Flyer

by J. L. Wilson

  “Yep, they’re coming on Friday. We’ll have a full house for Mom.” I hugged Jane and she returned the hug, almost squeezing the breath out of me.

  “You listen to Tom, you hear me?” she whispered into my ear. “He’s a smart boy.”

  “Too smart for his own good, sometimes.” I pulled away and kissed her again. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Just because I sound paranoid that doesn’t mean someone isn’t out to get me.” She smiled. “Isn’t that the truth, sometimes?”

  That was almost exactly what Bell had said.

  Chapter 8

  On my drive to Totts’ legal office downtown, I thought about what she said. Both Bell and my aunt seemed to think that foul play was involved in Mom’s illness. I trusted them and knew that Jane, at least, was a level-headed, calm person.

  Was there something to what they thought? How could someone have poisoned my mother? Wouldn’t the hospital discover it when she was admitted? I assumed they would do blood work and other tests, so if something odd showed up, they would be alerted, wouldn’t they?

  Maybe more to the point, why would someone do it? Mom had her heart attack on February second and her stroke just a day later, when she was still in Intensive Care. She had initially been disoriented and almost manic, then she had fallen into periods of anxiety, like panic, asking me over and over if the house was locked, if she had her keys, if the car was parked in the right location and other inconsequential questions.

  Her stroke happened when I was out of her room, taking a break and eating lunch in the hospital cafeteria. When I came back, the room was full of hospital staff around her bed, alerted by the monitors that went off when her respiration and oxygen levels changed. Her primary doctor told me it wasn’t unusual for a heart attack victim to have a stroke, but he seemed surprised by it, especially because she was recovering so well after her heart attack.

  I needed to think about that later. Right now I had a lawyer to talk to. I parked outside Totts’ office and dashed inside through the rain with the bag from the bank. The secretary ushered me to his private office and I dropped into the guest chair in front of his large oak desk.

  Ted Otts was a big man, not only overweight but big-boned. He’d been a linebacker on the football team and he still had the broad shoulders and big chest of the farm boy he’d been. “How are things going, Wendy? Everything set for the funeral?” He pulled over a fat accordion folder, the one containing Mom’s paperwork.

  “I just have to drop off some pictures and that should be done. We’ve got the music figured out, the memorial fund set up, and a couple of people volunteered to speak during the service.” I suddenly wondered if Bell would like to speak. I made a mental note to ask him when I saw him later. That reminded me. “Tom Bell is in town and we ran into Lightly at the bank. We’re all getting together tonight at Mom’s house. Can you join us?”

  “I’d like that.” Totts glanced at this desk calendar, one of the old-fashioned kinds on a spindle with a page per day. “What time?”

  “Cocktail hour. Bell is going to make pizza.”

  “Are you sure we won’t be intruding?” He folded his large, blunt-fingered hands on top of the file and regarded me over the top of his half-glasses. His face was lined from years in the sun, probably on the golf course and his skin had a coarse, papery look. Totts had always been an avid sportsman and spent every free moment he could outdoors.

  “I’d like the distraction.” I opened the plastic bag and set the papers and the jewelry boxes on the desk. “These were in the safety deposit box. Some savings bonds, a few legal papers, and some jewelry. There were some notebooks of Dad’s, too, but Bell has those. He wanted to look through them. You know how Dad was always jotting down ideas for inventions and games.”

  Totts smiled. “Your parents were so great with us kids. I remember I talked to your dad once about what I should do after graduation. I had an idea that maybe I could get into computers, but he convinced me that wasn’t for me.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Totts didn’t have the flair for math that my father, Bell, and Peter had. Odd. I’d forgotten that. Peter was something of a math savant, with the ability to solve complex equations in the blink of an eye.

  “My family wanted me to go to Iowa State and major in Agriculture,” Totts continued, “but I always thought your dad had such a cool job, being a lawyer. When I said that, he said that being a lawyer was a lot like being a game designer. You need to figure out what makes people tick then figure out how to use that to your advantage.” He grinned, small fans radiating out from the corners of his pale blue eyes. “It sounded like fun to me.”

