The Last Word

by Lisa Lutz

  Mom never answered the question, but days later I understood what she couldn’t say. If it didn’t work, I’d blame myself. Fortunately, there was little time for melancholy with Rae still grumbling over the fact that she wasn’t a match.

  I didn’t even feel it when they put the needle in my hand. I’m that tough.

  I’m starting to get tired, so I better wrap this up.

  Dr. Blank Blank asked me if I was okay. Sure, I was fine. Have you had these drugs before? There’s a really good reason people try to steal them. I was fine. I think the hospital could have used better lighting and a pair of sunglasses would have been nice. But it’s not the Ritz.

  I like to think I’m a good person, but I don’t think I’ve ever claimed to be a magnanimous one. I could blame the drugs, but this next part was 100 percent me.

  As I was being whisked away, I called my sister to my side.

  “Good luck in there,” she said.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” I whispered.

  Rae leaned in close.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I win.”

  * * *

  1. This is not only my last footnote, but also my last Morgan Freeman reference.

  AFTERWORD

  We all won. Dad’s alive. The doctors say he’s in remission for now, but I think he’s cured. They hate it when I use that word, so now I just use it in private or behind the doctors’ backs.

  A lot has gone down in the last six months. I’m not sure where to begin. I’ll start with the easy stuff.

  Dad gained ten pounds. That was really hard on Grammy.

  Mom repainted the bedroom a color she calls spring. I call it one she will regret in two years. It kind of looks like the lime Jell-O Dad was always trying to offload on everyone.

  Demetrius asked Loretta to marry him. She said yes, of course. Based on the size of the rock he gave her, I think he made more in his settlement than he’s letting on.

  Sydney can count to ten, although she skips four and seven, so no one has alerted the ten o’clock news. When Sydney learned that there was royalty more powerful than a princess, the princess phase passed. Now she wants to be queen (forget about that mechanic’s-suit business you heard earlier—that was the drugs talking).

  Grammy is Grammy. She will always be Grammy even when she dies and then we’ll be left with the memory of Grammy, which is more of the same. Grammy. And she’s not on a yearlong seniors’ cruise. That was also the drugs talking.

  I should tell you about Isabel, since this is mostly her story. I asked her if she had any last words and she said, “Leave me alone; I’m in the shower.”

  Kind of a waste of last words if you ask me, but I gave her a chance.

  There’s other stuff I should tell you about. Mr. Slayter’s condition got worse. Isabel suggested that Charlie move in with him and everyone thought that was a great idea. Edward started tying up loose ends in his business and personal life. Then one day he gave Isabel one of those swanky corporate apartments. He said something about how if she lived like a grown-up, she might start acting like one. Has he met her? She’s not allowed to sell the place for ten years, even if our company tanks. But it won’t.

  Henry got married. I saw the license; it’s totally legal. When I heard he had a pregnant fiancée, I tried to talk some sense into him.

  “Clint Eastwood has seven children from five different women; Jack Nicholson has three from four. No, the other way around. Sorry. I just memorized these facts in the car. Bob Marley had eleven children from eight different women.”

  “What is your point, Rae?” Henry asked.

  “My point is that society no longer dictates that you settle down with your first baby mama. Wait. See what happens. You know?”

  “For forty-eight years I’ve watched civilization unravel around me. I have no need to join in the mayhem.”

  Clearly my slapdash statistics did little to bolster my argument. If you’re going to marry a woman, the number of children P. Diddy has sired should certainly not talk you out of it.

  I saw Annie Bloom, Henry’s betrothed, just once in the halls of 850 Bryant Street. She was the kind of belly-only pregnant where you could get away with congratulating her and not risk an unrecoverable insult. She had dark eyebrows and wavy brown hair, and skin the color of Demetrius’s favorite overpriced coffee beverage. Henry was meeting her outside security. He kissed her on the lips and patted her belly and they looked so goddamn happy I could have puked. I left him alone after that. I don’t know why, but my sister never made him that happy.

  Claire, the daughter of Max the shrink, took a shine to Izzy. David says it’s because they have so much in common—Goldfish snack food, Phineas and Ferb, and a general ambivalence toward Sydney. Claire and Isabel have had several supervised playdates, which everyone understands is code for dates with Max and Izzy. David thinks it’s a perfect match. Dad thinks it’s a great match, but that’s just because Max has a job and no tattoos. Mom was still hoping for an attorney, but I think that’s more so Izzy can save money on legal representation. Frankly, I think she might save just as much money with a shrink. So far Izzy hasn’t messed up whatever she’s got going on with Max. I give her another six months.

  Three months ago, Edward went out for a solo morning run, ran all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge, and jumped off. Isabel didn’t see it coming. She looked like she’d been kicked in the gut day after day. Edward bequeathed his house and a large chunk of his estate to Charlie, which was a blessing because the suicide rendered him useless. For at least a month, Charlie couldn’t leave the house. For the first few days he didn’t speak. He thought Edward had gotten lost and jumped out of despair. Instead of leaving a suicide note, Edward left a carefully constructed will that took care of everyone who was important in his life. Isabel thinks that Edward had it planned for months, but he never knew that precise moment he’d have the courage to do it. She tried explaining this to Charlie, but Charlie lost his entire life when Edward died. He was inconsolable.

