CON MAN

by T. Torrest

  I could have just as easily told him the truth, but I wasn’t exactly feeling chummy with him right at the moment. I didn’t want to get into the whole Mia thing right then anyway. “Does it matter?”

  “No. No, I guess it doesn’t.” His eyes dropped to his feet after that. I took a seat on the leather couch next to him and adopted his same pose. “I’m really, really sorry about all this, Luke. In trying to avoid a big mess all these years, I made an even bigger one. I’d understand if you want to stay mad for a little while longer.”

  “I’m not mad, Pop.” I meant it. He’d thrown my entire world into a meat grinder, but I’d already started to forgive him. It was too hard to stay angry at the guy. “I mean, I was, of course, but I’m not now.”

  “I only wanted the best for you. I’m sorry for assuming I was it.”

  “Pop, you were. You’ve been the best father ever.” His words surprised me. My resentment was with the situation he’d created by lying to me. Falsehoods aside, our standoff didn’t have anything to do with the amazing father he’s been. “In fact, I’m glad to have the chance to thank you.”

  The old man was still beating himself up. “Thank me? For lying to you?”

  “For saving my life.”

  We let the heaviness of my statement hang in the air between us, Pop nodding his head in acceptance. Just because I’d decided to put an end to the anger didn’t mean I was ready to bury the subject, however. “I have a lot of questions, you know.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Of course you would. I’ll try to answer what I can.”

  “I guess I’m most curious about how... I mean... They just let you take me home?”

  “You had no other family to take care of you. You were slated to go to a state facility. They were going to find you a foster home until someone could adopt you. I sort of... I was able to talk them into letting me be your foster father.”

  “You greased the wheels, you mean.”

  “Yes. But it’s not like I paid them off. I just made a few sizeable donations that expedited the process. I still had to take all the classes, submit to a background check, and file the proper paperwork like any foster parent.”

  Fact was, I really didn’t want to know how much he paid for me. I decided not to dwell on the new information, and changed the subject instead.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the watch he’d been fiddling with.

  “This was your father’s.”

  He handed it over, and I immediately ran my fingertips over the engraved surface. From the look of it, it was pretty old. “It was my father’s? How did you—”

  “I didn’t let them include it during the settlement of your parents’ estate. It was one of the only things in their safe. Made me think it was something special.”

  “Shouldn’t it have gone to my grandmother?”

  “The money from the estate plus a hefty sum from my own pocket was put into an account for her. She’s being taken care of.”

  My mouth gaped. “Being? You mean she’s still alive?”

  “Probably not. To tell you the truth, I really wouldn’t know.”

  I found myself getting agitated all over again. “Well, why should you? Just throw some money at the problem and all is well, right?”

  My father dropped his head and spoke to his feet. “That’s not how it went down at all. I thought I was doing right by her. Honestly, Luke. I tried to make her as comfortable as possible.”

  “Alone.”

  “She’d be alone even if you were sitting right next to her. Apparently, she had one hell of a stroke back in the nineties, and she didn’t know who anyone was. The nurses assured me of that. Please believe me, son.”

  Believe him? After all the lies he’s told? He must have been kidding.

  “Just tell me where I can find her.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  My grandmother’s nursing home was out in Jersey. Shermer Heights, to be specific. As in, right down the street from the Shermer Heights Training Facility, the very same place I brought my clients a few times every year.

  Yeah. I know.

  The Sunshine Center was a fairly large complex which reminded me of a college campus. Small, assisted-living houses were spread out over rolling green lawns along the meandering drive until I came to the main building—a pale-yellow, Victorian-styled mansion with a large, wrap-around porch.

  I parked in a spot marked VISITOR and made my way up the porch steps. There was a line of white rocking chairs, and a few residents were outside enjoying the early fall air. I gave them a wave before heading through the doors.

  Inside was a small lobby with a reception area. There was a woman sitting at a desk behind a tall counter, partially hidden by a large fern. She stopped writing as I approached and greeted me with a smile. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for Emily Mason?”

  She slid her chair over a few inches to get a better look, regarding me with skeptical eyes. “It’s been a long time since she had any visitors.”

  Aaaand cue the guilt. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I’m uh... I’m her grandson, Luke Tag—Mason. Lucas Mason,” I corrected.

  The woman’s eyes went wide. “Lukie? Oh my goodness! I can’t believe how much you’ve grown! Look at you in your fancy suit!”

  She came around to my side of the counter to give me a hug, but stopped when I asked, “You know me?”

  Her cheery face dropped along with her arms. “It’s Gloria. Gloria Kinney. You used to come in every week with your mother and father until they... until the accident. You don’t remember me?”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could.” When all she did was continue to stare at me, I cleared my throat and explained, “My memory’s shot. That accident kinda messed up my brain.”

  I’d never had the experience of having to explain that I didn’t remember someone right to their face before. I didn’t enjoy it.

  Thankfully, though, Gloria offered me a sympathetic smile. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” She put a hand to her heart, not knowing what to say. “You know, your grandmother is here because of her memory loss, so it would seem the two of you have something in common.” She chuckled before adding, “Sorry, that was a bad joke.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. It was hard not to like this woman. I was glad such a cheerful person was taking care of my grandmother. “I’d like to see her. I’m hoping she can fill in some blanks.”