  Odd again. I had never considered whether my father liked what he did. I suppose in many ways the Lost Boys were closer to him than I was.

  Totts’ smile faded and he started sorting through the papers. “And it gives me a chance to help people and I like that. I think you can file most of these papers. I’ll find out the values on the bonds and add it to the estate total. I doubt if the jewelry is worth much monetarily, but I’m sure they’re valuable to you for sentimental reasons if nothing else.”

  “Bell said the same thing,” I murmured.

  “Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” Totts jotted notes on the legal pad next to him. “Tom always did have a good sense for what was really important in life, like family and friends. Say, that reminds me.” He picked up a manila file folder from the In Basket on his desk and slid it across the surface to me. “This was faxed to our office today. The cover note said that I was supposed to review it, at your request, so I did.” He regarded me with a wry smile, peering over his glasses. “Looks like you’ll be coming into some money.”

  I took the folder, my face getting hot. “Bell insists on sharing the app royalties with me.”

  “Oh, he’s not sharing. He’s giving the app to you, completely. It’s only fair. The app is named for you and it’s based on your whole high school life.” Totts frowned. “In fact, you probably should have sued him a long time ago. If you’d like, we can consider that. Maybe he owes you back interest for—”

  I held up a hand. “Please. No lawsuits. What he’s doing is fair. Bell did all the work.”

  “But you provided the inspiration.” Totts smiled. “Of course, you always were Bell’s inspiration.” He returned his attention to the papers in front of him, missing my astonished look. “I’ll have a preliminary tally on the estate for you by Friday. It will be awhile before all the bills and so on are paid, so we won’t have a final summary for some months. I’m sure there’s more than enough in her investment account to pay any outstanding debts.”

  “What?” I was a joint signee on all of Mom’s accounts and the last time I checked, she only had a few thousand dollars in the bank.

  “Her investment account. She has about a hundred thousand there.”

  My mouth sagged open. “What investment account?”

  “Ah. Yes.” Totts leafed through the papers in front of him and pulled out a page filled with numbers. “Here you go. My preliminary Preliminary Estimate, I guess you could call it.”

  I skimmed over the figures on the page. By his tally, Mom had almost one-hundred-fifty thousand dollars in various accounts. “Where did she get…?” The words died on my lips. “Bell.”

  “Maybe.” Totts nodded.

  My hand holding the paper trembled so much I couldn’t read the words. “Every time I turn around, he’s involved in my life. Even in death, he’s involved.” Tears filled my eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was anger, frustration, or amazement, but I do know that if Bell had been there, I would probably have hit him.

  “He cares about your family, Wendy. He didn’t have much family of his own. This”—Totts gestured to the paper I held and the manila folder with the app information—“all of this is his way of helping his family. Let him.”

  I struggled to my feet, my knees so shaky they felt like rubber. “I guess I don’t have much choice, do I? He’s going to help m
e no matter what I do. Thanks, Totts. I’ll see you tonight. Any time after five-thirty is good.”

  “Wendy—”

  “I’ll see you later.” I left before he could offer any other defense of Bell. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it. I wasn’t sure what I felt or what I wanted except to have a chance to get away and try to put it all in perspective.

  I don’t remember walking out of the office or getting into my car, but I must have because the next thing I was aware of was driving through town, making random turns on various streets as I struggled to process what Totts said. The rain had changed to a fine mist, which matched what I was feeling: fogged and unclear about everything. Too much was happening for me to understand it.

  I remember one time when I complained to Mom about being inundated with tasks at work. “Just line ’em up and take ’em one at a time,” she advised. “You’d be surprised. Once you get one knocked off, a lot of the other ones don’t look so big.”

  She was right. I needed to take things one at a time.

  1. Bell had supported my family in the past and would be supporting me, indirectly, in the future. There was nothing I could do about either, so I crossed that off my Worry List.

