Evenfall

by Liz Michalski

  But of course she does. She remembers exactly what she was thinking the day she walked by and saw a small, helpless form scrabbling along the sides of the creek bank. She pours the cat a saucer of milk. She takes a few deep breaths, letting the smell of the lavender from the open window revive her. And then she picks up the phone.

  Her first call is to Fritz Kneeland. Until he retired from the position last April, Fritz served as the town’s counsel, handling the rare legal issues that cropped up, as well as his own busy law practice. He’s a handsome man, with a full glossy head of white hair. Gert suspects he has a soft spot for her. Just a few weeks ago during Sunday service she caught him casting a sidelong glance at her legs as he slid into the pew next to her. And while Gert’s made it a point in life not to rely on her feminine assets, this is no time to be sanctimonious.

  She explains the situation to him as best she can.

  “Hmmm,” he says. “I believe I might have caught a whiff of that down at town hall.” They discuss options for a bit. Gert would like murder to be among them, but Kneeland talks her out of it. For now.

  “What you want is to put the fear of God into your brother,” he says. “I believe I have just the thing.”

  Kneeland’s grandson, it turns out, is a professor at Yale and something of a celebrity. In his spare time he consults for CNN on family law, and he’s written several bestsellers on the subject.

  “Here’s his number,” Kneeland tells her. “Tell him you’re a friend of his granddad’s, and he’ll get right back to you.”

  To Kneeland’s credit, he does. Gert’s no sooner hung up the phone after leaving a message than the grandson’s calling her back. He introduces himself, listens carefully as Gert talks, and doesn’t interrupt once.

  “Well,” Leroy Kneeland says as she finishes. “That does sound like a problem. But the only way I can see it really working is if they declare you incompetent. Now, have you given them any reason to…errr…doubt your mental capabilities?”

  There’s a long pause as Gert reviews the events of the last few months, lingering longest on the goats inhabiting her back pasture.

  “Possibly,” she concedes. “But nothing I can’t explain.”

  “And do you have other relatives or friends who might be willing to vouch for your mental acuity? Aside, of course, from my grandfather?”

  Gert certainly hopes so, but today she’s not sure of anything. They talk for a bit more, discussing strategy and plans, finally deciding on what Leroy terms “strategic escalation.” She gives him her brother’s phone number and thanks him. When she asks after his fee, he waves her off. “If this doesn’t work and we have to go to the next level, then we’ll talk. Right now though, it’s a pleasure to help someone my grandfather thinks so highly of. The old guy has had a rough time of it since my grandma died,” he says. As they hang up Gert makes a mental note to wear her blue dress, the one that best shows off her legs, and to sit beside Kneeland next Sunday.

  Leroy promised to call her brother immediately, but Gert still waits a half an hour. She finds a Brillo Pad and gives the sink a good scrubbing, using a cotton swab and bleach to get into the cracks around the counter. When she puts so much pressure on the swab it bends into a vee, she realizes how furious she’s become. She puts her cleaning tools away, turns on the faucet, and runs cool water over her wrists.

  When enough time has passed, she dials her brother’s number. The phone rings and rings, and finally Richard’s voice comes on. It’s a recording, asking her to leave a message. Gert does, the one she and Leroy had agreed upon, that essentially suggests Richard stop his infernal meddling or face his sister in a court of law.

  But she’s not satisfied. She paces the small living room, back and forth, like she’s seen the cat do when she’s confined it inside on cold winter nights. It strikes her that somewhere in the house she has Richard’s cell phone number. He’d given it to her in case of emergency, sometime last year when Frank was dying, although it was clear he’d be of no use when the actual emergency came. She tears the house apart, looking for the scrap of paper he’d scribbled it on, and finally finds it pressed neatly inside her address book. She dials, gets a recording, hangs up, waits fifteen minutes, then dials again and gets the same message. She does this twice more before she remembers that on the newer phones you can see the number of the caller without answering. She calls Richard’s cell again and this time leaves a not-so-carefully-worded message suggesting her little brother check his voice mail at home and then call her. She hangs up emphatically.

