by Sara Rosett
We explained the death to the kids in terms as simple as possible and watched both of them carefully to see how they took the news. They hadn’t spent a lot of time with their great-grandfather, so I wasn’t sure how they’d react. Livvy frowned and looked thoughtful. I knew it would take her questions awhile to emerge. I wasn’t even sure what I thought. I felt as if our world had been picked up and shaken, like we were in a giant snow globe. Everything felt off and odd. Looking at Mitch’s face made my heart hurt. To lose someone so suddenly was jarring and I knew that since I felt a little off-kilter, he had to be feeling twice as unsettled. He’d spent many afternoons at his grandfather’s house when he was growing up.
I drew both of the kids into a double-armed hug and was enveloped in the scents of baby lotion and freshly laundered clothes. Livvy pulled away quickly, but Nathan stayed snuggled on my shoulder. With his head tucked under mine, he asked, “What happened to Great-grandpa Franklin?” He had picked up on our sadness and his eyes were shiny.
“His body stopped working. That happens when you get old. He was eighty-two,” I said.
He pulled away and asked suspiciously, “How old are you and Dad?”
“Not that old,” I said with a smile. “Great-grandpa Franklin was really old and his body just wore out, but Dad and I are fine. Our bodies are going to last a long, long time.”
“So that means no swimming,” Livvy said flatly and I nodded.
“No swimming?” Caroline said. She’d just escorted the casserole lady to the door and was walking back through the corner of the formal living room where we’d gathered the kids to break the news. She reeled back in mock shock. “Of course you can swim. The pool’s heated. Bill and I swim laps every day and I have plenty of spare suits, even those with the floaty inserts.” Caroline leaned down and said to Livvy and Nathan, “Let’s go look and see what we can find.” Nathan put his hand in hers and they went off to one of the spare bedrooms with Livvy hurrying to catch Caroline’s other hand.
Mitch and I moved through the kitchen into the den at the back of the house. I nearly sighed with relief when I recognized some of the relatives. Mitch’s family tree is as massive and involved as an ancient live oak intertwined with kudzu and it’s hard for me to keep all the relatives straight, but I did know Aunt Nanette. She was sitting on the sofa near the fireplace with her Afghan hound, Queen, at her feet. They both had long noses and feathered gray hair. Besides her love of books, Aunt Nanette was a fan of anything British. She owned the Mini Cooper painted with the Union Jack. She had a regal air about her and looked like she should be presiding over the tea tray in a country estate. “Ellie, dear, how are you? Exhausted after the drive, I imagine.”
“Well, it certainly felt like more than three hundred miles,” I said as I dropped onto the cream sofa and felt the warmth of the popping fire even from several feet away from the fireplace.
“You should help yourself to some food. It’s been arriving all day. Mostly green bean casserole, the kind with the canned French fried onion topping, for some reason.”
“No thanks.” I didn’t think I could eat, which says a lot about how stunned I felt. I could usually always eat, but right now food didn’t sound good. I stretched my legs out under the glass coffee table topped with a flower arrangement and two fragile figurines. I made a mental note to remind Livvy and Nathan that there was no throwing or running in the house. “We had to stop quite a bit. The kids can only stay strapped in the seats for so long and then we have to give them a break.” I glanced around the room and saw Mitch talking to Uncle Bud, who was a real estate broker and always had at least a day’s worth of stubble. The sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up and revealed the phoenix tattoo on his forearm. Jeans, flip-flops, and a baseball cap with the logo “Love’s Travel Stop” embroidered on it completed the look.
Uncle Kenny and Aunt Gwen had returned to playing gin rummy at the dining room table. I saw several other relatives who looked vaguely familiar, but if I was playing a round of Jeopardy and had to name them, I’d lose, no question about it.
“The neighbor brought over some pickahn pie, too,” Aunt Nanette said.
I looked uncertainly toward the kitchen. Pickahn pie? “Um . . . oh, pecan pie,” I said as I spotted the nut pies on the counter. “I’m sure we’ll have some later.”