  Isabel moved into the big house with Charlie until Charlie’s grief softened and Edward’s plan came into sharp relief. Charlie’s sister, Sarah Norton, and her three kids lived in Minneapolis. She had been in the middle of a nasty divorce. Isabel suggested the family come for a visit. Once the Nortons arrived, it became obvious that the family should move in with Charlie in Edward’s giant house. Isabel sealed the deal by reminding Sarah that the last time it snowed in San Francisco was 1976.

  All the noise and bustle in the five-bedroom home eventually shook Charlie out of his depression. Now he’s almost back to his old self. Once a month he and Isabel go sweater shopping and buy the most ridiculous pullover they can find. They’ll spend hours hunting for that perfect sweater, a specimen so hideous that Edward would have visibly cringed at the sight of it. That’s how they honor his memory.

  It’s business as usual at Spellman Investigations. My parents wear normal clothes to work these days. Vivien still takes an occasional job and Isabel is back. She doesn’t work the cases with the same drive that she used to, but I figure one day soon, another will get under her skin. Business has improved with the new branch of Spellman Investigations. Sometimes my colleagues want to hear about my cases, sometimes they politely ask me not to speak of them.

  There have been more than a few occasions where we’ve had a weekly summit and I’ve been encouraged to drop a case. Like the one where the girlfriend wanted her boyfriend to wax his unibrow, even though he had flat-out refused for the last five years. My parents insisted that infringing on someone’s personal being crossed not only a physical but also some kind of imaginary boundary. I understand electric fences and property lines, but when you mention theoretical frontiers, you lose me. If the fence isn’t real, why can’t you move it a few fake feet? Sure there’s a line I won’t cross. But every morning when I wake up, it’s in a different spot.

  This thing I’m doing is new. If I don’t believe in it, how I can I exp
ect my clients to put their trust in me? I’m a conflict resolution specialist; the challenge is to see the resolution no matter how unorthodox it is. As Oscar Wilde said, “An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all.”

  Today, I was approached by a potential client. She wants her dignity back.

  I’m not sure if I can get it, but the least I can do is try.

  Rae Spellman

  2013

  APPENDIX

  Dossiers

  Isabel Spellman

  Age: 35

  Occupation: Private investigator

  Physical characteristics: Tall; not skinny, not fat; long brown hair; nose; lips; eyes; ears. All the usual features. Fingers, legs, that sort of thing. A few more wrinkles than last time I described myself.

  History: Recovering delinquent; been working for Spellman Investigations since the age of twelve.

  Bad Habits: None.

  Albert Spellman

  Age: 69

  Occupation: Private investigator

  Physical characteristics: Six foot three; large (used to be larger, but doctor put him on a diet); oafish; mismatched features; thinning brown/gray hair; gives off the general air of a slob, but the kind that showers regularly.

  History: Onetime SFPD forced into early retirement by a back injury. Went to work for another retired-cop-turned-private-investigator, Jimmy O’Malley. Met his future wife, Olivia Montgomery, while on the job. Bought the PI business from O’Malley and has kept it in the family for the last thirty-five years.

  Bad habits: Has lengthy conversations with the television; snacking; can’t accept defeat.

  Olivia Spellman

  Age: 60

  Occupation: Private investigator

  Physical characteristics: Extremely petite, appears young for her age, quite attractive, shoulder-length auburn hair (from a bottle), well groomed.

  History: Met her husband while performing an amateur surveillance on her future brother-in-law (who ended up not being her future brother-in-law). Started Spellman Investigations with her husband. Excels at pretext calls and other friendly forms of deceit.

  Bad habits: Willing to break laws to meddle in children’s lives; likes to record other peoples’ conversations; can’t accept defeat.

  New David Spellman (for Old David Spellman, see documents #1–4)

  Age: 37

  Occupation: Stay-at-home dad

  Physical characteristics: That kind of weird good-looking-without-trying-at-all kind of thing, even dressed in stained T-shirts and ratty pajamas. Like a movie star playing a person who is not supposed to be down-and-out. You don’t buy it.

  History: Honor student, class valedictorian, Berkeley undergrad, Stanford law. You know the sort. Then he throws it all away to raise a child who might not amount to anything.

  Bad habits: Parenting skills could use some work. Or his daughter could use some work.

  Rae Spellman

  Age: 22

  Occupation: Part-time Spellman Investigations employee

  Physical characteristics: Petite like her mother; appears a few years younger than her age; long, unkempt sandy blond hair; freckles; tends to wear sneakers so she can always make a run for it.

  History: Blackmail, coercion, junk food obsession, bribery.

  Bad habits: Too many to list.

  Henry Stone

  Age: 48

  Occupation: San Francisco Police inspector

  Physical characteristics: Average height, thin, short brown hair, serious brown eyes, extremely clean-cut.

