The Last Day For Rob Rhino

by Kathleen O'Donnell

  “The guidelines say you have to be a donor, or a trustee, or a trustee family member to use the cemetery. Your father was none of the above.” Claire almost coughed up a hairball.

  Grace turned Incredible Hulk. “Emmet Corrigan was a faithful servant to his family, his God, and this university. When he died he got his just reward.”

  What did any of that mean? Other than Claire nearly blew it again with her ill temper.

  “I’m sure he did Grace. I just wondered about it.” Claire tried to look apologetic. “Didn’t mean to start an uproar.”

  “My father’s burial was a gift. Isn’t that right, Mother? Isn’t that what you said?” Elizabeth went whiny. “The school’s way of showing its gratitude.”

  “That’s right. Exactly.” Incredible Hulk turned into gracious old lady. “Claire just didn’t know, that’s all.”

  “Of course.” Claire turned to Joe for confirmation, but he was gone.

  “Not everyone has diamonds as big as boulders and three-hundred-dollar shoes, but some people have a work ethic and grateful employers.” Elizabeth glared at Claire’s ring and red kitten heels.

  As if you could get Jimmy Choos for less than six hundred dollars. Claire sneered at Elizabeth’s serviceable Easy Spirits. She had a bad attitude and bad taste.

  “Elizabeth, that’s enough,” Grace said. “We’re all on edge. The sooner this is decided, the better. Claire? Did you bring my son’s ashes?”

  “Um... oh yes. He’s out in the car.” Damn it. She’d forgotten him again.

  “We’re leaving,” Elizabeth said. “You can see the ashes in her car. She can follow us out to the parking lot. As far as I’m concerned this isn’t a done deal.”

  “Elizabeth can think about this over the weekend. You have my number at the hotel and Joe’s number here if you have any questions,” Claire said.

  “If you want to go to the store, let’s go.” Elizabeth prodded Grace along with her hand and a not friendly push.

  She just went to the store yesterday. Claire followed them to the door of the chapel.

  Grace leaned in toward Elizabeth, sniveling, “I asked Connor to take me to the store yesterday. He said he’d only take me if I paid for the gas.”

  ****

  Claire couldn’t believe the porn sites that popped up when she typed Rob Rhino’s name in the search bar. Not that she looked on purpose. Talk about revolting. Thank the good Lord she’d only gotten a quick glimpse of the foot-long dog. She had to look three or four times to make sure it was even real.

  Had Evelyn cranked up the heat? She wiped her head, her sweaty hands together and looked over her shoulder embarrassed, though she sat alone in the tiny volunteer office off the chapel vestibule. She hoped no unwitting volunteers lost their jobs for surfing porn sites. Oh well. They didn’t get paid anyway.

  Joe’d gone hunting down the dean so Evelyn had given her a quick tutorial. She tried to comb through the cemetery directory but couldn’t remember Rob Rhino’s real name. Jordan’d told her but she couldn’t remember. Her head felt weighted down. Her mouth kept falling open. The tussle with the in-laws had required a quick chaser.

  Her eyes moved over the biography of Rob like an Evelyn Woods speed reader. She knew a lot of it already from Jordan. She only wanted to know... there. Raymond Horowitz. She went back to the database.

  Didn’t find a thing. No Gloria Horowitz. No Horowitz at all. For the hell of it she tried Rhino. Nothing.

  Maybe Gloria never changed her name. Back when saying women’s lib sounded hip. Claire did another quick scan of Rob’s bio.

  Married Gloria Metcalf 1970 to 1973. Gloria Metcalf b. 1950 d. 1973. Nothing else.

  Claire clicked back over to search the cemetery list.

  Ella Jean Metcalf—1880–1948

  Randall Metcalf—1875–1927

  Chapter Sixteen

  Another one not looking at her bald head.

  “Claire, I’m delighted to meet you.” Dean Lawrence Sumner introduced himself, held both Claire’s hands in his dwarfish ones. It felt undignified for a dean to only come up to her nipples.

