Bruce Wagner - I'll Let You Go

She stopped near a leafy inlet and drew her fingers through her grandson’s hair. Pullman came over, and Toulouse watched a tiny shock wave of fear enlarge her eyes until the dog passed. She hadn’t recognized the animal.

They walked some more in silence, until reaching the side of the maze farthest from the house. “My parents never wanted me to marry him, you know. To them he was a trashman, a digger of holes. A mole. Worse: a clotheshorse mole! Now, your father, well, the situation was … those people — those Redlands people had no money, but what difference did it make? We didn’t care about that. One thing your grandmother is not is a snob. And your father … Marcus seemed a bit ‘lost,’ no? He had his Oxford side, St. John’s and all, and then he had his Hollywood side. Very Jewish that way. Well, we didn’t give a yap about any of it, your grandfather and I. We only wanted Trinnie to be happy.” She traced a line with her foot in the pebbly ground. “Your father … well — what was meant to be was meant to be. He was not mentally correct . Do you love him?” The question took him aback. Again, with a rakish smile: “Do you love him?”

“Grandma, I’ve never even met him!”

“I’m sure you will,” she said, with a pixie’s amusement.

“Sometimes I wish Lucy never told me he was … alive.”

“Oh, but someone would have. And you’d have been angry, no? Lucy is a great friend, no? You love Lucy, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

They passed a second entrance to the box hedge, and Bluey gave an inquiring side glance.

“Don’t think I’ll go in — not today.”

She gathered herself on a stone bench. He sat down beside her.

“Do you know what is truly distressing?” She had the hollow, watery eyes of an excommunicant. “The thing I’m terrified of?—”

“Grandma, what is it?”

He thought she would burst into tears.

“You promise you won’t say anything to anyone?”

“I promise.”

“Are you certain, Toulouse? Because I don’t want this to get back to your mother! And I sure as hell don’t want Louis bothered by it.”

“I won’t,” he said, genuinely wanting to ease her agony. “I wouldn’t tell anyone .”

She leaned in his ear and whispered: “We are running out of money.”

Toulouse was nonplussed; under contagion of the old woman’s derangement, he struggled to understand. He’d never given money much thought — its running-outs or running-ins.

“But … did someone say it?”

“No! No! Of course not! Of course no one said it. No one ever says it. No one ever says anything . It’s something I know and it does not need ratification or ratiocination. But I cannot discuss this with your grandfather, do you understand? Because that will ‘hasten’ me — in their eyes. They’ll send me away! Did you know Louis bought a set of buttons at auction for twenty-three thousand dollars? A set of buttons, Toulouse! From the Court of Louis the Fourteenth. He collects anything with ‘Louis’ attached, such is his vanitas —’vanity of vanities,’ sayeth the Preacher. And to what end? How are we to maintain the house, Toulouse? Do you know what that man hoards in his den? (You should know; you’re in there enough.) More than Croesus, that’s what! And your mother is cut from the same cloth. I told them to sell that house — that crazy cracked tower. I told them years ago. What good does it do just sitting there? Do you know what that land is worth ? Families could live there fourteen times over! But your mother and grandfather would rather keep a haunted house. Well now I’ve come to haunt them — I’ll make them pinch a penny!”

“Grandma, let’s go back.”

“You cannot breathe a word —”

“I wouldn’t.”

She began to weep.

“Your uncle Dodd … I had such hopes for your uncle Dodd — that he would be the one to restore us. But he spends so much! Lord, he flies around in a plane that costs millions and millions — you need an entire crew and every one of those crew-people have their own lifestyles that must be maintained. And you have to pay ! You’re supporting a whole city of people you don’t even know! Joyce says she makes him take pills so he won’t spend the money — his wife is an angel . But I do think they may be worse off than we are! The market is constantly crashing . But you wouldn’t know it from talking to Uncle Dodd! No you wouldn’t. He’s got his head in the sand, Tullie … Do you think they’ll ask for anything? Do you think they’ll ask Grandpa for money? That would be a terrible calamity. Because we simply do not have it!”

“Mr. Trotter?” She stood outside the Withdrawing Room like a child. “Mr. Trotter, may I come in?”

The old man was surprised, and pleased to see her. “Yes, Winter, of course.”

“I won’t take too much of your time.”

“Not at all, come in! Come in.” He was having his drink, and strolling amid the little tombs. “How’s our girl doing?”

“Not so bad today. Keeps to her scrapbooks.” She smiled rather painfully. “Says we lost one of the notices — that I misplaced it. Sometimes she even says I steal them.”

“Never was a shy one!” he said. “Always spoke her mind.”

“Spends most her time looking, looking, looking — then forgets what she’s looking for .”

He chuffed and clucked and shook his head. “Invidious disease.”

He sipped at his sherry and offered her some, surprised when she acceded.

Winter looked around at the room’s wonders, and he handed her a glass. He knew she had more to say. She’d been under a great strain and perhaps wanted a sabbatical; the timing could not be more inopportune.

“And how are you bearing up, Winter?”

“Me, sir? I’m all right. I’ve been through it before — with an aunt. In Reykjavík. But it’s not an easy thing …”

“No. Not an easy thing.”

“Mr. Trotter … there’s something been on my mind. And I–I wanted to talk it over.”

“Yes! Anything, Winter! Please!”

“Well, some months ago Mrs. Trotter said she bought me something. And I was very glad and very grateful of it at the time but now … now that her troubles seem to have gotten so much worse—”

“What did she buy you, Winter?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, sir, she said — she said it was a condo.”

“A condo?”

“Yessir. A condominium.”

He chuffed and looked thoughtfully into the air. “Where?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Trotter. I never asked.”

“I see. And … well, she never mentioned — never mentioned any details?”

“No, sir. Not a word.” She looked at the ground, as if at a loss; he thought he would help her along.

“And you want to know if the papers are in order …” Winter looked up, confused. “You’re concerned that with the onset of Bluey’s ‘difficulties,’ the paperwork or records of ownership might be, shall we say, in flux .”

“No sir, I—”

He chuffed, trying to lighten the mood, which had become a trifle morbid. “Perhaps that’s the thing she thinks you’ve misplaced — perhaps that’s what she’s been searching for. I’ll look into it, Winter, you have my word. And I’m glad you came to me. It’s an absolutely valid concern.”

“But, Mr. Trotter, you misunderstand!”

“Oh?”

“I don’t care about any condo — I never have! I never asked for anything and never expected anything in all my years with the family! But, sir — if she did do this thing — if she did buy this place for me — which was quite unusual in that she’d never done anything like it before in the thirty-five — if she did do this thing on account of — her ‘difficulties,’ as you said — if she bought this thing for me and doesn’t remember or never meant to in the first place … or wouldn’t have if not for her ‘difficulties’—”