  “Of course you can see her. But Lucas, I don’t want you to get your hopes up. She can’t even fill in her own blanks.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I figured as much.” I was afraid to ask, but there was only one thing I really needed to know. “Do you think she’s... Is she happy anyway?”

  Gloria sighed heavily. “Oh, sweetheart. There are days when I think she might be. I know she’s comfortable, at least. At this point, that’s the best anyone can hope for. We give her lots of attention and she gets exemplary care.” Gloria pursed her lips for a moment before adding, “Yes. Yes, I think she’s happy.”

  That eased my mind some. If I couldn’t be the one to take care of her, at least the good people here had been.

  She gave me a pat on my shoulder before escorting me down a long hallway. The walls were painted in a soothing neutral and the lighting was muted in a soft glow. I got the impression that the entire place had been built around the concept of silence. I guess after being alive on this noisy planet for so long, the residents were entitled to a little peace.

  That was another thing I liked about this home. It wasn’t a depressing weigh-station between life and death. It was a beautiful facility, classy and understated. A fine setting for anyone to live out their final days. I was proud that my parents had chosen it.

  We reached my grandmother’s room as a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Would we recognize each other? Would the first sight of my only living relative cause my memory to come rushing back?

  Gloria must have sensed my nervousness. A knowing smil
e broke across her face as she attempted to reassure me. “I think you’re going to get along just fine.” She gave a knock on the door before opening it, and any illusions I had about an instantaneous brain-repair disappeared. The woman I was looking at was a perfect stranger. Delicate, rosy skin hung on a petite frame, gray hair styled in a simple pageboy. Nothing outstanding about her, save for the mysterious smile playing at her lips.

  She was sitting up in her bed, a knitted pink blanket across her lap, a few pillows propped behind her back. The TV was on but she was staring out the window. She almost looked... wistful.

  “Emily?” Gloria asked softly. She gave me an encouraging nudge as she added, “Emily, you have a visitor.”

  At the sound of Gloria’s voice, my grandmother looked toward us with a polite smile, and I was met with a familiar pair of brown eyes... I’d seen the same ones in my mirror every morning.

  There was no anticipated spark of recognition, though. At least not for me.

  I cleared my throat and offered a greeting. “Hi there.” I didn’t know if I should call her Grandma right off the bat. I wanted to, though.

  Before I could tell her my name, her eyes lit up. “Matthew,” she said without any hint of doubt.

  My surprise at the welcome instantly gave way to regret for having to burst her bubble. “No, Grandma. I’m Luke. Matthew’s son.” I didn’t know if she was a Grandma, a Nana, an Oma, or what, but I decided to just go for it. I’d never had a grandparent before but Grandma felt right.

  She didn’t acknowledge my correction and instead asked, “Cookies?”

  I had no idea how to handle that one and looked to Gloria for guidance. Gloria smiled and spoke for me. “Yes, Emily. Luke brought some cookies. He left them at the front desk. I’ll go get them.” She gave me another pat on my shoulder as she explained, “She’s addicted to Nilla Wafers. I’ll go grab some.”

  I was pretty freaked out about being left alone with my grandmother, but what could I do? The woman needed cookies.

  Gloria closed the door behind her and the two of us shared a silence. It wasn’t awkward. It was just... still. For all my hectic life in the city, stepping back to just be was a welcome respite. I could see how my grandmother could be happy here.

  I took a cleansing breath, trying to wrap my head around the situation. There was the slightest fruity scent permeating the room, and for one, brief second—and for the first time in my life—something seemed... familiar. I couldn’t grasp what it was, and the recollection disappeared before it ever fully materialized.

  Maybe it was wishful thinking.

  Slowly, I made my way over toward my grandmother’s bed. There was an upholstered chair nearby, so I took a seat.

  Grandma eyed me curiously. “Hello, Matthew.”

  “It’s Luke, Grandma,” I reminded her. “Matthew’s son.”

  “Yes.”

  Her certainty was clearly a defense against her embarrassment. On some small level, I think she was aware that her brain was betraying her (I knew that feeling all too well), and I felt guilty for pointing it out. Because who cared if she didn’t know who I was? I wasn’t here for me.

  I smiled warmly, an attempt to put her at ease. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time. I was only twelve the last time I saw you. I can’t expect you to remember me.”

  “Yes.”

  This was going nowhere fast. I’d already decided to stop correcting her, but I was discouraged at the thought that we wouldn’t be getting anywhere by talking in circles.

  Just then, Gloria came back with the promised cookies, asking, “So! How’s everyone doing in here?”

  I leaned back in my seat. “Getting acquainted, Gloria. Thank you.” She handed me a plate with six Nilla Wafers arranged in a circle. My grandmother didn’t even wait for them to hit the nightstand before scooping one into her mouth.

  “Slowly, Emily,” Gloria admonished. She shook her head on a smile before announcing, “Okay. I’ll leave you two be. If you need anything,” she stressed meaningfully, “there’s a call button right there on the headboard.”