I didn’t see Mitch’s favorite cousin, Dan, or his wife. “Is Felicity here?” I asked, because I’d learned at the family reunion we’d hosted that it was smart to find out what kind of mood Felicity was in. That way I’d know whether or not to avoid her. You’d think that she’d be able to rein in her temper on a day with such bad news, but with Felicity you never knew if common sense would win out over her temper.
“No. More than likely, she’s over at Father’s house. So distressing, really. Probably already rearranging the furniture. She could at least have the common courtesy to wait until the will is read. Or, until after the funeral,” Aunt Nanette said with a sniff of disapproval.
“I don’t understand.” Queen had moved to my side and I ran my hand down her silky coat. Petting Queen made me miss our dog, Rex. We’d dropped him off at the kennel this morning where he’d be cosseted and pampered. Aunt Nanette’s hand flicked the air impatiently. “The silly girl thinks Dan is going to inherit Father’s house.”
I stopped petting Queen. “Why would she think that?” I’d barely been able to take in the idea that Grandpa Franklin was gone, so talking about inheritance seemed crass, but I would have thought Grandpa Franklin’s children, including Mitch’s dad and his brothers and sisters, including Aunt Nanette, would be the logical recipients.
“You knew Dan lost his job?” Aunt Nanette said and I nodded. He was an information technology specialist and had been laid off several months ago.
With a small shake of her head that indicated disapproval, Aunt Nanette said, “It was right about that time that it started. Looking back, it’s easy to see now, but at the time . . . well, I suppose none of us wanted to admit that Father’s age was finally catching up with him. Felicity recognized it right away—she’s a grasping little thing—and she made a point to visit him several times a week, always dropping broad hints about how tight things were for them financially and what a relief it would be for them if they didn’t have to pay rent.”
One thing I’d learned about Aunt Nanette was that she didn’t suffer fools gladly. She’d managed the business office of Gardner’s Concrete for thirty-five years, never tolerating slacking off, swearing, or anything else she deemed unseemly for the organization. Apparently the owners, the Gardner brothers, had lived in fear of her and spent an inordinate amount of time on job sites, but their books always balanced, their invoices were always paid, and they didn’t have a lot of delinquent accounts after Aunt Nanette got after “the lates,” as she called them. I thought her assessment of Felicity might be a little on the harsh side, but it did match up with the rather pouty girl I remembered from our brief encounters.
“I thought Dan found another job,” I said.
“Yes, but it’s with a smaller company and he had to take a significant pay cut.”
“I didn’t realize.” Nanette nodded and I went back to the other thing she’d said that puzzled me. “You said Grandpa Franklin was beginning to show his age. We hadn’t heard anything about that.”
“It was nothing alarming or I’m sure Bill and Caroline would have called you. Just normal aging . . . forgetting things, names of people, misplacing his checkbook, things like that. He couldn’t manage arithmetic in his head anymore. The doctors said it was all perfectly normal, considering his age, but a few weeks ago, Christine said she heard him carrying on a conversation with Mother. We didn’t think too much about it. It was only one incident. Then one morning last week, he came in from the backyard and told Christine to make some tea because Millie and George were thirsty.”
“Oh,” I said, faintly. George was Franklin’s brother and he’d been dead longer than Grandpa Franklin’s wife, Millie.
Aunt Nanette smoothed down the fabric of her floral dress. “Just goes to show . . . you never know when your time will come. It was his time to go. It was quicker than we thought it would be, is all. Wish Christine could get that through her head instead of blaming herself.”
“Why in the world would she do that?” Queen shifted her head and I scratched her ears.
“Oh, she stays over some nights in the spare bedroom.” That did sound like Aunt Christine. I’d never have thought Aunt Nanette and Aunt Christine were sisters. Besides being complete physical opposites—Aunt Nanette was thin as a toothpick and Aunt Christine had a roly-poly figure—their personalities were like yin and yang. Aunt Christine was a retired kindergarten teacher and had taken on the role of primary caregiver for her father. She lived in the same area and had a nurturing, gentle spirit. “Of course, last night wasn’t one of the nights she stayed.” Aunt Nanette raised an eyebrow and said, “I think she had a hot date.”
I’d heard about the budding romance. “The pharmacist?”