  “I’m sure.” Claire crouched, evened things out.

  “I can’t begin to thank you for your generosity. I’m overwhelmed thinking about it. When Joe told me I nearly fainted.” He reminded Claire of someone.

  “Don’t give me too much credit. I wanted a crypt here.” Claire tried not to stare at his mole. Was it penciled on?

  “We’re so grateful.” He pressed her downward. “Let’s sit.”

  Claire untangled her hands, leaned down for her purse. “I’m on my way out. I’ve been here too long already.”

  She’d only come out to the chapel from the volunteer office to grab her forgotten bag and then skedaddle. She’d been caught in the dean’s snare.

  “Your bag and shoes are fabulous.” Dean Sumner reached out to feel the bag. “Hermes, the finest leather.”

  Steven. That’s who he reminded her of—Steven.

  “Well, I should be getting back to the hotel.”

  “Can I give you a few things to think about before you take off? I know you’re out of state but with a donation that size, well, we’d love to have you on our board of trustees. Please don’t answer yet. Your tragedy is fresh. Mull it over.” He tapped his little foot. “You don’t have to live here to attend meetings. Several of our members join us via conference call. Easy peasy.”

  “I can’t think about that now.” He must not think her tragedy was too fresh. A year didn’t really count but geez. “I need to settle my husband’s burial.”

  “Certainly you do,” he said without pausing to notice her disdainful expression. “But you still have to eat, right?”

  “What?”

  “The Dean’s Council banquet tomorrow night? We don’t have to make a big deal over you. Just come have dinner with some of our donors.”

  Claire took the bait. “Make a big deal over me?”

  “At the risk of sounding gauche it’s Trustee Week. There are recognition opportunities. Normally a five million dollar gift would be announced.” He looked at her like he thought she would finish his sentence.

  “To whom?” Claire couldn’t fathom. Joe mentioned opportunities.

  “Well,” he said tapping his chin with a well-buffed fingernail, “to our other donors for one. And, of course, our alumni.” His almost violet eyes (had to be colored contacts) circled the chapel.

  “And?”

  Out with it Lawrence.

  “The press. We’d announce it to the press.”

  “Oh heavens no. I don’t want all that fanfare.” Claire tried not to look as annoyed as she felt. “How ridiculous—”

  “Shall I be frank?”

  “Please.”

  “A sizeable gift, well, a gift such as yours, provides us significant leverage. It could help us get other large gifts.” The dean and Joe were the Frank and Jesse James of university relations.

  “Oh?” Claire put her bag on the floor, crossed her arms.

  “I’m sorry. The timing is terrible. But all our major donors are here this week. If we could announce something—”

  “The press release goes to the local paper?” Claire said considering.

  “Is that acceptable?”

  “Yes. The more the merrier. Radio, news, all of it, if possible.”

  “We’ll call our PR firm immediately. You’re an angel.” He took both Claire’s hands in his slimy ones, looking like he struggled not to appear too baffled at her sudden change of heart.

  “I have specific instructions about how I’d like my gift credited.”

  “Anything you’d like.”

  “Guess I’ll see you at the banquet tomorrow.”

  “Delightful.” He bowed at the waist, his trim silver hair unwavering.

  Finally a way to get Elizabeth into the crypt

  Chapter Seventeen

  Claire made the mistake of picking up the hotel phone when it rang.

  “I know
you’re trying to do a good thing. It’s so cool. I get it. But—”

  “Annabelle, if you think it’s so cool, then please support me.”

  “Claire, you know I love you. You’re the only mom I have.”

  Claire felt the shark jaws of motherly love tighten around her throat. “I need to do this.”

  “It’s too far. We can’t even visit his grave.” Sniveling sounds carried over the phone.

  “There’re planes.”

  “Dad never even talked about his family or that place.”

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “I need more clothes.”

  Dead air. Then, “That’s it? No more discussion?”

  Claire didn’t respond. The crypt was closed.

  “Claire? Are—”

  “Clothes. I need them.”