  Call button was a bit of an understatement. It was a bright red emergency button that would most likely summon every able-bodied human in the entire building within seconds. The adolescent part of me had an irrational desire to push it, just for shits and giggles. “Thanks, Gloria.”

  She gave me a wink before heading out of the room once more. “No problem. Have fun, you two.”

  My grandmother must have seen me eyeing up that button, because she raised her eyebrows and said, “I push it sometimes just to scare them.”

  “What?” I asked, busting out into a laughing fit. Holy shit. My grandmother was feisty as hell!

  I waited for her to explain herself, but instead, she scarfed down another Nilla Wafer. “Cookie?” she offered, pointing to the plate.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I snickered back.

  She lost interest in the remaining cookies and turned her attention toward the television. It was a rerun of an old Let’s Make a Deal.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you,” I said to her profile. She didn’t acknowledge my comment, and I started to think she’d forgotten I was even here. Her face lit up as she began clapping excitedly, and I turned to see Monty Hall counting hundreds into a contestant’s hand.

  Correction: She didn’t forget I was here. She had no idea I was here.

  There were so many things I wanted to say to her. We’d missed out on a bunch of years together and I wanted nothing more than to make up for lost time. But I couldn’t even get a proper conversation started.

  I mentally chastised myself for my selfishness. As frustrating as her memory loss was for me, it must have been excruciating for her. Or hell. Maybe she didn’t have the self-awareness to be bothered about it at all.

  I curbed the impulse to sigh, and instead took a moment to glance around her room. “This is a nice place, right? You like it here, right?”

  “Oh sure, sure.”

  Progress. At least she was speaking to me again.

  “I noticed the walls are pink. They match your blanket. You like pink, Grandma?”

  She finally turned back toward me to answer, “My wedding dress.”

  My wedding dress was pink? Is that what she was trying to say? I figured she must have misremembered. But I wasn’t going to call her out for it. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “A pink suit. Like Jackie Kennedy.”

  I was pretty sure my grandmother had gotten married a few decades before Jackie was ever on the scene. I was trying to think of something else to talk about when she piped in with, “Do you want to see a picture? I have lots of pictures.”

  She raised an unsteady arm to point a trembling finger toward the low bookshelf behind me. There, among the porcelain knick-knacks and silk flowers... were three photo albums.

  My heart sped up as I immediately went over and pulled them off the shelf. I sat back down on the chair and put two of the books at my feet, not quite believing what I was holding. Photo albums! Why didn’t I think of that?

  With shaking hands, I opened the book on my lap. Sure enough, the first picture I saw was an aged, black-and-white shot of a very young man and woman on the front steps of a brick building. The woman was holding a bouquet of flowers... and was wearing a pale suit. Even in black and white, I could tell it was very probably pink.

  I snickered to myself. Grandma knew what she was talking about after all.

  I read the date printed along the bottom border of the photo. “April first, Nineteen-fourty-nine.”

  Grandma craned her neck toward the album, so I put it next to her on the bed. She ran a delicate finger over the man’s cheek, but didn’t say anything.

  “Do you know who that is?” I asked.

  She merely smiled in response.

  “That’s your husband, Grandma.” And my grandfather.

  “Lucas.”

  “Yes?” I answered, excited that she
remembered who I was. But when I looked at her face, her smiling eyes were still trained on the photograph, her fingers still trembling over her groom.

  My eyes went wide in tandem with my gaping jaw. “Wait. His name was Lucas?”

  She didn’t answer, and simply turned the pages. There were shots of my grandparents on their honeymoon (somewhere tropical; I couldn’t specify the location), in front of a modest ranch home (somewhere in suburbia), and at numerous parties, surrounded by friends. Grandma would smile at certain shots, but she didn’t bother explaining why she found them so endearing. I think she just liked returning the expressions on the faces of the people smiling back at her.

  It wasn’t until we reached the end of the album that we came across a colorized photo of a newborn baby. “Matthew,” she said proudly.

  I’d been wondering how if my grandmother had such terrible memory issues, she could possibly remember names and faces. But she’d probably looked through these albums hundreds of times. The names were printed right there under most of the photos anyway.

  Because the book had been arranged chronologically, I was confident the next album would bring me up to date. I practically dove for the second book, fully anticipating that I’d find what I was looking for. Sure enough, it was another chronological compilation of photos, lovingly arranged on the pages. I flipped through them, taking in the images of my father as he grew throughout the years. Little league games. Playing in the dirt. Swimming. Building a snowman. High school graduation. The older he got in the pictures, the more I could see the resemblance between us. It was eerie, staring into a stranger’s face and seeing my own.

  The third album was much larger than the other two, and I was pretty sure I knew what I’d find inside. Even still, I was almost afraid to hope. I wanted so badly for the photos inside to be of me—of my father and me, my mother and me—and the fear that they could be of anything else almost had me abandoning ship.

  I took a deep breath and opened the book.

  A wedding photo. My mother and father. My mother in a poofy, white dress. My father in a simple black tux. Standing in front of a church. Smiling. Happy.