Pickup Notes

by Jane Lebak

  At the door, Josh said, “You guys n-n-need a ride?”

  “Brought my own,” said Harrison. We took off in opposite directions.

  At the cemetery, Harrison parked a distance from the open grave, and a funeral home employee escorted us to a tented area. Harrison checked his tuning compulsively until a procession of cars arrived, and we got our signal to begin.

  The casket arrived. The pastor opened in prayer, and at that point, our work ended.

  Harrison, Josh, and I put away our instruments, but Shreya slipped into the crowd holding hers. It was probably more cheerful there than between Josh and Harrison.

  As we walked, I asked, “What time is it?”

  Harrison checked his watch. “We’ve got time.”

  Josh said, “What he m-meant to say is, it’s eleven-fifteen.”

  “Thanks.” Halfway to the cars, I turned. “Shreya’s still there. Should I get her?”

  “Like I said, we’ve got time.”

  Josh frowned. “What’s with the c-c-cargo van?”

  Harrison said, “We needed it.”

  Josh said, “To carry your ego?”

  “To move Joey.”

  “What?” Then he looked at me, wide-eyed, and I realized what conclusion he’d jumped to.

  I tried to sound amused. “I don’t know where I’m moving, actually.”

  Harrison said, “But hey, a van functions as short-term storage.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And an apartment too. We’ll have to make sure we put my bed flat so I can sleep on it.”

  Harrison chuckled. “If it only fits vertically, you’ve got a few bungee cords.”

  Josh said, “What h-happened?”

  He looked right at me, and I went cold. Not because he was angry, but because telling him would be worse than telling Harrison and Shreya. Worse because he knew me, knew all my flaws and every embarrassing thing my mother had seen right from the start.

  Harrison had no such issues. “Her sister committed check fraud and got her evicted. At one o’clock, we’re going to invade, retrieve her stuff, and find her a new place.”

  I turned away rather than see Josh’s reaction.

  The sky curved with a blue made all the starker by the bulbous clouds, and they traveled eastward on the same wind that swayed the trees. Every ninety seconds, a plane skirted the horizon and vanished near Kennedy Airport. Behind us, the murmur of a highway swallowed the voices from the funeral.

  Josh took pity on me and didn’t respond. He knew who I was.

  As the mourners started to break up, Harrison picked up his case, and Josh took his.

  That was when Shreya’s violin sounded.

  The mourners paused. Turned.

  Carried on the wind came a final blessing to a woman we never knew. Momentarily I recognized the tune: “Danny’s Song.”

  “I didn’t know she planned to do that.”

  Harrison’s voice was low. “I didn’t either.”

  High and sweet, then mellow and deep, the song played until it modulated keys and transitioned into a song I couldn’t name.

  “Londonderry Aire,” Harrison murmured.

  Josh said, “No. It’s ‘D-Danny Boy.’”

  My heart thudded.

  Shreya had forged a perfect blend of the songs once she’d bridged the gap, the marriage into the funeral, a musical gift to a husband and wife at their parting.

  Behind me, Josh sang, “Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, from glen to glen, and down the mountainside...”

  I stepped closer to the crowd and willed the wind to carry their voices in my direction because I knew others had to be singing. Yet I heard nothing other than Josh behind me and Shreya before. It was Shreya and a violin. It was Josh and a voice of his own. It was tears and it was a group of kids running up the road past parked cars and gravestones.

  And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me,

  And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be

  If you’ll not fail to tell me that you love me,

  I’ll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

  Shreya transitioned back into “Danny’s Song,” then closed.

  I expected applause. The song deserved silence. For once, I got what I wanted.

  But people didn’t leave, either. It was as if the gift of her song had fixed them in place, and after that, they could no longer bear leaving.

  Endings. Leavings. I turned to Josh where he stared into the ground. “Are we going to see you again?”

  He said, “I don’t know,” and he left.

  Just like that, he left. I didn’t chase him. I didn’t give him one last hug. Goodbye. Goodbye and goodbye.

