The Unlikelies

by Carrie Firestone

  The man talked about Gordie’s volunteer work at the Turtle Trail Recreation Center. Gordie stood on the stage with his hands in his khaki pockets, smiling at the crowd. “Thank you,” he said into the mic. Then effortless, perfect public speaker and debate champion Gordie told a story about the time he took a Turtle Trail group on a camping trip. He got sick and the Turtle Trail people took care of him. The moral of Gordie’s story: He gets more than he gives.

  I was shocked to find out old Mr. Upton from the farm stand had nominated me and that he couldn’t be at the luncheon because he had been rushed to the hospital.

  A collective gasp filled the room.

  Mom and Dad and my grandmothers stared at me as the guy read Mr. Upton’s nomination letter.

  “I was there that day at the farm stand. This young lady showed presence of mind. She showed quick reflexes. She showed great courage. As a lifelong Rotarian, it is my honor and privilege to nominate Sadie Sullivan for this most deserved award.”

  I made my way to the podium.

  Mom dabbed her eyes with a napkin, and I stood still for a moment, not quite sure if the man was finished, or what I was supposed to do.

  I so wished somebody had told me I needed to write a speech.

  I stared out at the back wall of the country club and uttered the only thing that came to my head. “Thank you so much. And remember, if you see something, say something.”

  The crowd applauded. I rushed off the stage to where my tablemates were blatantly laughing at me. Even Val, who seemed to be the sweet one.

  “I think you ripped off the New York subway slogan,” Alice said.

  I sat back in the chair, shook my head, and covered my face with a red napkin. I felt a twinge of pain as the starched fabric rubbed against my scar.

  “I am such a loser,” I moaned into the napkin.

  Gordie Harris was laughing so hard tears streamed down his face.

  The only thing that would have made my Fourth of July Rotary Club Homegrown Hero Award Luncheon acceptance speech more humiliating was if my skirt had flown up and my ass crack had made another appearance.

  The clinking sounds erupted again after the staff served coffee and slices of an enormous patriotic sparkler cake.

  “In my defense, I bet the Hamptons Hoodlum wouldn’t have done any better,” I said.

  “Yes, but she would have been wearing fabulous shoes,” Alice said.

  The Rotary MC came over to congratulate us and ask how we were enjoying the cake. “Such upsetting news about Stewy Upton,” he said. “He was darn proud of you, Sadie. We’re all rooting for him.”

  I hoped it was nothing, just a run-of-the-mill old-man ailment. I had just seen Mr. Upton, just watched Sissy buckle him into the passenger seat and drive away in the old Lincoln after they’d bought peaches and snap peas and cucumbers.

  “Are you done laughing at me, Gordie?” I said after the Rotary guy left.

  “So you guys know each other?” Val said.

  “Yeah, Sadie’s in all my classes. But she’s too cool to actually hang out with the lowly juniors.”

  “Excuse me.” I held up my hand. “Our entire class is a bunch of assholes. Am I wrong?”

  “Oh, no. They’re a bunch of assholes. That is true.”

  “My best friend and I call them gadflies and ruffians,” I said. “They seem to get even more obnoxious when exposed to technology. And sugar. I think sugar’s a trigger. Because, lunchroom.”

  “We have a lot of assholes in our class, too,” Alice said. “Did somebody drop asshole pills in the water the year we were born?”

  “Speaking of assholes, where’s your boyfriend, Val?” Jean said, grinning.

  “Stop, Jean. He’s not feeling well.” She shook her head and looked at Alice and me. “He has lupus, so it’s tough for him to get out.”

  “In your boyfriend’s defense, who the hell would come here of their own volition?” Gordie said.

  “Did he just say volition?” Alice said.

  “Gordie’s really smart,” I said. “Ignore him.”

  Val turned to Gordie. “Where would you rather be, Gordie?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” he said, smiling cryptically.

  “Let me guess, coding or talking about history with Reid,” I said.

  “No. Nope. It’s way more scandalous than that.”