  It doesn’t take long. Within twenty minutes her phone is ringing. She picks it up and waits.

  “Gertie?” a voice says. “Are you there?”

  “Don’t you Gertie me,” she snaps, and once she’s started it’s difficult to stop. Ever since this morning, when Walter called her into his office, she’s been plagued with a self-doubt that’s foreign to her. She wonders if this is how her niece lives, if the uncertainty she’d felt when she’d glimpsed her own face in the mirror is something Andie encounters every day. She lays into her brother with a fury.

  “But you’re forgetting, Gertie,” he says, when she stops to draw breath. His voice is cool. “You’ve always forgotten, the lot of you. Andie’s my daughter. By selling Evenfall, I’m doing what’s best for her. What Frank would have wanted.”

  Spoken by her brother, the words are as much an untruth as anything else he’s said, but still they give Gert pause. She stands by the kitchen door, twining the phone cord through her fingers, and wonders just exactly what it is that Frank wanted.

  She knows about loss. She knows what it’s like to stand close enough to touch your heart’s desire, to stand there day after day, and not be able to reach it, to take what’s yours. To search, every day, for the place you belong. Richard had that place, but he walked away. She can see clearly the part she played in making that happen, but the final decision was his.

  For all those years she and Frank performed a careful dance, with Andie at their center. To raise the dust on their past, to cross the line, could have cost everything. She’d not been willing to take that chance, and she’d assumed he hadn’t either. Now she wonders if she’s been wrong. Perhaps Frank hadn’t seen Evenfall as a burden from which to shield Andie, but as a gift. A gift he’d left to her.

  The cat rubs against her legs and she scoops it up, burying her nose in its fur. It smells of lavender. It occurs to her that she’d turned down Evenfall once before. To do so twice would be ungracious.

  “Gert?” Richard says. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” she says. She takes a breath. “I am. I intend to be for quite some time.” And then she tells her little brother what she should have said years ago, the one phrase she knows for certain of which Frank would approve. She tells him to go to hell.

  A storm’s coming, but still she chooses to walk the path through the woods instead of driving. The leaves rustle, showing their silvery undersides in the wind. When she reaches the big house the sun is setting, and the clouds rushing in are as black as the coming night. It’s amazing, really, how seeing the house as a gift changes its appearance. The lights are on in the living room, and the house glows like a sentinel against the darkening sky. Still, walking up the front path, she shivers, though whether from the cooling air or what’s to come, she can’t tell.

  The front door is ajar, and Gert knocks before pushing it all the way open. “Hello?” she calls, but no one answers. She pauses, listening. Voices are coming from the living room, so she sets off down the hall.

  When she looks in she sees Cort and Andie standing in front of the fireplace. If Gert had to guess, she’d say that until a few minutes ago they’d been doing more than talking. Andie’s lips are swollen and her hair is half out of its ponytail, curling loose around her face. Cort’s shirt is wrinkled and he’s got a look in his eye Gert’s never seen there before. Well, she thinks, it’s about time.

  Neal’s standing in front of them, his back
to Gert, and it’s his voice that’s the loudest. The dog twines between the three of them, whining, brown eyes glancing at Gert as if to ask for help. Aside from Nina, none of them have noticed her yet, so she stands in the doorway, waiting and listening.

  “Look, I fucked up,” Neal’s saying. He paces in front of the two of them. “I made a mistake in Italy, I told you that. But this is how you try to get back at me?”

  Andie raises her hand. “Stop it,” she says. “This isn’t about us. Just answer the question. Is it true?”

  Neal stops his pacing and turns to face them. “You’re going to believe your teenaged farm boy over me?”

  “Just answer me, Neal.”

  “Fine. Yes, your father asked me to give him a hand, and I put him in touch with a couple of developers I know. That’s one of the reasons I came down here, okay?” Neal pats his breast pocket, pulls out his cigarette case, and takes out a cigarette. The wind is picking up outside. Gert can feel the breeze through the open window. It lifts the hair on her neck, tickling like a caress. It takes Neal three tries to light his cigarette. He snaps the lighter shut, and Gert sees his hand is shaking.