  Shreya unblended from the mourners, her violin back in its case, her head high. Harrison put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. “Let’s go. We’ll grab some lunch, change out of funeral clothes, and then get the fireworks started.”

  Fireworks indeed. I still had my key, but I rang the bell as a warning. There were four of us: me, Shreya, Harrison, and Officer Randall from the NYPD.

  And a darned good thing about Officer Randall, too, because as soon as I stepped inside, my sister flew across the kitchen to grab me by the shoulders. “You disgusting bitch!”

  I backed to the wall while she screamed a dozen names into my face. Officer Randall got between us. “Calm down, Miss! Don’t force me to charge you with assault.”

  I’d been warned to let her hit me if she tried. He’d have had her cuffed and out the door, and I’d only have to worry about the bruising. I was more concerned about not bursting into laughter. My sister was waving a FedEx envelope and shouting that I had ruined her life.

  Yeah, she stole checks, but I ruined everything.

  My grandmother had knocked over her chair getting to her feet. “Josie! Why are you causing all this trouble? Why did you involve the police?”

  The officer said, “I’m here to investigate charges of fraud and theft, and to ensure Josephine collects her belongings without harm.”

  Grandma turned pale. Viv loomed as close as Officer Randall allowed. Maybe she really would risk jail time to rip out my throat. Harrison yanked me away from her and toward the door, between him and Shreya.

  The officer produced some paperwork. “Vivian Mikalos? Hazel Edmundson? I have an Affidavit of Fraud from Josephine’s bank stating that rent checks made out to Mrs. Edmundson were unlawfully cashed by Vivian.”

  Harrison had cautioned me to say nothing, but it was so hard when Grandma turned to me. “How could you?”

  Not, “How could your sister steal your money?” Not even, “How could I have thrown my own granddaughter out on the street?” Just, how could I have dared object?

  The officer handed Grandma the police report, which she stared at as if in Swedish.

  Zaden came into the kitchen. Grandma’s voice wobbled. “Zaden, honey, go upstairs.”

  He said, “Why should I?”

  She said, “Please, sweetie.”

  Viv said, “Let him see what an asshole his aunt is.”

  I said to my grandmother, “Where’s my stuff?”

  She said, “Viv put it in the basement.”

  “Don’t bother,” Viv snapped. “I locked the door.”

  Fortunately, locks worked both ways. “Unlock it.”

  “It’s Grandma’s property now to make up for back rent!”

  The officer turned to my grandmother. “Well? The signature on the checks. Forged?”

  She looked at Viv, then looked at the check copies. Then at me.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Harrison glance down the hall and do a double-take.

  That had to be my mother. Viv would have phoned Mommy the minute the bank notified her.

  As I grew dizzy with that stared-at feeling, Shreya whispered, “Josh?”

  I spun, and it was Josh. Josh and his father filled the doorway, arms folded, mouths grim, glaring from beneath the brims of their matching baseball caps.

 
It had been Viv who charged at me, but it was Josh’s presence that knocked me back into Shreya. What was he doing here? Hadn’t he made it clear he hadn’t forgiven me?

  The officer said, “Mrs. Edmundson, I need an answer.”

  Shreya nudged me.

  My voice broke. “Grandma? I only want what’s mine.”

  What was mine. What should have been. Things like parents, a family, a childhood. I couldn’t carry those out of here, but I could take a futon, a dish rack, and my silverware.

  The officer said, “Is that your signature?”

  Come on, Grandma. Make a choice. For once.

  In the end, she didn’t give me even that. She trudged to the cabinet and pulled a key from a decorative vase, then handed it to the officer. “Tell her to take her things.”

  With an outraged shriek, Viv stormed from the kitchen.

  The officer turned to me. “Start getting your property together.”

  I forced myself to meet Josh’s eyes. I choked out, “Why are you here?”

  He looked away. “I th-thought you could use someone to hhh-help do the heavy lifting.”

  Harrison said, “Right now I need help moving that van. I’m going to put it into the spot with the hydrant, but it’s a barge.”