  “I would do a topless beach,” Jean said. “Or like a topless artists’ cruise.”

  “You guys are entertaining. We should hang out,” Alice said, taking her phone out of her giant satchel. “Give me your numbers.”

  We joined the mob of Rotary luncheon guests pushing toward the front door of the country club, fielding countless exclamations of “Congratulations” and “Keep up the good work.”

  “Hey, Sadie,” Gordie whispered into my ear as we waited for our parents.

  “Yeah?” I said, looking up at his grinning face. He pulled back, then leaned in again.

  “If you see something, say something.”

  FIVE

  THREE PEOPLE TEXTED me on our way home from the luncheon to ask if I’d pick them up for the white party. Not going. Have fun, I texted back. WTF? —from Parker. Spleen acting up. That had become my go-to excuse.

  When we got home, Dad hung the American flag and got started with the block party preparations while I sat on the porch worrying about poor Mr. Upton and aimlessly watching Mr. Ng set up the Slip ’N Slide for the neighborhood kids.

  “Dad, can I take the Prius? I want to run over to the hospital to check on Mr. Upton.”

  “That’s a nice idea. Go for it.”

  I wrapped some of Grandma Hosseini’s sugar cookies in waxed paper, tied them with a ribbon, and walked past Mom, who had changed into a red dress with blue stars like she had every year since the Iranian Revolution scattered her family around the world.

  It was surreal to be back at the hospital, this time as a visitor. The overly air-conditioned lobby reminded me of being wheeled out wrapped in a head bandage.

  When I got to the room, I grabbed a squirt of hand sanitizer from the wall dispenser and gently knocked on the half-open door. Sissy stuck her head out.

  “Sadie, hello. What a nice surprise.”

  “Hi, Sissy. I was just at the luncheon, and I wanted to check on Mr. Upton. I was worried about him. I hope it’s okay I’m here.”

  “Of course. He’ll be thrilled.” She leaned toward me and whispered, “He’s on a lot of meds, so he’s a little loopy.”

  The room was identical to my hospital room: the same watery pastel curtains, the same antiseptic smell, the same pink barf bucket.

  “Stewy, look who’s here.” Sissy picked up a needlepoint of a bright blue cross. “Here, let me turn up his hearing aids.” She leaned over and gently manipulated Mr. Upton’s hearing aids.

  Mr. Upton squinted his eyes. His face lit up when I moved closer to his bedside.

  “Hi, Mr. Upton. I brought you some cookies,” I said loudly.

  “Sadie Sullivan, our hero,” he said in a weak voice. “Come sit on the bed here. Give me the scoop.” Two delicate tubes hung out of his nose. “Don’t be shy. You can’t catch heart failure, I don’t think. Can you catch heart failure, Sissy?”

  Sissy laughed. “Nope. Broken hearts maybe, but not heart failure.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Thank you so much for nominating me, Mr. Upton. It meant a lot to me and my family.”

  “That was a no-brainer. You’re a special kid.” He nodded toward the wrapped package of cookies. “How about a cookie?”

  “Stewy, you’re on a liquid diet,” Sissy said, not looking up from her needlepoint.

  “Oh, pshaw. I’m ninety-seven. My ticker is just about out of juice. If I want a cookie, I’m eating a cookie. Open that up.”

  Sissy rolled her eyes but smiled, and I put a cookie in Mr. Upton’s frail hand. He couldn’t quite find his mouth, so I guided his hand to his lips. He bit and chewed slowly. “That’s a damn good
cookie.”

  He stared up at my face as he ate, studying me like he studied the peaches and snap peas.

  “Sissy, go take a break. I want to visit with Sadie.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I should probably go soon. I just came to say thank you and see how you’re feeling.”

  He coughed for what seemed like a full minute and held his hand up. “No, don’t go. I need to talk to you.” He grabbed my arm. In private, he mouthed.

  I glanced back at Sissy, who was still focused on her needlepoint, and wondered if he was going to unload some horrible secret about her.

  “Hey, Sissy, I’m not in a big rush if you want to go for a walk. Seriously. It’s fine.”