Aunt Nanette nodded. “You wouldn’t believe how many things Christine needs from Walgreen’s now. She’s in that store constantly. At least she has one of those fancy store cards and gets points, so I suppose it’s not a total loss.” Her smiled faded as she said, “I’m sure that’s what all this break-in nonsense is about. She feels guilty because she wasn’t there. She’d mentioned getting a home-care nurse to give her more time to date Roy, but some people,” Nanette’s gaze lit on Uncle Bud as she said, “weren’t happy with the idea of paying for something that Christine had been doing for free.” When she realized I’d noticed the direction of her glance, she looked almost guilty and said quickly, “But we won’t have to worry about that now.”
Queen was slowly sinking to the floor in dog heaven as I rubbed her ears. “There was a break-in? At Grandpa Franklin’s house?”
“So Christine says, but, well, Christine always was as flighty as the fluff off a dandelion. Summer is just like her, you know. Capricious ways tend to run in our family,” Aunt Nanette said, referring to Mitch’s younger sister. I’d met Summer during a trip to Washington, D.C., a few years ago and gotten to know her quite well. It sounded, to me at least, as if Summer had settled down now. She was working for a state representative in Florida now, but it’s hard to live down your reputation, especially with your family.
As Queen collapsed, she bumped the coffee table and set a figurine rocking. Aunt Nanette called Queen back to her side as she returned to the subject of Aunt Christine. “She thinks someone broke into the house last night and they’ve got the police out there now. Christine didn’t notice it until she got back from the hospital. We had a storm last night and the power went out at her house. She’s a light sleeper—takes after Father in that—so she went over to check on him after the worst of the storm blew over. The power was still working at his house, so she expected him to be awake, watching The Weather Channel or reading a biography, but he was still in bed, which isn’t like him. Any kind of storm disturbs him. She checked on him and couldn’t wake him. He only had a faint pulse, so she called nine-one-one. They took him to the hospital, but by early morning . . . he’d passed.” Aunt Nanette, who had been speaking so matter-of-factly, stopped abruptly. It was as if someone switched off a newscast. I reached out a tentative hand. Aunt Nanette was not a person who hugged or even touched. She noticed my hand and gripped it. “So silly to give in to emotions. We all knew his time would come.” She squeezed my hand and then released it. She sat up even straighter, which I hadn’t thought was possible. “There. I’m fine now. Of course, Christine left to go with him to the hospital and didn’t look around the house. She was busy calling us.”
Talking about the death obviously distressed her, so I asked, “She didn’t notice the break-in until later?”
Aunt Nanette’s tone shifted to slightly scoffing. “More than likely she’s imagined the whole thing.” Back on the comfortable ground of discussing Aunt Christine’s peculiarities, Aunt Nanette visibly relaxed, her shoulders slipping from their stiff posture. “Fool’s errand,” she summarized. “She went back there this afternoon to pick out a suit for the funeral home and that’s when she noticed the back bedroom window was open.”
Caroline returned to the living room with Livvy and Nathan, who were both outfitted in swimsuits and carrying colorful beach towels. Caroline stopped to talk to Mitch. The kids began hopping around like popcorn in hot oil.
“Looks like I’ll be at the pool,” I said to Aunt Nanette, although I really wanted to stay and find out more about the break-in.
When I reached Mitch and Caroline, I heard her say, “Why don’t you go check on him? He’s been over there for an hour.” Caroline’s soft drawl transformed the word “hour” to “hower.” She continued, “He said something about fixing a window lock, but he should be done by now. We’ll have to start making decisions about the funeral soon.”
“Sure,” Mitch said and looked at me. “Want to go with me to Grandpa Franklin’s house? Dad’s there because there was a break-in.”
“I heard, but looks like I’m on lifeguard duty.”
“Oh, go on,” Caroline said. “I’ll watch the kids. There’s nothing else I can do here until Bill gets back.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she said, “I’d like to . . . to get out of the house for a bit.”
