A Merric's Tale

by Margs Murray

  “Hi, Uncle.” Not wanting an awkward hug, I waved from my seat. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Uncle, what are you doing here?” Mom asked. I was thinking the same thing, and I bet Dad was too. “Are you sick? What happened? Is everything all right?”

  “Are you dying?” Dad asked a little too hopefully.

  “Matthew!” Mom said as she returned to her seat.

  I scooched over in the booth to make room for Uncle Bollard next to Grandma, but Bollard’s bodyguards had already gotten him a metal chair for the head of the table. They placed a white cloth down before Bollard sat as if the diner itself may contaminate him.

  Dad rolled his eyes at Bollard for taking the head of the table, but it wouldn’t have mattered where Great-uncle Bollard sat. Dad’s dislike for Bollard was clear. Something happened between them before I was born. Tight-lipped, Dad never mentioned the incident and instead pretended Bollard didn’t exist until the next visit.

  Mom placed her hand on Dad’s arm, politely warning him to behave. Great-uncle Bollard had done a lot for her, and Mom was grateful. He’d paid for all of Grandma’s treatments, doctor appointments, and for her night nurse. “Everything is all right, isn’t it, Uncle?”

  There was a tightness at the table as we all held our breath waiting for his answer.

  “Waverly has graduated.”

  “Yes, last week,” Mom said with a smile as she put two and two together. “You received your invitation, I hope.”

  He nodded again, and he pulled a small wrapped box from the inner pocket of his jacket. He placed the box on the table.

  “Is this for me?” I asked, picking up the box and jiggling it. It sounded as if it had a necklace inside. “Is it a family heirloom?” I always loved my gifts from Bollard. Expensive dresses, cellphones, computers. Each year, I received something awesome from him so I knew my graduation gift would be amazing. It could be keys to a car or diamonds. I unwrapped the paper and popped open the lid. I sat and stared.

  Dad leaned over the table to see the gift. “What?”

  What exactly! For the box held the last thing I would’ve expected, and it made me question my uncle’s mental health.

  I flipped the contents into my hand. Pieces of dirt and pebbles dropped onto the table. “Dirt?”

  “No, America. The real America, the America I own and run.” Bollard’s voice was as cool as ice on a winter’s pond.

  I stared at the mess of dirt in my hand. “I don’t understand.”

  “That makes two of us.” Mom picked up the empty box and searched it herself. Finding it empty, she used the box to sweep the pieces of dirt off the table and away from our now cooling breakfasts. With a shrug, she handed the box back to me. “Are you okay, Uncle?”

  “I’m here to make Waverly an offer now that she is of age.”

  I ran my finger through the dirt. “An offer to farm?”

  Uncle Bollard shook his head. “A position with my company and an opportunity to get to know me better.”

  “Testing soil?” Befuddled, I took my finger and ran it through the dirt again, and I stopped. “Wait, is this contaminated?”

  “Whoa. Wait.” Dad brushed the small remaining bits of dirt onto the floor. “A job offer? What are you talking about? Our kid just graduated high school. She still has college. We don’t even know where you work, the city or heck, even the country. I mean, what do you even do for a living?”

  “America.”

  “America isn’t a job.” Dad snickered.

  “I am one of the most important men in the country.”

  That was a bold statement. I couldn’t imagine Bill Gates or Warren Buffett saying that about themselves even if it was true.

  Bollard continued, “I am a world leader. I have seen all this world and then some. I have traveled further than any of you can imagine, and I have accomplished things you have never even dreamed of.”

  Mom and I stared at one another. I could tell we were both wondering the same thing. Had Bollard gotten sick like Grandma? Did he suffer from delusions of grandeur like his sister? A sign that perhaps this form of illness was genetic.

  Dad drummed his fingers on the table. “Funny, you’d think we’d see your name on the news then.”

  “Only if I want to be seen will I be,” Bollard told him. “I am not well known in your world.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Uncle?” Mom asked.

  “He’s fine,” Grandma said for him. Her ringing endorsement wasn’t helping.

  “My niece knows so little about me or the rest of my family. I would like to remedy that.”