  She looked up. “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’d love some coffee. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m good.” My stomach churned.

  “You better not ask her to smuggle in chewing tobacco, Stewy. I’m on to you,” she said on her way out the door.

  Mr. Upton stared at me. His eyes widened. “You’ve been the one all along.”

  “Uh. What one, Mr. Upton?”

  “Listen, go to the locker over there and get my wallet out of my pants.”

  “Oh, Mr. Upton, I hope you’re not trying to give me money. I really don’t need any money.” I thought about my grandpa Hosseini before he died, always handing me twenty-dollar bills.

  “I’m not giving you money. I’m too damn cheap for that.” He laughed. “I need to get something from my wallet.”

  It felt like I was doing something Sissy wouldn’t approve of.

  I opened the locker, felt around Mr. Upton’s deep pants pocket, and brought him his thick, weathered wallet.

  “Here, give it to me.” He stuck his finger deep inside an inner pocket and pulled out an old brass key.

  “This is for you.” He shoved the key in my face. “Now give me another one of those cookies.”

  I put another cookie in his hand, and he took a bite. “What is this key for, Mr. Upton?”

  He stared at me for a second, chewing slowly.

  “Everything…” He stopped. “Everything I have, the whole fortune, is blood money.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s disgusting.”

  “Um. What do you mean?”

  “I mean my father was a vile man. He was a hardened criminal disguised as a dapper gentleman. He was a lizard. Even had lizard eyes.”

  I nodded. I was used to my grandmothers going off on tangents. “What kind of criminal?”

  “Oh, my father did things I can’t say in the company of a young lady. He was a bootlegger and a gambler. He preyed on wealthy widows, used his good looks and charm to woo them, and then robbed them blind with his lizard claws. Left them sobbing in the streets.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. I could sense his urgency, his need to confess.

  “And prostitution. He was involved in that, too,” he whispered.

  “Wow. That’s awful, Mr. Upton. Did you have a… What about your mom?”

  “She died when I was five, bless her heart.” He stared up at the ceiling, his lips covered in crumbs. I reached over and wiped his mouth with a tissue.

  “All the money I have came from his evil deeds. And I took it and played with it, instead of finding a way to make it right somehow.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Upton. Whatever your dad did.”

  “No. But I could have done something big with that money, something noble and good. I mean, I gave to charities, was active in the Rotary and such, but I always wanted to find some real way to redeem his evil acts and never did figure out how. I almost felt paralyzed by the whole damn thing.”

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what to say.

  “Sadie, you’re a special kid. I saw that firsthand. You’re not a wimp like I was.”

  Again. Didn’t know what to say.

  “You’re an angel.”

  I tried to distract him with another cookie, but he turned away.

  “Listen.” He lifted a finger and pointed his long yellow fingernail at the key I was holding. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Sure, Mr. Upton.”

  “I’m about ready to die.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re not going to die.”

  He held his finger up again. “I need you to do what I could never do, and find a way to make it right again. Find a way to redeem the lizard’s evil deeds.”

  “Uh. Mr. Upton, I can’t—” But he ignored me, continuing on.

  “There’s an old suitcase buried under a tool table in the shed near my house. Inside, you’ll find things he left behind.”

  My curiosity got the better of me. “What things?”

  He started to cough hard until liquid rattled in his throat. I poured water from a pink plastic pitcher, but he refused it.

  “I have never been so sure of anything. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for all these years.”

  “Wait. You’re not even telling me what’s in the suitcase?”

  “I’m not going to get into it here. This place could be bugged, for all I know.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ll know when you see it.”

  “Don’t you think Sissy would be a better fit? I’m just a farm stand worker.”

  “Sissy’s the best. She’s been my family for fifteen years. I’ve willed her the whole estate. Shh. Don’t tell her. I don’t want her gushing all over me. But you’re the one for this job. You’ll do it right.”

  I rolled the key between my fingers. “So, you want me to get an old suitcase from the shed behind your house and open it with this key?”