  “And yes, I took a couple of things to the antiques dealer, just to get some prices. Like you told me I could. And yes, I may have sold a few of them while I was there. So sue me. I’ve been doing it all for you. For us.”

  In a strange way, Gert can follow his logic, twisted as it. You cannot steal what you already own. As far as Neal seems to be concerned, Andie is his, as is all that comes with her.

  He takes another pull on the cigarette. “You don’t belong here. It’s the ends of the earth. You’ve told me so yourself.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Andie says, just as Gert clears her throat. The three see her for the first time. She steps into the room. There’s an awkward silence, broken only by the roll of thunder. The storm is here.

  “Perhaps I can help answer. I’ve spoken to my brother,” Gert says, looking directly at Neal. “He admits he was a bit…misguided in his pursuit of Evenfall. My lawyer has convinced him to drop his efforts, and I strongly suggest you do the same.”

  Rain pounds against the house, hitting the windows like bullets. The house creaks like a ship, the wind swelling and breaking against it. The lights blink off for a second, then come back on with a buzz.

  “Look,” Neal says, turning to Andie. “Maybe I misspoke a little. I didn’t mean to offend anyone. The house isn’t the point, after all. The point is you and me.”

  The dog is growling, low, deep growls that Gert feels in the pit of her stomach. Lightning hits somewhere outside and the whole house shakes.

  “There is no you and me. Not anymore,” Andie says.

  “C’mon, babe,” he says. He sounds incredulous. “You’re going to throw away three years together for a one-night stand? For this?” He points to Cort, who looks to Gert as if he’s more than willing to break the offending finger.

  “You heard her,” Cort says, but Andie speaks over him.

  “No,” she says, and a small sigh of relief escapes from Neal. Gert finds she can’t bear to look at Cort. She watches his feet, instead. He’s wearing yellow work boots. One lace is partially untied, but it doesn’t matter. He’s standing absolutely still.

  “No,” her niece says again. Neal crosses the room to her, but before he can reach her, Andie takes a step back. She gestures to the room and all that’s in it, and Gert sees that the gesture includes herself and the boy. Possibly the dog as well. “For this. For all of it.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Neal says. “C’mon, Andie. Don’t do this.”

  “You don’t have to know,” Andie says. “It’s enough that I do. But I want you to pack up. I’ll spend tonight at the cottage, and I want you gone in the morning.”

  “Well, what if I’m not?” he asks. “What if I need more time?” A spoiled child, Gert thinks. Someone had a hard time saying no to this one, early, when it counted.

  The dog cocks its head, as if listening, and then bares its teeth at Neal, backing him toward the door.

  “Jesus Christ,” he says. “Call it off.”

  Cort’s making no move to restrain the beast, so Gert gives him a look. The last thing they need is a lawsuit by this fool. Cort catches the look, gives her a can’t-blame-me-for-trying shrug back and reaches for the dog.

  “That’ll do, girl,” he says, but before his hand connects with the collar the dog lunges. Neal jerks back and there’s the sound of fabric ripping. Neal’s pants pocket tears open and a faded gray piece of cloth falls onto the floor. The dog releases its hold.

  “Jesus Christ. Did you see that? The fucking mutt attacked me.”

  He bends to pick up the cloth, but the dog growls again, and he backs away. Cort muscles the dog out the door and down the hall. Andie scoops up the material, and as she does so something falls out of its folds. It hits the ground with a clink and rolls across the room to Gert.

  It’s a thin silver ring, and it spins in place a few times before falling to a stop in front of her. She can feel waves of energy pulsating off of it. She stares at it as if it’s a snake, as if it’s something dangerous and sharp instead of what it is, a man’s declaration of love. She makes no move to pick it up. Her heart is beating too fast. The room is spinning a bit. She concentrates on Andie’s face, on her cool blue eyes, and the world slowly comes back into focus.

  Andie’s still holding the piece of cloth, bunched in her hands. Gert takes it from her niece and unfolds it. It’s an ancient handkerchief with a large, scripted W on the front.