I realized that outwardly she looked just the same—impeccably groomed from her hair to her perfectly polished toenails—and she gave off that air of quiet capability that she always had, but when I looked at her eyes I saw they were pink and swollen. I also noticed that she didn’t have on any jewelry at all and that was like me not having any chocolate kisses with me—one of my favorite vices. Caroline had an extensive collection of jewelry from simple gold hoops to chunky necklaces and always wore pieces that coordinated perfectly with her clothes. Seeing that she’d even forgotten to put on her wedding ring told me that, in her own understated way, she was having a tough time. “Go on.” She shooed us toward the door. “I’d like the time with the kids. Take my mind off things.”
“Okay,” I said and leaned in to whisper, “Nathan is a great swimmer. Livvy’s more tentative.”
Caroline nodded and led the kids to the pool while Mitch and I went to the van. One glance at Mitch’s face told me he was lost in his thoughts. I didn’t know if it was his grandfather’s death or the other thing that was bothering him. I had no idea what “the other thing” was, but for weeks we’d had these stretches of silence. I knew Mitch well enough to know he was working through something and I’d learned the hard way that if I poked and prodded him about it, he closed up more tightly, like a turtle retracting into its shell.
I stifled a sigh and dug in my purse for chocolate. I offered some to Mitch, but he shook his head. As we drove, I focused on the trees that flicked by the window. The undergrowth and screen of vines that usually made the road a corridor had died away for the winter and I could see the carpet of fallen leaves interspersed with the bare, brown tree trunks for several feet before the trees thickened, blocking the view deeper into the woods.
When Mitch grew up in Smarr, it was just a small town on the road to and from Montgomery. But over the years it had grown, first into a bedroom community for Montgomery and, later, its suburbs had spawned businesses like restaurants and shopping centers. Eventually, several corporations moved to the community. Caroline and Uncle Bud had ridden the wave of development, boosting their careers.
Mitch’s parents’ house was on the outskirts of suburban Smarr. Grandpa Franklin’s house was farther beyond theirs in a more rural area. Even though the change of scene was dramatic, the two houses weren’t that far apart. The drive only took about ten minutes. Out here, big box stores and fast-food chains seemed a million miles away. In fact, the area was fairly populated, but most of the houses were set back at the end of long drives, deep in the trees and hidden from the main road.
“Doesn’t Aunt Christine live out here, too?” I asked. It
seemed a waste to drive in complete silence now that we were actually alone. We so rarely had the opportunity to carry on an uninterrupted conversation.
“Down that road, over to the left,” Mitch said as we flew past a mailbox. “It’s the first turn after the historical marker about Addison McClure’s birthplace.”
“Sally Addison McClure was born here? Does she still live here?” I asked. I knew from my high school English class that McClure, one of America’s most famous authors, was from Alabama—it was the setting for her single renowned novel, Deep Down Things—but I had no idea her birthplace was so close to where Mitch grew up.
“No. She moved before I was born. To Atlanta, I think. But she was instrumental in getting Book Daze going. Grandpa Franklin knew her. They played together when they were kids.”
“Wow,” I said. “He always had good stories. What did he say about her?”
“Not much,” Mitch said and silence descended again.
I wasn’t sure if it was the mention of Grandpa Franklin that caused the abrupt shutdown in our conversation or if it was something else. I squirmed, then said, “Mitch, you know if you need to talk, I’ll listen.”
He glanced at me quickly, surprised. “I know that,” he said without hesitation. He had one hand on top of the steering wheel and pointed to the road. “It’s been years, but I think I could find my way to Grandpa Franklin’s house blindfolded. We were always going here when I was a kid. He let me and Dan ride a dirt bike he had in the garage.” Mitch glanced at me quickly with a small smile that turned up the corners of his mouth. “Mom didn’t know. It was a secret. Still doesn’t know, even today, I don’t think. Grandpa Franklin had a lot of secrets,” he said softly, almost to himself, as he focused on the road again and made a right-hand turn onto a long gravel driveway.
He frowned as we neared the end of the drive. “What are all these cars doing here?”
“I thought it was only your dad, Aunt Christine, and maybe Felicity,” I said as we neared the first car. It was a four-door sedan with a light bar on top and the words CULVERTON COUNTY SHERIFF on the side. I felt a terrible sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.