  “Yes. It’s covered with Nova Scotia stickers. God only knows what the lizard was doing up in Nova Scotia, but yes.”

  “And you want me to find a way to make up for your father’s bad deeds by doing something with the contents of the suitcase?”

  “Yes. Do something noble.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure, Mr. Upton.”

  “No pressure, kid. Do what feels right, that’s all. You got this.”

  “I’m going to need more direction here.”

  Sissy came in, balancing two coffees and a carryout container.

  Mr. Upton’s eyes got wide again. Don’t tell Sissy, he mouthed, before shooing me away. I squeezed Mr. Upton’s arm and took a few steps back.

  “You’re going to want to rip Andy’s legs off!” he called out.

  “What, Stewy?” Sissy glanced at me.

  “I’m talking to Sadie. You need to rip off Andy’s legs. Don’t forget.”

  “Wow. It looks like the medicine’s kicking in,” Sissy said.

  “You probably need to rest, Mr. Upton. I’ll stop back in a couple days. How about I save you the best peaches from Tuesday’s harvest?”

  He smiled. “That would be terrific.”

  Sissy followed me out to the hallway. “What was that all about?”

  I almost kept it from Sissy, but I went with my gut.

  “He gave me a key to an old suitcase in his shed. He wants me to have it.”

  “Lord, he’s giving everything away. I had a dozen Rotary Club men at the house last week, picking through Civil War memorabilia. He gave my son his tractor mower.” She folded her arms across her chest. “That’s part of dying, you know. Purging earthly possessions.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Go ahead and take it. You can go over whenever you like. The gate’s open.”

  I left Sissy standing in the hospital hallway and walked out to the car thinking about the key and the suitcase and how sad it must be to spend a lifetime wanting to make up for a father’s evil deeds.

  On the way home, I passed three carloads of white-clad people en route to Shawn Flynn’s.

  Dad handed me a mini flag when I got back to our neighborhood, which was buzzing with families grilling and blasting music and setting up illegal fireworks.

  “How was Stewy?” he said.

  “Not good. He’s got heart failure.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad
. I bet he really appreciated you visiting him. You’re a good kid.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Do you want to help me get the limbo going?” He hoisted the limbo stick over his shoulder.

  Dad saw life as one big carnival. His favorite words of wisdom were “Yeah, sure, you might find some creeps at the carnival, and a couple broken rides, and a scam game or two, but for the most part life’s all sugar on a stick and music and good times.”

  “I think I need to pass this year.” My mind was still spinning.

  I sat on the porch with Grandma Sullivan, eating beans and hot peppers on rolls off paper plates. She told me she was proud of me. The rowdy patriotism and highballs must have gone to her head. Grandma Sullivan was not one for compliments.

  Shay texted a picture of herself looking disheveled and tired as her tennis campers warmed up for their first tournament. I texted Shay a picture of Mr. Ng on the Slip ’N Slide. I went to my room to hide the suitcase key in my jewelry box and looked at myself in the mirror. My scar was there, pink and plump and ugly, like a monster’s tail.

  For a quick second, I considered showering and throwing together a white outfit. But all I wanted to do was lie down. The street fireworks were just getting going when the text came from Alice, now saved in my phone as Pooch.

  Esteemed honorees: Let’s meet tomorrow night at the duck pond at eight. I’m bored.

  SIX

  BETWEEN THE FIREWORKS sounds, the constant group texts documenting the most epic party Flynn has ever had, the enthusiastic responses to Alice’s text from the other luncheon honorees, and the burning curiosity to know what was inside that suitcase, I barely slept at all.

  In the morning, as soon as I finished helping clean up from the block party, I tore through the East End streets toward the Stewy Upton estate.

  I turned onto the gravel driveway that snaked upward through a grove of birch trees and led to Mr. Upton’s house, or, should I say, his manor. It wasn’t as obnoxious as Shawn’s, but it was grand, and old, and slightly run-down, just like Mr. Upton. I parked in front of a redbrick carriage cottage and quickly walked up a path toward the back of the house.