  History: Was the detective on the Rae Spellman missing-person case over six years ago. Before that, I guess he went to the police academy, passed some test, married some annoying woman, and did a lot of tidying up. Was Ex-boyfriend #13 for a while, but now he’s just Henry Stone.

  Bad habits: Won’t just go away.

  Demetrius Merriweather

  Age: 44

  Occupation: Employee at Spellman Investigations

  Physical characteristics: Tall, athletic, a few prison scars.

  History: Wrongly incarcerated for murder; spent fifteen years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Was released, moved into the Spellman household, and currently works for Spellman Investigations.

  Bad habits: Must have back to wall at all times; jumpy; good at keeping secrets. To learn more about wrongful convictions, please visit www.innocenceproject.org, and if you’re interested in a Free Schmidt! T-shirt (mentioned in document #4), they’re still available at www.freeschmidt.com.

  Maggie Mason

  Age: 37

  Occupation: Defense attorney

  Physical characteristics: Tall; slender; long, unkempt brown hair.

  History: Dated Henry Stone; they broke up. Rae introduced her to David, and they began dating. Then they married.

  Bad habits: Keeping baked goods in pockets; camping.

  Bernie Peterson

  Age: Old

  Occupation: Drinking, gambling, smoking cigars, being there. And bar owner now, I guess.

  Physical characteristics: A giant mass of human (sorry, I try not to look too closely).

  History: Was a cop in San Francisco and friends with Uncle Ray. Moved to Vegas, took up with a showgirl. Moved back to San Francisco. Took up with Henry Stone’s mother. They’re still together for reasons that defy all logic.

  Bad habits: Imagine every bad habit you’ve ever recognized. Bernie probably has it.

  Sydney Spellman

  Age: 3.5

  Occupation: Child

  Physical characteristics: Extremely short, brown hair, brown eyes, the heart of a tyrant.

  History: See chapter titled “Princess Banana and Her Wicked Great-Grandmother.”

  Bad Habits: Too many to list.

  A Note on Sydney’s Age: W. C. Fields once said, “Never work with animals or children.” This might be why Grammy Spellman’s dog is glaringly absent from this document and why Sydney has aged exactly one year faster than the rest of the characters. This might not trouble some people, but unless I wanted to repeat the Banana gag from document #5, I had to increase her vocabulary skills, and apparently two-year-olds can be really difficult, but they can’t say a whole lot. Don’t worry, I expect her to age from now on in real time.

  “Crime and No Punishment: Misdemeanor Rates Skyrocket as Criminals Realize Prison Time Is Shorter for Nonfelonies” (2011), p. 11

  This is a fake study, based on a logical premise. If there are any criminology students out there who would like to take this research on, I’d support your research any way I can, except financially. And I wouldn’t want to do any actual research. But I could provide emotional support, from a distance.

  Things People Say When They’re Drunk

  I love you, man.

  Lemme tell you what your problem is.

  Why didn’t we ever hook up?

  Is this room spinning?

  High Five! Fist Bump! Hug it out!

  What happened to your nose?

  I really, really love you man.

  Why do you hate me?

  I’ll have another.

  I’m not drunk. I’m fine.

  Oh my god, who are you? Who is this guy?

  Here, take this. Seriously, take this.1

  You have a great face.

  I don’t think we need to have police.

  You are the best.

  I can’t find my phone. Do you have my phone?

  Where am I?

  You know why I fucking love you, man? Because you speak the truth.

  I’m not gay or nothing, but Magic Mike was awesome.

  I could eat the shit out of some chili fries right now.

  That’s the thing people don’t get about me.

  A Note on the Medical Research

  I did consult an oncologist regarding Albert’s diagnosis of acute myeloid leukemia and all errors deliberate and accidental are mine and mine alone. I believe that most of the medical protocol is close to accurate; however, I
did take one major fictional detour when I had Isabel undergo a bone marrow donation because I needed her, for storyline purposes, under anesthesia. I believe that the common procedure these days for this diagnosis is a PBSC donation, which is an outpatient procedure involving drug injections and blood work, which requires no hospital stay. This means that the donation process is actually much simpler. However, that is the procedure just for this diagnosis.

  There are many different ways to donate and I recommend you go to www.marrow.org (www.bethematch.com), if you’re interested in learning more. It’s easy to register, and for a healthy individual, it’s a relatively benign process. It seems to me that a minor inconvenience and a little bit of discomfort is a small price to pay to save a life, even a stranger’s. At least think about it.

  * * *

  1. This can be anything.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The book ended a page or two ago. If you had the patience to get through the appendix, bravo. But this is the acknowledgments. No need to continue reading unless you know me. Really, stop now. I think this might be a long one, because it was one long goddamn year.

  I’m going to begin with my agent since this whole book-writing business began with her seven and a half years ago. Stephanie Kip Rostan, you’re the best. I don’t know what’d I do without you. Well, I have a few ideas and they’re not pretty. The rest of the Levine Greenberg Literary Agency team is pretty awesome as well. Thank you, Melissa Rowland, Elizabeth Fisher, Monika Verma, Miek Coccia, Daniel Greenberg, Jim Levine, Lindsay Edgecombe, Tim Wojcik, and Kerry Sparks.