  “Family. There are more in our family? Are you married? Do I have an aunt? Cousins?” I asked, for I had always longed for a larger family. My parents struggled for years to have a second child but no luck. As far as I knew, I didn’t even have third cousins twice removed.

  “Do we, Uncle? You’ve never mentioned other family members,” Mom said. “You’ve never even mentioned your parents before. Grandma and Grandpa Tripps. God, I miss them.”

  “What were they like?” I asked them all. “I wish I had met them.”

  “So, you are interested,” Bollard stated.

  “In the family—” Dad spit out.

  “Yes, I am interested in the family and their health. Like Grandma, did she always have a high temperature? She gets so hot, often over 107 degrees. That’s enough to kill a person, but it’s her normal.”

  Uncle Bollard paused before replying, “I recall she was always warm like many members in our family.”

  “Wait, so more members of the family run hot? Who? My great-grandmother? Did she get sick too? What about your dad? Aunts and uncles?”

  The corners of Great-uncle Bollard’s mouth turned upward in what was supposed to be a smile but wasn’t. He liked the question, liked that I asked it, but he didn’t answer right away. It was as if he was enjoying the moment too much, like we’d opened a secret door known only to him. “Mother always ran hot,” he said.

  “He’s lying,” Grandma spoke up. “He’s from a different earth, and he owns a castle under the ground. The woman he speaks of wasn’t my mother, and he isn’t my brother. My brother was Michael, and he died in the war. You were Mary Laurel’s uncle. You should tell the truth, Bollie. Did the Prince of France ever find his cat?”

  “Well, if he’s not your brother, perhaps we should go home,” Dad said under his breath, and both Mom and I gave him a disgusted look. This wasn’t the time or place.

  “Oh, Mother.” Mom sighed and took Grandma’s hand. “I’m sure everything is fine.”

  Grandma paid no attention to Mom and waited for Uncle Bollard to respond. When he did, he shook his head slowly, and I couldn’t tell if he was responding to the inquiry about the cat or out of pity for Grandma’s delusions.

  Grandma stared sadly at her plate. “That’s a shame. I’m sure he missed his mother.”

  “No. I’m sure the cat and mother are both fine,” Mom said. “Right, Uncle?”

  Dad, over his limit for the morning, rolled his eyes and mouthed the words, ‘Don’t encourage her’ to himself. Bowing aside, Dad believed we needed to ground Grandma in reality. To him, supporting a modern-day Prince of France hurt more than helped.

  Uncle Bollard's eyes fell on Dad and then back to Grandma. “It’s fine. Life can be cruel sometimes. Isn’t that true, my dear Helena?” The table got quiet then. I mean, as a spectator, what the heck are you supposed to say to any of that?

  “We appreciate all you have done, Uncle,” Mom said after a few tense minutes. “I don’t know what we would do without your help.”

  “Helena deserves the best,” Great-uncle Bollard said.

  “Dr. Seabury is wonderful,” Mom replied.

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on!”

  The whole table turned to me. “Sorry, it’s just—Uncle, I have to be honest with you. I don’t believe Grandma has Alzheimer’s.”

  Dad’s finger drumming grew so loud, so f
ast, it stopped me from continuing. Mom took his hand, and she whispered a bit too loudly, “Matthew, please. We’ve discussed this. It’s healthy that a teenage girl would want to advocate for a beloved family member; it's a sign of her budding independence and her journey to become a woman.”

  I cringed. My parents might as well be talking about my bowel movements; it would be less embarrassing than my budding anything.

  With his other hand, Dad picked up his coffee mug but didn’t drink. “We’ve been through all of this, kiddo,” he said, ignoring Mom. “Most of life is rather mundane, and most mysteries have plain, uneventful explanations. Things aren’t like the movies. It’s not as romantic or interesting. Life is usually exactly as it seems.”

  “Or it isn’t,” Bollard said cryptically; I looked up at him in astonishment. Did Uncle Bollard take my side? It was a little hint, a small glimmer of hope that I wasn’t alone with believing Grandma had the wrong diagnosis.