  “I called that place in Hawaii. Jimmy says you can fly out of Penn—”

  Claire picked up the Absolut bottle to throw it, almost cutting off her alcohol supply to spite her face. “Goddammit, Annabelle, I don’t want to hear another word about that fucking commune in Hawaii. I’m not going now or ever.”

  “Claire, you need a rest. That’s why you’re doing this crazy stuff. Dad’s death was hard—”

  “I will hang up this phone—”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll drop it for now.” Annabelle sighed, gave in. “What clothes do you want?”

  “Ask Conchita to help you. She knows what I like, what’s appropriate. She’s coming to the house a few days a week even though I’m not there isn’t she?”

  “I’ll have to go over there and find out.” Annabelle sounded pouty. “I can’t believe you need more clothes. You took too much to begin with.”

  “I told you I’ll be here three weeks.” Claire was over the lectures from her kids. “Conchita can FedEx it all to my hotel. She doesn’t have a lot to do since I’m here.”

  She fingered the manila envelope stuffed with correspondence from Holloway, Howard, and Lennox, LLC.

  “I’ll try to get over there in the next couple days.”

  “Try? This is important. I called the house and Conchita didn’t answer—”

  “I have classes, remember? Don’t you have Conchita’s home phone?”

  “Yes, but it’s in my cell.”

  Dead air again.

  “Annabelle?”

  All quiet on the western front.

  “Look, I know. I’ll plug in my phone as soon as we hang up. I—”

  “Is that it Claire? I really need to—”

  “No. What on earth is going on with Jordan?”

  “I could pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about but I won’t. You don’t really want to know what’s going on with Jordy or you wouldn’t ask. It’s plain as day.”

  “I thought he and Maura were about to get married.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “I thought an announcement was imminent.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  Claire started to cry. “What is he doing?”

  “He’s living his life.”

  “What about that awful Steven?”

  “Steven is far from awful. They bought a house together. They’re settling down. It isn’t a secret. Jordan’s been talking about it for months. You weren’t listening.”

  Claire squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears. Her chest burned. “I don’t understand it. I just don’t.”

  “Claire, don’t cry.” Annabelle’s voice soothed. “Jordy is a good man. What difference does it make if he’s gay?”

  “Don’t say that.”

  Claire threw the manila envelope across the hotel room. Dozens of envelopes scattered.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Claire sat on the bed amid a sea of envelopes on the avocado-green carpeting of the hotel room floor. After a shower, she felt fortified. And a hair drunk but only for medicinal purposes. She got on all fours, scooped them up. The room phone rang. Saved by the bell.

  Joe Lansing’s chipper voice relieved her. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  Please. Disturb. “No. Not at all. You were on my list to call today, before the banquet tonight.”

  “Just a small thing. I never did get Liam’s full name and correct spelling. We’ll need it for several purposes, the stone carving, we do a nice printed program, you might want a small newspaper announcement, etc.”

  After she obliged, she paused. “Joe... oddest thing. I asked Grace about Liam’s father. About his burial at the university. She confirmed he was neither a donor nor a trustee.” She flipped an envelope back and forth. “According to her the university gave him his plot as a gift for loyal employment. Does that sound right?”

  “That’d be the day. Let me look him up and see what I get. Emmet Corrigan, hmm, it’ll take just a few seconds. Oh yes, here he is, Emmet Patrick Corrigan. Someone made an anonymous donation in his honor so he could be buried here. A hefty one to boot—a million dollars. Fairly significant I’d say.”

  “It wouldn’t have been the school?”

  “Not a chance. We ask for money, we don’t give it away.”

  “Any way to know who anonymous was?

  “Afraid not. We take that designation seriously.” Claire could feel Joe’s consideration over the phone. “I’ll admit it’s a small town. Hard to keep a lid on money like that. But unfortunately, looks like he died right before I moved here. So I don’t even know any gossip.”

  “Hmm, that is too bad.” Claire balanced an envelope on Liam’s urn. “Would Grace have known?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “If she did she’d never admit it.”

