a bookcase, pictures of things like tractors in fields and sunsets that were suspiciously like the ones Frank painted. I’d liked old Mr. Veach, who’d had taxidermy all over his office, not only on the walls but on the tables, too, animals I couldn’t even name. They had shown how rich and successful he was—he could go to foreign places and kill foreign beasts. He wasn’t afraid to make a statement, wasn’t afraid to decorate his office with things that might offend people. Lucky was emblematic of young people today, who were scared to be anything but ordinary and safe. I’d heard some teenagers weren’t even getting their driver’s licenses but made their parents take them everywhere and they weren’t even embarrassed about it.
“Give it to me straight,” I said. “I can’t take any more of this runaround.”
“We’ll get right down to it, then, Mr. McDonald,” he said, presenting me with a document that must have been fifty pages long. “There’s good news and there’s bad news.”