  “You can’t weigh in on this because you haven’t been here, Bollard.” Dad put his coffee down with such force, droplets of coffee fell onto our untouched plates.

  “For once I agree. My family here knows so little about me apart from my sister, and to her, I am a haze of who I really am,” Uncle Bollard said. “I would like to change this. What do you say, Waverly?”

  “Wait, you would stay here with us in Barton?”

  Dad and Uncle Bollard said no at the same time.

  “You would come with me,” Uncle Bollard said.

  My time in Barton was limited—it had to be with college—but this? I didn’t know how to respectfully respond to my great-uncle. It was nice for him to offer me a job and a chance to get to know him, but he was essentially a stranger. I mean, we didn’t even know where he lived.

  “Not ready at all. She’s still seventeen and going to college in the fall.” Dad aggressively picked up his fork and chopped into his breakfast. “We need to eat.”

  “I turn eighteen in a few weeks,” I corrected Dad, for I had no desire to be referred to as a child. “I’m practically an adult.”

  “Adults don’t rush into decisions, honey,” Mom said.

  I turned to Uncle Bollard. “So, do you think it’s Alzheimer’s or something else?”

  “It is worth investigating,” Bollard explained. He touched the table and pulled his hands away, and he took a kerchief from his coat and wiped his hands. “You could consult with experts. I have an entire staff at my disposal.”

  “So, you work in the medical field?” asked Mom, attempting to get her answer. “Because Waverly has no business in the medical field at this point. She doesn’t have the education for it.”

  “Not medical,” Uncle Bollard uttered with a scowl. “But lucrative.”

  “She’ll take my place as the second heiress to the Kingdom of America,” Grandma said, taking my hand in hers. “I dreamt this day would come. Such a wonderful girl. You’ll make me so proud.”

  I loved Grandma so much. I wanted to make her proud, and taking care of her was the way to do it. I couldn’t leave, not before I helped Grandma. Anything more would feel wrong, but I wasn’t getting anywhere in Barton.

  Dad threw his hands in the air. “Good God!”

  “Yes, Helena. She will make us all proud,” Bollard told her.

  Grandma continued, “Bollie, there’s something that concerns me. There is a new man in town, and I’m certain he hasn’t been vetted.”

  I looked around for poor Kevin, and it was then I noticed the restaurant. In the heat of the conversation, I hadn’t paid attention to the rest of the diner. The whole place had cleared out. Everyone was gone. Everyone. How in the world had I missed them all leaving? “Where is everyone?” I asked, stunned.

  Bollard ignored me and responded to Grandma. “I will look into it, dear sister. Matthew and Simone, you have reservations about this offer, but this is up to my niece,” he said. “I will visit your residence tomorrow to discuss this further.” And then to me, only me, for I was sure somehow, I was the only person at the table who heard him, Bollard said, “If you come with me, I promise to clarify everything you want to know about Helena. I will honor your decision, Waverly.”

  Chapter 2

  Since Farts Were Cool

  My mattress springs sagged and jolted with the same throbbing pace as my budding headache. Even with my limited hours of sleep, I knew enough to roll over to escape the impending feet from hitting me. I pulled my comforter up over my head. “Go away, Sasha.”

  “No can do, Wav-a-reno.” Sasha flopped down next to me and pulled back my blanket. "Your dad is asleep at the kitchen table, and your mom is a zombie baking a cake, and you sent me a 3 AM SOS, so I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s up.”

  I had sent Sasha, my best friend since farts were cool and birthday parties included pony rides, a text when things went from weird to downright crazy, but the sun was barely up. I yanked my blanket back. “It’s still too early to do this.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s two in the afternoon!”

  I bolted upright. The day was over half over. “Come on! You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Nope.” Sasha held up her phone.

  I jumped out of bed and ran to my dresser and grabbed my Barton High t-shirt and favorite cut-offs shorts. I rushed to dress in my closet.

  “And if you think that’s bad, buddy, you should see the huge zit on your chin!” Sasha called through the door.

  My fingers grazed my chin and touched the mountain of gross that had erupted dead center. Oh well. I had bigger things to worry about.

