I look down and am surprised to see blood all over me. The driveway is bloody. And I saw blood hit the sand on the beach to form an awful paste.
I try not to add it all up.
Fritz sounds calm, but he looks pale and near frozen with his shirt off. I wonder if he’s adding up all that blood, too.
When I’ve finished changing, I hear Fritz talking to Uncle Max upstairs, trying to reassure him. I hear enough to know that he watched the drama unfold.
“You’d better come up a minute,” Fritz says. “The old man wants to make sure you’re all right.”
Uncle Max is slumped in his chair. He looks like hell, like he partied last night and every night of his life, and it all just caught up with him. His hair is messy and stands on end.
“You’re OK?” he asks, clutching my hand.
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”
“You’re OK?” he asks Fritz. He clutches his hand, too.
Fritz shocks me by bending down and kissing Uncle Max’s meringue hair.
“Of course I am,” Fritz says. He turns to me, “Are you able to drive to the hospital?”
I nod.
“I’ll stay here with Mr. Pershing, then.”
I hug Fritz tightly.
I feel like we’ve been through so much together, and we’re not done yet.
He hugs me just as close. “Call and keep us posted,” he says.
I follow Fritz’s example and kiss my Uncle Max on the top of his cotton candy head. “There’s still one slice of cake left for you,” I tell him. “Make sure Fritz serves it right.”
“He will. He does everything I ask, whether he wants to or not.”
Fritz clears his throat and goes into the kitchen. He starts to fill the teakettle.
I can tell he’s hiding tears. This past hour has been the most stressful of my entire life. I know that for Fritz, living here has been a constant challenge, not to mention what he must have gone through watching his mother die, and my dad. Now he’s saddled with me and Uncle Max. I’d hug him again, but he’s keeping his back to me. I know he wants his privacy, that he is doing his best to keep a stiff upper lip.
I remember all the blood and take a deep breath to gather strength. I grab my purse and keys and head for the door.
Pacing the hall, I think of Chaser on the beach. She ran up and whined at Jack, a dead weight in the fisherman’s arms. Then she ran off again, barking up and down the beach, as if she was asking for help or casting desperate prayers into the wind.
The nurse told me that Jack regained consciousness in the ambulance on the way over. She said they are “cautiously optimistic.”
He lost a lot of blood, though. They gave him some and sewed him up. She said they are doing a whole slew of tests, and she’ll let me know when she has more information.
I don’t think I ever saw a clock move so slowly as the clock on this waiting room wall.
Time seems to have bended in the weirdest way—I can’t believe it was only last night that Phil showed up with a ring. It took me an hour to convince him I’d never say yes before he went away again. I’d thought those minutes were painful, but I had no idea.
A nurse finally appears. “Are you Merry?”
“Yes.”
“He wanted me to let you know, if you were here, that he’s awake.”
“Of course I’m here. Can I see him?”
“In an hour or two, after we finish our tests.”
“Will he be OK?”
“I think so.”
I sit down again in a waiting room chair because my legs are very wobbly. I have never felt relief in such a physical way before. My lungs expand to let in more air, and I realize I must’ve been holding my breath.
I pull out my phone to call Fritz. I imagine him back at the house, kissing Max’s old white head.
Suddenly Fritz isn’t on my mind, but in the waiting room next to me.
“What happened? Are you OK?” I ask. He looks just awful.
“We have to hurry, Merry. The old man is fading fast. He wants to see you right away, while there’s still time.”
“Uncle Max is here? What do you mean he’s fading fast?” I ask.
Though Fritz tries to pull me, I plant my feet and wait for his answer.
“He’s dying of lung cancer, Merry. He’s the most stubborn man! He could have fought it, but when the doctors gave him his odds, he said he wanted to die on his own terms.”
“He’s dying? Right now?” I ask.
Today the big picture has been shifting violently and erratically, like a toy boat pitched into the ocean. I can’t tell where the next wave will come from, if we’ll capsize after all.
“Should we call someone?” I ask.
“Who would we call?”
“You only know him because of my father, and I only know him because he wanted to get the house…”
“Merry,” Fritz says, suddenly very tender. “We’re all he has.”
“I know he never married and had kids, but he must have friends or neighbors…I mean, someone has to care that he’s about to leave the world.”
“Only us, Merry.”
Fritz looks at me hard, like he thinks I’m on the cusp of some deep understanding, like I’m about to answer the million-dollar question on a game show.
“What?” I ask.
“Haven’t you figured it out?”
I shake my head no, but many things come back to me at once: the strangeness of the will, Uncle Max’s interest in me, his happiness at my small successes, and his seeming not to really care after a while about inheriting the house.
Fritz said he wanted to die on his own terms, which meant living at the ocean, with Fritz, and with me…
Fritz must have followed my expressions. He nods when I get to the end.
He puts out his hand and I take it. Together we head toward the dying man—my father—whom I barely know, but also love so much that my heart might burst.
A man who only has Fritz and me in all the world.
