Bruce Wagner - I'll Let You Go

Upon entering the Withdrawing Room, he saw his grandson among the grove of tombstone maquettes. One look told him all he needed. “I see you’ve spoken to your mother.”

Toulouse nodded glumly. His face was puffy from worry and sleeplessness; a rough night in the doghouse all around.

His grandfather pursed his lips, a habit carried over from business— a “hardball” rictus unpleasantly familiar to those who had sparred with him on the corporate level. “What would you like me to do?”

“I want to see him.”

“He’s not ready for that, Toulouse.”

“Is he sick?”

“That’s a complicated question, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t sound complicated.”

“Let’s say he’s getting better.”

“What’s wrong with him? Is it the schizophrenia?”

His grandfather laughed, then chuffed. “You might put it that way! But he has the best care now and the doctors are seeing to his every need.”

“Was he in jail?”

“He was.”

“For murder?”

“For a crime he did not commit. That is why he was released.”

“What crime?”

“That is irrelevant.”

“Has Mother been to visit him?”

“No. Refuses to — and I’m glad. I don’t think he’s ready to see anyone .” He added, “I don’t think she’s ready.”

“Is it true he weighs four hundred pounds?”

“He’s not that heavy.” He laughed, knowing whence the exaggeration came. “A nutritionist has his diet completely under control.”

“Then why can’t I see him?” The boy dug in; he had his grandfather’s genes after all.

“Because it is not the time,” said the old man insistently.

“If it wasn’t for me,” said Toulouse, scowling, “you would never even have found him!”

“How’s that?”

“ I’m the one who called Harry and Ruth—”

“I know it. And you shouldn’t have imposed on them that way.”

“They were glad we went to see them. And I’m the one who bought the jellies that reminded her of him! I’m the one who wanted to find my father in the first place! No one else did—”

“You know that isn’t true, Toulouse.”

“But it is true! No one wanted to find him enough . And you didn’t want Mother to marry him in the first place! And she didn’t care — it was better for her with him gone. That way, she could be happy taking her precious drugs! If he did come back, what would her excuse be then ?”

Though his words stung, the old man stifled a swell of pride at the boy’s sagacity. “That’s enough now! You’re far too young to sit in judgment of me, let alone your mother. You will see your father in time —and that will be soon enough. Do a few months really matter? Do you want to ambush the man before he’s ready? Are you that selfish, Toulouse? I don’t think so. He is your father, regardless of how he behaved in the past. He has been pursued by Furies , and now we are trying to chase those demons away. Or as many as we can. He needs all his energy for that struggle, do you understand? I don’t want him derailed by certain — well, let’s just say I want him stronger before he has any more shocks. For you will be a shock to him. Now, do we have a deal? You agree that you will see your father when he’s ready?” He held out his hand, and the boy grudgingly shook it. Toulouse had been persuaded; his grandfather’s logic was sound.

“Deal.”

“Good. And not a word of this to anyone — not Lucy or Edward — not anyone . And leave your mother alone about it! What you said about her is true; before she sees him, she has to shed lots of dead skin. And it’s not an easy thing. But she’s holding up. Doing damn well, she is.”

He put an arm upon the boy’s shoulder while walking him out.

When they reached the door, Toulouse looked into his eyes. “I’m so sorry about Grandma,” he said sweetly. “I’d like to visit her soon.”

“She’d love that.” He was moved by the youngster’s politesse, for that was another visit of large proportion that needed the old man’s sanction. “Epitacio will take you whenever you like.” He leaned to kiss his head. “You’re a wonderful boy, Toulouse. You’ve a strange lot in life, but you’re unforgettable. I am proud you’re my grandson, and will do anything I can for you in the years I have left.”

While Toulouse acceded to his grandfather’s wishes, his pact did not prevent him from listening in on a visit paid his mother by the lovelorn detective. Though Trinnie remained beguilingly, if morosely, in bed for the occasion, her son’s efforts were made easier by an open door. He assumed Samson had left it that way on purpose, to let his mother know he didn’t have any big ideas.

After the usual awkward chitchat of the recently estranged, Trinnie inquired after her husband (she knew Samson had been spending time with him). He affably responded, happy to have alit on familiar ground. It was all very conversational; one would never have suspected the extraordinarily baroque details involved. The detective told her that Marcus had a “pretty good setup over there.” Toulouse hoped “there” would be named, and was not disappointed.

The Hotel Bel-Air wasn’t far — the boy felt the flush of the downhill walk, and the flush of illicitness too, not dissimilar from the feeling that had overtaken him when he had first climbed through the broken hedge of La Colonne. He had promised Grandpa Lou not to interfere and would keep that promise; yet, as in the trespass of the forbidding park on Carcassone Way, he seemed powerless to stop his legs from propelling him forward.

He waved to Kevin, who knew him well from two years of Pull-manesque peregrinations. The valet let him park the dog by a sleeping Ferrari while he went in to investigate.

Toulouse struck out over the bridge, glancing down to the postcard pond with its swan fantasia. His plan was to dash through the small lobby and walk to the pool, then back past the bar and restaurant in hopes of “seeing something.” Before he had the chance, he noticed a figure crouching at the edge of the water. It was Sling Blade, who vied for the attentions of the long-neck’d, floating beauties while grinning at some remark a man nearby had tossed off. The man laughed, the laughter itself as full-bodied as the throat from which it poured out—

Toulouse froze. Was it? — it must be — it was … it was! — him . Him.

He was looking at his father.

Then came a shock from another direction: “Toulouse?”

Boulder fairly tackled him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her face frozen in a country-club smile that said: Celebrities Only.

He couldn’t answer; he couldn’t speak.

“Are you rolling ? Oh my God, you look like you’re rolling!”

“What?” he managed.

“Like you took E.”

“E?”

“Ecstasy, stupid. Anyway, I’m just kidding … ”

“Boulder, I have to — I have to go …”

“ Diane’s here, with Dex. Don’t you want to say hello? You have to. We’re having a brunch — we have the same agent now, isn’t it cool? I signed with William Morris!”

As recent events were too much to assimilate alone, Toulouse was forced to throw himself on the mercy of the court of Olde CityWalk, his rationale being that Lucy and Edward had been in on the search for his father from the very beginning and that, to this date anyway, the suppression of family secrets had done the Trotter clan no apparent good. Like in the early days, the musketeers convened in Edward’s apartments — and that, beginning with Trinnie’s boudoir confession, is where he brought them up to speed.