  “So what gives?”

  I joined her back on the bed. “Oh so much, Sasha. Way so much.”

  ~*~

  It’d been a tense ride home. My father filled the car with the 947 reasons why going with Uncle Bollard would NOT happen. Dad complained about Bollard and his audacity to think he could waltz in here and fill my head with nonsense about Grandma’s disease and being the most important man in America. If this wasn’t bad enough, Dad practically called me a child, unqualified to make the decision to go off with some strange man, relative or not.

  Meanwhile, Grandma kept repeating I had to go, that the crown depended on it.

  By the time we pulled into our gravel driveway, I’d had my fill of talking about the situation. First chance, I ran to my room.

  After the claims Bollard made, the internet had to be full of information on him. From the comfort of my bed, I fell into a rabbit hole of research for Uncle Bollard or rather, Bollard Tripps.

  And of the 54,600 hits, I found nothing related to my uncle. I searched images and found pictures of cylinder barriers and boats. I typed different spellings and combinations like Bollard Trips, Bolly Tripp, Bollie Bollard, Bollard Industries, and Tripps Industries. Unless my uncle owned a Hungarian clothing line, he remained untraceable.

  Hours later and one thing became clear to me: Bollard Tripps did not exist on the internet. Weirded out, I was ready to call a truce with my dad to talk about Bollard’s lack of cyber footprint when Grandma showed up at my door, all smiles and happiness. “Come with me, little princess,” she said, waving her hand for me to follow.

  “I have to talk to Mom and Dad,” I told her.

  Refusing to take no for an answer, she shook her head and grasped my hand.

  In the dimly lit hallway, Dad’s upset voice traveled under the door and through the keyhole.

  “I never liked him.” Dad protested, “Always feared the day would come when he’d expect us to hand over our kid. He recognizes she’s special, and he plans on using her, somehow.”

  This confused me. Dad guessed Bollard would want to take me someday. Why? He never voiced this concern to me. Also, special? Me? I had no special anything. My grades averaged to an A minus, my artwork, so-so. My singing voice appealing but not exactly great. My driving skills acceptable or at least not dangerous. I had no special abilities, so what did he mean?

  My hand raised to knock on my pa
rents’ door, but Grandma pulled my arm and put the finger of her free hand to her lips. “Shh,” and we continued to her room.

  My parents had filled Grandma’s room with the things we hoped she’d remember. Pictures of my mom as a child, Grandma singing on the stage, a photo from her wedding day. A portrait of Grandma as a little girl caught my eye. She was sitting on her front porch with her parents and her brother. Bollard used to look so normal. All of them did. I picked it up.

  “He died in the war,” Grandma said, and she took the framed picture and placed it back on her dresser. “My real brother, Michael.”

  “Well then, I definitely shouldn’t go with a stranger,” I told her in jest. “Bollard may be a serial killer for all we know.”

  “Oh no. You will go like I told you earlier. Bollard would never hurt you or our family. He can’t; it’s against the rules. Oh, he can use his powers, but he can’t hurt you. He needs you to go with him and so do I. It is your destiny, child, just like it was my destiny.”

  Grandma led me to the little ottoman next to her rocking chair where I had spent so much time with her growing up.

  I sat down. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Grandma. I mean, I have college coming up.”

  “Young Princess, don’t go doubting me now,” she said, sitting in her chair. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and I looked up into her silver eyes.

  I couldn’t imagine how lonely it was for Grandma in her world of fantasy.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “Now, I will tell you a story.” She pulled my head onto her knee and ran her fingers through the curls of my hair. “I left too. I did. When I was young and beautiful like you. Believe it or not, yes, even I was once young. My parents, like yours, were deeply in love, but unlike your parents, mine never made time for their children, so for most of my youth, it was just Michael and me. It broke my heart when he went to war. My only friend, gone. Without him, I was so lonely. Bollard showed up one day out of the blue and I thought, he’s returned, only it wasn’t my brother. When he offered to take me to see America, I said yes, despite my misgivings. You too must go. This is how you become a princess.”