Chapter Twenty-One
IN WHICH FRITZ IS RENDERED SPEECHLESS
As told by Fritz Forth, man of property
Perhaps after all that I’ve been through in the past year, nothing should surprise me. But Mr. Pershing could pull a live elephant from his chest pocket, or belch “God Save the Queen” in perfect pitch, and I wouldn’t be as surprised as I am by what he’s doing now.
He is being frank. He’s simply telling the truth. I have never seen him behave so shockingly out of character.
He is talking straight to Merry, as if he has always been capable of doing so, as if after seventy-five years of lying through his teeth as often as not, he suddenly finds it very tiresome and decides not to bother with it anymore.
He shrugged his shoulders at me, as if to say, why not? He tossed aside his Max persona as casually as an outdated coat.
“…so I invented a brother. Max is actually short for my middle name: Claude Maxwell Pershing is what I was called at my christening.”
The old man laughs a little, like he thinks he’s incredibly clever. Merry sits in a chair beside his bed and continues to listen to him, holding his hand and smiling through her silent tears when he says something she’s supposed to think is funny. I marvel at her ability to put up with other people’s nonsense without pointing out how really silly and selfish they are.
“I’ve been a cagey old bastard, haven’t I?” he asks.
Merry nods thoughtfully. “Why couldn’t you just say?” she asks.
“Oh, I didn’t know what sort of a girl you’d be. If you were a stick-in-the-mud, or pinch-faced, or dim-witted, I could have slipped away as Max. That bit was in case we didn’t hit it off. But we did! Famously.”
He coughs and she moves his Styrofoam cup of ice chips and water close enough for him to reach the straw.
“But when you realized you liked me, you could have told the truth,” she says.
“I was afraid you would get angry and leave if you knew
you’d been hoodwinked,” he says.
When someone has been strong and powerful your whole life, it hurts like hell to see him vulnerable. But Merry never knew Mr. Pershing when he was in his prime. She looks down at his withered, liver-spotted hand in her smooth, young one. She doesn’t reply. Perhaps she doesn’t want to argue with a man on his deathbed, even if he so clearly deserves it. Perhaps she doesn’t know what she would have done.
She looks up at him again. “What were all the tasks for?”
“I was trying to make up for all the influence I hadn’t been able to have on you. You know, the wisdom I hadn’t imparted and suchlike. I had Fritz to help me, and you know that fellow is cleverer than me by far.
“He went down to meet you. He played private investigator until he was able to think of exactly the right things to have you do. Things that would help you get on your own two feet, realize your potential, and all that sort of thing. Then we wrote them up as clever tasks, and I slipped in the one about Jack Morningstar when I thought of it. How did we do?”
Merry looks at me.
I’m standing against the wall, near the door. I tried to leave them alone, but they both insisted that I stay. I feel guilty. I know Merry should be angry with me, but I hope she isn’t. I hate to admit something so pathetically sappy, but I have come to regard her as a sister.
“I think you did really well,” she says. “I feel better than I ever did before, I love the catering work, and I’m so glad I got to know you, and Fritz, and Jack…” her voice weakens a bit, and Mr. Pershing pats her hand.
“What about your last task?” he asks.
Merry shakes her head. “I haven’t had any luck with it yet. Can you give me the answer?”
“I’m afraid not, my dear. The important thing is that you keep on trying to figure things out for yourself. But perhaps we ought to waive some of the original requirements of your inheritance. In the interest of time, you know. What do you think, Fritz?”
Typical Claude Pershing—setting up parameters and rules only to move or bend them as need or whim dictates. He is ashen, and his voice is getting quieter. I know he’s near the end. I try to keep my voice steady.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Pershing.”
“Good. Well done.”
He turns to Merry again.
“Of course, you get the beach house. I thought I noticed that you came to rather enjoy the place?”
Merry nods. “Very much,” she whispers.
“Oh, good. Good. You also get your money. Now don’t cry anymore, my dear. It makes your nose red.”
He kisses her hand and motions for me to come over. Merry gives me her chair and takes my place near the door, weeping quietly.
“Now you, young sir, are another story entirely,” he says. “Having had the good fortune to know you from the very beginning, I’ve had a tremendous amount of pleasure in seeing you grow into a fine, fine man. I couldn’t be more proud of you, Fritz, if you were my own son.”
His voice breaks, and I hand him a tissue to dry his tears.
I take one for myself as well.
“You must have thought me an ungrateful ass for not making provisions for you, dear boy. But now I have the satisfaction of telling you something profound.”
Mr. Pershing asks Merry to take papers from the pocket of his jacket, which is hanging on a hook behind her. She gives them to him. He hands them instantly to me.
Unfolding the papers, I see a copy of the deed to the London house. It has been transferred to my name.
“If I had more to give, I would give you more,” Mr. Pershing says in a broken whisper.
In a world full of them, I find that there are no words to express how I feel.
There is a second page behind the deed. It is handwritten.
“Oh, you found the last task,” the old man says. “Don’t read it now! It’s for the two of you to complete together. I thought it up by myself, and I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s quite ingenious. Don’t read it now, you know. Save it for another day. I’m so tired, I really must nap.”
“Merry…” He reaches for her, and she takes his hand. “We heard from one of our nurses that my friend, the handsome widower, will recover. I’m glad for it. Go and see him and give him my regards. Take Fritz along. Go now.”