  “I’ll direct you,” said Shreya, and took off with him.

  Viv had thrown my belongings into her assortment of open-topped boxes and stacked them all over the basement. Good thing I didn’t own much.

  On top of one box was my cell phone charger. My crap viola was there too. I wanted to hug the ancient case, rusty hinges and peeling vinyl and all.

  I struggled not to start shaking with relief. “This is some. But there’s more missing, as well as my furniture.”

  Upstairs Viv had rearranged all the furniture and put new drapes and new area rugs. I walked through ticking off the things she’d stolen. “My dresser. My futon. My shelves. My coffee maker.” Viv could keep my thousand-year-old mattress and bed frame. It wouldn’t be good enough for her or her kid, so I’d leave her the headache of hauling it out.

  She’d opened the sealed-off room because, well, it was May. Come November, she’d be first in line for wool socks. Or maybe she’d run portable space heaters and burn the place down. Not my problem.

  Shreya raced upstairs with boxes and a roll of packing tape. “Let’s get this party started!”

  Her usual go-getter self, Viv had moved only my books and clothes. She’d kept my CDs, although for the life of me I couldn’t imagine her listening to Dvorak. I retrieved my Visa and ATM cards, the first time in history that money had been safe in the hands of Mozart.

  While Shreya and I became packing machines, Viv argued in the doorway with the officer, but he pointed out that I had an itemized list and photographs, courtesy of when I’d acquired renter’s insurance. Did she have receipts? No? Then it sucked to be her.

  She called Mom from her cell phone, whining about how she needed help and I was being unfair and please don’t be mad (What?) and making sure the officer heard her calling him a pig.

  With a purring sound, Shreya’s packing tape sealed another box. Then she said, “Wait, I’ll grab that,” and helped Ed carry my futon.

  Josh said to Harrison, “Help me with this,” and they lifted my dresser. I followed with the empty drawers.

  Josh said, “You knew you were m-moving furniture, but you dressed like that?”

  Harrison had changed out of his tux into khaki pants and an oxford shirt, with a blazer no less. “It’s for the camera crews.” He grinned. “A bit to the left.”

  Two minutes later, the guys were still sending conflicting instructions about how to clear the stair rail.

  Yeah, that was totally workable in a quartet. “You know, I got it for five bucks at a garage sale,” I called. “If it falls to pieces, no big deal.”

  “I’m trying not to b-b-b-bang up the railing,” said Josh. “Lift, Harrison! It needs to clear the knob.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Harrison looked up. “I’ve got the heavier end.”

  Josh snorted. “I thought the difference between f-first and second violins was you could get things higher. I should have asked Shhh-reya to carry it.”

  Harrison heaved, and Josh pivoted it to clear the railing. Harrison staggered and then caught himself.

  “So hey,” he said, “does this mean you’re playing the festival on Saturday?”

  Wow, bad timing much?

  Josh said, “You want a d-d-defective cellist?”

  Harrison glanced behind to keep descending. “I told you, I shouldn’t have said that, and you didn’t hear the whole conversation anyhow.”

  Okay, apology, but…really? What was he doing? “You’ve got three more steps,” I called.

  Harrison went on, “Thanks. It’s not like I came out and said, ‘Now Josh, he’s defective.’ I had a good idea and you weren’t listening. It never occurred to me it wasn’t a good idea.”

  At the landing, Harrison started micro-maneuvers to slip the dresser through the doorway, which Ed had bungee-corded open.

  Josh said, “Ap-pology accepted. It’s not like you were being any more of a jackass than usual.”

  “Hey!” I shouted, but Harrison only said, “Gee, thanks.”

  Josh said, “But b-before I agree to anything, we need some ground rules.”

  Agree?

  There were so many things I wanted to say that they all piled into one another and none of them got out, for much the same reason my dresser had trouble getting down the staircase. But there was Harrison, doing the impossible, doing it fearlessly—and succeeding.