  She watched the envelope sail to the ground.

  ****

  Claire picked a random envelope. She pulled a letter out dated three weeks after Liam died. The first one she’d received regarding the matter of Ellen Ryan and Shane Ryan Corrigan. Claire knew it word for word. Every one burned into her memory. The demand letter was the first of many all varying in degrees of hostility. The last promised court intervention if no satisfaction came by the suggested date. Claire reached for the phone.

  “Andrew? Sorry to bother you at home on a Saturday.”

  Not really. Not at the rates she paid him.

  “Don’t worry about it, Claire. Meg’s in Newport with the girls. I’m at the beach house. What’s wrong?”

  Claire closed her eyes, filled her lungs with as much air as she could breathe in. “I thought we’d talk about Ellen.”

  Claire could hear Andrew opening drawers. “Let’s rip this Band-Aid off and move on. I’m turning on my laptop as we speak.”

  “How much money are we sending her every month again?”

  “Ten grand.”

  “How much does she want?”

  “Haven’t you read any of the correspondence?”

  “That’s what I pay you for.”

  “She wants twice that. Plus private school tuition. Then college. And a car when he’s old enough.”

  “Liam is dead. I can’t believe this is an issue.”

  “There’s more.”

  “This is a joke.”

  “I’m not laughing. She wants a piece of the estate.”

  “Like my dad used to say, want in one hand, shit in the other. Guess which one fills up faster?”

  “You want to keep this out of court away from your family? She got the DNA results we demanded. You’re on the losing side of this Claire. I’m sorry.”

  Claire could feel her spine stiffen. “Absolutely not. No piece of the estate.”

  Claire heard flint scrape metal, the lighter ignite, and Andrew’s sharp intake of breath. “Claire, you don’t want to fight this out in front of a judge. You’ll lose. It’ll just be a question of how much. Shane is Liam’s son. He might be entitled to a piece of his estate.”

  Claire lay back on the bed. The tears rolled into her ears.

  “And he might not.”

  “I’m sorry. This couldn’
t be worse. I don’t know what to say.”

  Claire covered her eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone.

  “Just give me legal advice, Andrew.”

  “Claire—Ellen could’ve dragged you into court by now. Or shown up on your doorstep. Contacted the kids. She could’ve done any number of things to make this uglier. She’s erring on the side of reasonable. So far. You want legal advice?” He blew out. “You’re going to be paying for a very long time. Shane is only a little over a year old and Liam left a hefty estate. You give this to a judge and I think she’ll get everything she wants. You don’t want the state to determine the amount. To make matters worse, go to court, the lid’s blown off, and it’s public. Privacy costs. It’s that simple.”

  “Okay, Andrew. What do you want me to do?”

  “Make an offer. A serious one.”

  “Ten grand a month. Double is ridiculous. Yes to everything else. Plus a million in cash.”

  “It’s a place to start.” He hesitated. “Claire?”

  “What now?”

  “When you get home we need to talk about selling the apartment unless you’ve reconsidered the crypt. I’m—”

  Claire hung up.

  A place to start? This mess probably won’t end there. Or anywhere. Are there enough pills in the world to get through this?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Campus for the Cure isn’t until Wednesday night is it?”

  “You’d think she could afford at least a scarf.”

  “Hush, Irma. I heard she’s a widow. A rich one.”

  In her three thousand dollar Alexander McQueen dress (worth at least twice that since he hanged himself) she was the belle of this ball. So with her head held high she mopped her forehead and pranced around the auditorium like a million bucks. Five million to be exact. The bitter hens in last year’s Escadas could kiss her platinum ass.

  “Claire, you look fantastic.” Dean Sumner grasped both Claire’s hands in his. “That dress is a masterpiece, the best one in the room.”

  He’d leaned in and whispered so the other donors milling around close by couldn’t hear. Claire almost hadn’t heard. Her heels made her even taller so his voice echoed somewhere around her ribcage.