  “W,” Gert murmurs. “For Wildermuth.” She brings the cloth to her nose. It smells of dust, of age, and faintly, of lavender. There’s an ancient streak of mud along one side.

  Cort’s come back to stand by Gert. He picks up the ring and holds it up to the light.

  “There’s initials here,” he says. “Initials and some writing.” He turns the ring, peering at the inscription. “A.W. to E.W. The rest is in a foreign language. French, maybe.”

  The wind hammers against the house and somewhere, an impossibly long ways off, a door bangs. To Gert, it sounds as if it’s coming from the attic. If she breathes deeply, she thinks she can smell the sea.

  “I want you out of here,” Andie says to Neal. “Right now.”

  “What?” he says. “Over that piece of junk? I found it in the attic yesterday. I’ve been holding on to it to give to you, but the timing just hasn’t been right. If I made a mistake, I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Classy,” Cort says. “Give the girl a ring she already owns.”

  Andie ignores him. “I’m the one who made the mistake,” she says. “Out. Now.”

  Neal moves toward her, and Cort steps in between them. Neal eyes him for a moment, then shrugs. “Fine. Have it your way. But I’m telling you now, this is it. I’m not chasing after you again.”

  “Surprisingly enough, I’m okay with that,” Andie says.

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see what you say when you’ve calmed down,” he says. He tosses his cigarette into the fireplace, then crosses the room to the hall. Gert hears the front door open, a soft thud as it closes behind him. She turns to Andie.

  “I think I’ll sit down,” she says, and then she makes her decision. “There’s more, Andrea. Perhaps you should sit as well.”

  It happens quickly. Her niece takes her arm, and they are just settling on the sofa when the air crackles blue. The clap of thunder is immediate, so loud Gert’s ears ring. She can’t hear. Her hair is standing on end, she can feel it, and when she looks at Cort his hair is the same way.

  There’s an acrid smell, a metallic tang on her tongue. Lightning must have struck the house. Blue flames dance in the fireplace. They ought to leave, but when she tries to move she can’t stand up.

  “Aunt Gert? Aunt Gert? Wake up. We have to go. The house is on fire,” Andie is saying. Gert opens her eyes.

  “Frank,” she says.


  “She’s stunned,” Cort says. “I’ll carry her.” He bends, lifts her easily. But when he scoops her up and tries to walk, he stumbles, for just a second, over his unlaced boot. The ring slips from his hand, sails through the air and into Gert’s lap. She clutches it. The metal is warm to the touch, and for just a moment the might-have-beens of her own life swirl in front of her, as real and hard as diamonds. She could reach out and touch them, pluck them from the flame—the child, the house, the warm presence at the end of every day. It’s Frank’s face in the fire, and she can hear every word he says, see the images as clear as photos. A good life, he says. It would have been a good life.

  He shows her that day at the creek, but this time it is different, the way it should have been. He’s taken the ring from his pocket. She’s holding it in her hands. All she has to do is say yes, and everything will be different. She tries to fit the ring over her finger, but it won’t go.

  Somewhere in the distance an engine starts up. There’s the rev of the motor, the whine of the accelerator. The ring slips from Gert’s fingers. Andie bends to pick it up. There’s a thunk and a screech of brakes. A dreadful silence, a howl that shakes the beams of the house, and then the flames lick higher, almost to the ceiling. They spread around the room.

  “Yes,” Gert says to the face in the flame. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  But the face can’t hear her. Cort is carrying her away toward the door. Someone is calling to her, but she can’t make out the words. She looks back at Andie. “My ring,” she says.

  “I have it.” Andie holds up her hand. The ring slides easily over Andie’s finger, sparkling in the firelight. “See?” And then they are outside. Someone else—her sister, perhaps—might have struggled to save the photographs, a quilt, Andie’s baby blanket. But Gert, who is buttressed between Cort and Andie, knows that what matters can’t be destroyed. Gert simply watches it all burn.

  GERT, I call to her from the flames that lick the attic. Gert. I think she hears. But then that damn fool hits my dog, and the ring slides over my niece’s finger. Andie will call the fire department. Cort will call the vet. But by the time they get here, we’ll both be gone.