  Harrison had reached outside where the stone staircase descended to the sidewalk. He checked over his shoulder. “Like a ground rule that I shouldn’t ever mention a specific coffee-and-steamed-milk-drink that begins with C?”

  He looked at Josh with that deliberately-cute expression, as if unsure whether Josh were going to laugh, or give that dresser a push and send him to his death.

  When Josh appeared unamused, Harrison added. “And as for me, I don’t ever want to hear you say my father gave me asshole lessons. I’ll have you know,” and he tilted his chin, “that’s one hundred percent natural talent.”

  Josh burst out laughing, and then Harrison did too.

  “Guys!” What was going on? “You’re going to drop the thing!”

  That set Josh off worse, and Harrison looked behind again to get his bearings. “Anyhow, I majored in music. Jackassery was my minor.”

  With Josh still laughing, they got it down to the sidewalk and over to the van. I tried to meet Harrison’s eyes, but he wasn’t looking at me, wasn’t being coy, was just being…honest. This was him. And there was Josh, even after he’d taken a knife to the back, listening.

  Josh finally said, “I’m tired of being prrr-rotected.”

  Harrison said, “The deal when you joined was you wouldn’t have to talk.”

  Josh said, “I don’t w-w-want that anymore.”

  Harrison said, “Then you’ve got to make up your mind, because how do I know when you want to talk to the pizza guy but not the reporter?”

  Josh’s mouth twitched. “Good point.”

  I propped the van’s doors. Ed and Shreya had already put the futon into the back, and I climbed in to move boxes so they could get he dresser inside. Harrison and Josh fit the drawers back in, then lifted it into the cargo bed, Josh pushing and Harrison guiding from inside. I scrambled over the front seat to get out of the way.

  Harrison’s phone sounded with the third movement of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. “Hey, Joey, grab that?”

  I pulled his phone from his back pocket. “It’s— Oh my God!” I answered the call. “Peter?”

  “Joey? I thought I called The Archer himself, but hey, good enough. Listen, I got you an apartment.”

  “What?” My vision went spotty. “How did you know?”

  “Harrison asked. I guess he already phoned everyone else in Manhattan and decided he’d
give me a shot.”

  I gaped at Harrison, who ignored me. My voice wavered. “I had no idea.”

  “Well, there’s a piccolo player who’s moving back to Indiana and needs to sublet her studio. It’s in Brooklyn Heights. You can take a look tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered. “Tell her I will.”

  “And hey, don’t worry. It’ll work out. If you need someplace to crash for a few weeks, call me.”

  I said goodbye, then looked at Harrison.

  His shoulders dropped. “I called everyone, Joey. I called ex-clients. I called our replacement players. I had Arvin search the bulletin board, and he’s calling his friends. I even called that reporter.” He chuckled. “You know a lot of people, and a lot of people want to help.”

  Upstairs again, Shreya had disassembled my shelving and Ed was carrying out the pieces.

  Officer Randall said, “What else is there?”

  I could have taken the shower curtain, every light bulb, and the little rug in the living room. There was some stuff in the cabinets, but Viv had already moved in her oddments, and I didn’t want to bicker over the Ritz crackers. “I’m done.”

  As Shreya and I stacked the final boxes in the van, my mother pulled up in her silver Accord and left it there in the street.

  Shreya breathed, “Wow, double-parking right in front of a cop.”

  Josh laughed. “It’s fine. She put on the h-hazards.”

  Harrison said, “Not so loud. I’m parked illegally too.”

  My mother marched up to me, her face one giant fury. For the second time that day, I thanked God for the presence of a police officer.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe how much trouble you’re making. I called you eleven times and you never answered! All this could have been prevented if you weren’t so stuck on doing everything for yourself.” She lowered her voice. “You march yourself back in that house, young lady.”

  I blinked at her. “What?”

  “You get right back in there and apologize to your grandmother.” She turned to the top of the steps. “Viv? Get down here right this instant. Now!”

  I’d never heard her angry at Viv. Not once in twenty-four years.