  2. Bell thought Peter was still alive. There was nothing I could do about that, so I crossed it off my list.

  3. Bell thought he was in love with me. Only time would tell. Nothing to do now, so cross it off my list.

  4. I had to get organized for Mom’s funeral. Now there was something I could do.

  I turned and headed for the funeral home on the east side of town. I took the stack of pictures from Aunt Jane and the others I had brought from home and went inside, dodging raindrops. The funeral home was an old white Victorian mansion, complete with turret towers and ornate woodworking around each window. The portico over the front door was where the hearse departed for the drive to the cemetery, not far away.

  I gave the photos and the obituary to the funeral director and spent a few minutes with their media specialist, a boy who looked high school age and was probably chairman of the AV Club there. My mother had been a great fan of the Beatles, so it was decided to use The Long and Winding Road as the musical background for the slide show the boy would put together.

  “We’ve received some cards from out of town people,” the funeral director said when I was preparing to leave. He handed me a beribboned bundle of about a dozen cards. “A lot of times people will see the notice in the newspaper, but they don’t know the address of a loved one, like you. So the cards come to us.”

  “Thank you. Do you need anything else from me?”

  “No, I think that’s all we’ll need. I tucked the list of people who asked to speak in with the cards. Let me know if there are any changes you want to make.”

  What a tactful person, I thought while I hurried back to my car. Any changes I want to make. In other words, is there anybody on that list that you don’t want to speak? I shook the rain from my hair and started to drive home then I realized I had a houseful of guests coming soon. I had a fridge full of donated food, but I should stop at the grocery store and get some wine, beer, and mix. My cousins were a thirsty lot.

  By four-thirty I was home and the groceries were stowed. I tossed the stack of cards on the credenza in the dining room and busied myself with setting out glasses, silverware, plates, and a platter of chips and dip. I dished out some food for Athos and scooped his litter box then ran upstairs to my room and quickly changed into a clean pair of capris, a blue-and-green striped knit top, and sandals. I dabbed on a smidgen of makeup then came downstairs.

  I went to the small CD player in the corner of the living room and sorted through the drawer of CDs in the container under the player. Mom had an assortment of music from the Sixties and Seventies and a scattering of tunes from later than that. I pulled out a Greatest Hits compilation and it was then I saw several CDs I didn’t expect to see—Death Cab for Cutie, Coldplay, Nickleback, Duffy.

  Then I saw a CD in a jewel case with no cover, just a plain white piece of paper tucked into the case. I took out the paper and read the playlist, all written in Bell’s distinctive miniscule handwriting.

  Rolling in the Deep, by Adele; Breathe, by Anna Nalick; The Rising, by Springsteen; If Everyone Cared, by Nickleback; I Will Follow You Into the Dark, by Death Cab; True Companion, by Marc Cohen.

  There were more songs, all songs that I loved, all songs I played often. It was as if Bell put together a playlist that I would listen to, again and again.

  How did he know?

  Again, I had that feeling of epiphany, that sense of rightness. He knew because he knew me. Separated across time and distance, he knew what I would enjoy. He had put together a playlist and shared it with my mom, the other person who would hear those songs and know why they were my favorites. I wondered when he did it for her.

  I sat back on my heels, the CD in my hand. How could he have known? That playlist was so similar to the one I had on my phone. It was as though Bell spied on me and knew exactly what I loved. Then I thought about the app. It was the same thing. He had known, with unerring and unnerving accuracy, how I felt in high school, what I experienced, what I cared about and what frightened me.

  I wasn’t sure I liked knowing there was a person in the world who knew me so well.

  I spied Mom’s small digital camera, sitting on the table next to the player. With just a little bit of fumbling, I looked at the last few photographs she had taken. There was one of Bell, sitting at the lake and throwing bread to the pelicans. Someone had taken a picture of the two of them with pelicans not far away, the trees bright with autumn color.