He takes my hand once again before waving us away with a force of will that leaves us no choice but to do as he says.
I cast one last look over my shoulder to see him lean back heavily on his pillow.
“I think he’ll get better,” Merry says as we make our way down the hall. “He was able to talk so much and everything. He doesn’t seem like he’s about to die. Who told you he was, Fritz?”
“Many doctors have told us, both in London and here, Merry. I had tried to talk him into going back to London for an experimental treatment, but he wanted to meet you instead. I know he made the right choice.”
I do. Though I hated to stand helplessly by and watch him grow weaker, I respect his choice. Several weeks of hospitals, needles, and ultimate death anyway, versus time spent at his favorite place in the world with Merry and me…I know it was an easy decision for him, and I’m immeasurably glad that he made it.
“He wanted me to be sure and tell you, if he forgot to tell you himself, that he ate his last slice of cake today. He said he never enjoyed anything so much in his life.”
“I’ll make him another cake tomorrow,” she says with that determined optimism that is her trademark.
I don’t want to break it to her, but I don’t believe there will be time for more cakes.
I’m afraid that it’s already too late.
Chapter Twenty-Two
IN WHICH THE OLD MAN GIVES A FINAL TASK, JACK RESEMBLES FRANKENSTEIN, AND BETTY ANSWERS EXPLAINS EVERYTHING
As told by Merry, who you could have knocked over with a feather
My father died on the same day that Jack was hurt, which was the same day he told me he was really my father. What a day: so sad, and so happy, and so sad.
After Claude Pershing passed, and Fritz and I had just about cried our eyes out, we remembered the handwritten paper. “What does it say?” I asked. He took it out and we both read it together.
Last Task:
Spread my ashes where you know I will want them. You two are certainly clever enough to figure it out!
I wish I could have done better by both of you and many others. I hope I did my best sometimes.
I have had the utmost pleasure in witnessing the growing admiration between you two. I know you will remain friends and be a gift to one another throughout your long lives. If either of you ever have children, I humbly suggest that you consider the name Claude. Or Maxwell, for a girl.
Sincerely and belatedly, and with all the love one can give the children of his heart, which I confess has rather staggered me,
I remain (though I really am dead this time)
Yours truly,
Claude Pershing
At sunset, if the wind is right, we plan to let his ashes free from the deck. Fritz will take what’s left to London, to bury near a tree in the backyard, which used to hold a hammock.
When Fritz talks about London, he’s like that fateful day we lost my dad: he’s both happy and sad. He’s sad when he imagines how different the house will be without “the old man,” but happy that he’ll be able to live there forever. He hasn’t told Victor yet that the grand old London house is his. He wants to tell him in person, and he also doesn’t want to steal Victor’s thunder.
Because guess what? Cryptodynamite got a record deal! Victor is coming to help Fritz pack up here just as soon as the contract is signed. Then they’ll fly off into the sunset together. Isn’t it so romantic?
I’m savoring these last days with Fritz. I will miss him something awful. But I’m glad he’ll finally get to be with the man he loves.
Speaking of lovable men, I need to tell you about Jack’s progress. When I first saw him in the hospital, I admit to thinking he look
ed a little like Frankenstein. He had so many stitches and bruises that I nearly cried at the sight of him. Well, I already was crying on account of my father, but I nearly cried a whole new set of tears because of how sore Jack looked and how much pain I was sure he was in.
But he smiled and reached out his hand to me. And I smiled, too.
It will take a while, but his bruises will fade from the deep eggplant they are now, to a green maybe a shade or two weaker than the Help Yourself color that Fritz picked out when I first came here. And then, one day, we’ll look to find that the bruises have disappeared altogether.
That day will come.
Then Jack will only have tiny railroad track scars where the stitches are now. They won’t bother me a bit, although Fritz might still sometimes hum the theme from Beauty and the Beast to try and get my goat. I’m so grateful that Jack is alive and all right, I can’t even say.
“I have an idea about that third task,” I tell Fritz after a dinner for two that he helped me make. He wrote out instructions on an index card so that he can recreate it for Victor.
“You do?” he asks.
“Yes, sir. Aunt Betty acted so strange when I asked if she knew what my mom’s secret could be, like she knew something but didn’t want to spill it, that I’ve decided to call her on it again.”
“Are you sure you want to dig up an old secret, Merry? Remember the saying: What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”
“I don’t know if I agree with that saying. Anyway, I want the truth, even if it hurts a little.”
“Then I have no doubt you’ll find it,” Fritz says. “You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met.”
I get up and hug him before I start clearing the table.
“No, no. I’ll tidy up tonight,” he says. I suppose there’s a first time for everything!
“Then I’ll meet you back here at sunset,” I tell him.
I sit on my bed and look through the sliding glass doors at the ocean. I dial Aunt Betty at home. For the first ten minutes, she grills me on the basic facts of my recent adventure. I answer her questions because I don’t have anything to hide, and it’s sort of amazing to list all the things that have happened in such a short time. Then it’s my turn to ask questions.
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