  There was one picture of Mom that made my throat tighten. She sat on a picnic table, looking out at the lake. A pelican was on the ground near her feet, also looking at the lake as though mimicking her. She looked pensive and sad, her eyes on the distant horizon.

  Another was of the two of them, Bell with his arm around her shoulders and Mom laughing at whoever was taking the picture. There was snow on the ground and it looked like they stood near the motel where Bell had his apartment.

  Every time I turned around, Bell was in my life. I hadn’t seen him in a decade and then it was very briefly, but it felt as though he had never left. I put the CD and camera back in their places and went to the sideboard in the dining room to mix myself a drink.

  Perhaps number three on my list of things to think about would need to be re-thought. Yes, Bell thought he was in love with me.

  Was I in love with him? Or was I in denial?

  “Two pizzas, coming up,” Bell said, coming in the back door and flourishing two plastic-wrapped pans of pizza. I followed him into the kitchen to inspect his efforts. One appeared to be multi-cheese and the other had sausage, red peppers, and mushrooms. “I followed her recipe to the letter. They’re ready to go in the oven.” He set the pans on the kitchen counter and we went back to the sideboard in the dining room. “That looks good. Mix me one?”

  I splashed ginger ale and bourbon into a glass with ice and handed it to him. “Totts said he was would come over.”

  “And Dibs is coming, too.” Bell sipped his drink and peered out the side window. “I was right. That is a new reporter. I tried to talk to him earlier but he took off before I could get close. The other guys don’t know who he is.”

  I ducked under Bell’s arm and peeked outside. The dark blue sedan was parked across the street. “I thought you had a deal with them.”

  “I have a deal with the regular ones. I don’t know who this one is.” Bell stepped away from the window and looked down at the stack of sympathy cards. “If he files a story I don’t like, I’ll sue the media company he’s with, so it’s not a problem.”

  “Of course it’s a problem. I don’t want some guy following me. It’s creepy.”

  “I’ll handle it.” He held out a card to me. “Why is she sending a card?”

  “Who?” I took it and looked at the address label on the back. Sylvia Barry. “Th
ese came to the funeral home. She must have seen the death notice.”

  “Lightly said she reads the paper, remember? What does she have to say?” He sipped his drink, watching me speculatively.

  I set down my drink and opened the envelope. A simple condolence card was inside. Those we love are never gone. They live in our hearts forever. Inside she wrote, I’m sorry to hear of your mother’s passing and sorry I’ll be unable to attend her service. My sincere condolences on your loss. It was signed with a tidy and precise S Barry.

  Bell examined the envelope. “Los Olivos, California,” he murmured. “I’ve heard of that. I think it’s in the mountains, north of Santa Barbara. I wonder why she lives there.”

  “Maybe it’s cheap,” I said.

  Bell snorted. “No place in California is cheap.”

  I sipped my drink and unfolded the list of people who requested to talk at the service. One person was from Mom’s bridge club and another was the head librarian in town. “Do you want to talk at Mom’s funeral?” I asked Bell, tossing the paper on the sideboard next to the cards.

  “Do I need to reserve a spot?”

  “Not really. I think the funeral director just wants to know how long a service to plan for. I expect he and the minister time it out.”

  “Yes, I want to talk. I’ll give him a call and tell him.” Bell stared into his drink, swirling the amber liquid around in the glass. “I wasn’t able to be here when your father died.”

  “Where were you?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “I was surprised when you didn’t show up for it. I mean, granted, we had broken up just a year or two earlier, but—”

  “Two years, to be exact,” Bell corrected. “We broke up when I was twenty-one and you were nineteen. I wanted you to run off with me and you wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t exactly remember it that way. As I recall, you wanted to drop out of school and hitchhike around Europe.”

  “Yep.”

  I shook my head. “Did you do it?”

  He sipped his drink, leading the way out of the dining room and into the living room. Athos yawned and stretched elaborately, then jumped down and left the room, obviously uninterested in our conversation. Bell took a seat on the couch, avoiding Athos’ well-furred spot.