“What? But that’s impossible! How?” I manage finally.
“I’m afraid she took her own life.”
“Josie? I don’t believe that. Not for a second.”
“The circumstances leave no doubt. She left a note, Ms. Thomas. A very detailed note. It’s more of a letter, actually. She made a copy for me and another for you.”
“For me? But…” If she could take the time to write me a letter, then why couldn’t she just call me for help? I want to ask. But words are not coming easily right now. “But why? What was going on that she couldn’t tell me about?”
“Your friend had found out she was very, very ill,” Molton tells me. “Her letter explains all of this. She discovered recently that she had an advanced case of cancer. Somehow it had become terminal without her knowing she was sick. That happens sometimes. She feared a long, drawn-out death. She didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. And so, three days ago, she took a deliberate overdose of pills.”
That was so Josie. She wouldn’t think twice about running off with your husband, but she’d sooner die than put someone to the trouble of looking after her. Literally.
Molton pushes a box of tissues gently in my direction. I take a handful, but I don’t need them yet. That will come later, when I’m alone in my car.
“You said there were two pieces of news,” I remind him.
“Yes. The other piece is also quite major. There’s no easy way to say this either, so I’m just going to come out with it. Ms. Epstein requested in her will that you be her son’s guardian.”
“Her son? David?”
“Yes.”
“His guardian?”
“Yes, Ms. Thomas.”
“So, what does that mean? Like his fairy godmother or something? I drive him places? Chaperone him at dances? That kind of thing?”
“Er…not exactly,” says Molton. “As you know, Ms. Epstein’s parents are gone, and she has no other family. She said that some time ago the two of you made an agreement that you would raise her children if anything happened to her.”
“I…said that?” How many beers did I have in me at the time? I want to ask. But I doubt that information has been filed anywhere.
“It’s not a permanent arrangement, I assure you,” Molton says. “The boy’s father plans to return home from Europe as soon as possible. He wants to be with his son, of course. He will have full custody of David.”
“Of course!” I say, with perhaps a little too much relief. “Charlie always was a stand-up guy.”
“But in the meantime, David needs someone to look after him,” Molton continues. “It will take his father about a month to wrap up his affairs overseas. I understand he plans to sell his business over there. That sort of thing takes time. Until then, Ms. Epstein requested that you be the one to take care of her son.”
“This is crazy,” I say. “Why didn’t she ask me herself? I mean, before she…”
“Her letter explains all of this, but the reason she didn’t talk to anyone beforehand was that she was afraid people would try to stop her,” Molton says. “That’s the gist of it. It was not an easy decision to make. I’m sure you can appreciate that, Ms. Thomas. But she felt it had to be done.”
Or, as Josie explained it to me herself in her letter, which I read sitting in the parking lot of Molton Hudson and Winkel:
I wanted to leave my son with something better than memories of his mother dying in a hospital. I want him to remember me young and healthy. And I want to have some money to leave him. I didn’t want everything to get eaten up by medical bills. I hope you can forgive me for doing this to you, Kat. And I hope David can too…someday.
Molton was right. You have to admire the courage of someone who can make a decision like that. If you didn’t know her, you might think Josie had taken the easy way out. But I know Josie was made of tough stuff. A lot tougher than me, I guess.
That’s when I lose it completely. I go through most of the tissues I’d helped myself to in about five minutes.
I won’t lie. I’m hurt. It really bothers me that she could do something so drastic without talking to me first. There was a time when she wouldn’t even get dressed on a Friday night without asking my opinion. Now she goes and leaves the planet without even letting me know?
To say I feel betrayed is to put it mildly.
But I pull myself together. David is at Andrew Molton’s house, waiting for me there. I don’t want to leave him alone for another minute. He needs to see a familiar face.
Well, that’s what I would tell anyone who asked. The truth is, I feel the same way about taking on a kid as I do about getting the bad news. As I do about ripping off a bandage. If there’s no way to get out of it, then best to get it over with right away.
Thanks, Josie. Thanks a hell of a lot.
FOUR
You know how sometimes you just close your eyes and grit your teeth until something you really dislike is over? That’s how I feel about driving through Morganville. Unfortunately, you can’t drive with your eyes closed. That’s a good way to have an accident.
So I have to take it all in. I try to look straight ahead and see nothing. Focus on an imaginary point in the distance. It almost works, for a minute.
It’s not that my memories of home are bad. It’s that they exist at all. Practically every place I see has a memory attached to it. And more than half of those memories have my dad in them. They play out in my head like little movies I can’t turn off, and every one of them hurts.
I know, I know. I have a problem letting go. What can I say? I’m a human being. You show me someone who doesn’t have a problem letting go, and I’ll show you someone who is either a Zen master or a heartless monster.
I’m upset for another reason too. My life has taken another sudden turn with this kid business. I don’t like sudden turns. I like to know exactly what’s coming and exactly what to do about it. I always have a plan.
Up until twenty minutes earlier, my entire life was laid out. I knew exactly what I wanted to be doing next:
Enter the tournament
Win the million dollars
Start playing high-level casino poker in places like Vegas and Monte Carlo
Become a celebrity poker player
Spend the rest of my life rolling in dough
That’s a good plan, right? If you look closely, you will notice that children do not enter into it. My own or anyone else’s.
But Josie had decided to put a stop to that. Figures. I always thought she was jealous of my independence. Well, at least I’ve had the brains to use birth control. And she was what they call passive-aggressive. That means she had a way of pushing you around while letting you think you were the one in charge.
I can’t believe you would do this to me, I say to her inside my head.
And I can hear her voice come back. You would have done the same thing in my shoes.
That makes me mad.
“No way,” I say out loud. “That’s totally unfair. First off, I wouldn’t have been in your shoes. I wouldn’t have gotten married at nineteen. I wouldn’t have had a kid right away.”
Yup. ’Cause you’re a loner. Tough, independent Kat. Doesn’t need anyone. Nobody is good enough.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I say. Then it dawns on me that I’m having a conversation with a dead woman.
That doesn’t make me crazy. I believe they can still hear us long after they have passed over to the other side. I talk to my father all the time, and I know he answers me.
“Josie,” I whisper, as I pull up
in front of a brick mansion in the fanciest part of Morganville. “Say hello to my dad for me.”
No need. He’s right here, I hear her say.
Well, that I believe. I always have the sense that he’s just over my shoulder. Still watching out for his little girl.
Someone opens the front door before I knock. There’s a woman standing there who must be Molton’s wife. She’s about fifty, pleasant-looking, not quite attractive but very well dressed. She wears expensive jewelry and takes good care of her skin. She’s well kept. Maybe I should start dating more lawyers.
“You must be Katherine Thomas,” she says. “Andrew said you were coming.”
“Yes. I’m here for David,” I say.
“Well, here he is,” she says, and she steps aside.
I used to spend a lot of time with Josie and David. When he was a baby, he knew me well. We used to play peekaboo. I changed his diapers. I burped him on my shoulder. I even used to take him for walks in his stroller while Josie caught a nap.
This kid looks nothing like the little baby I remember. He’s about ten now, small for his age. He’s already wearing glasses. His hair hangs into his eyes in that Justin Bieber style all the boys are sporting these days. I guess I’m expecting him to be glad to see me. But I can tell he doesn’t even remember me.
“Davey,” I say. “I’m your Aunt Kat.”
“It’s David,” he corrects me. “And you’re not my real aunt. My mother didn’t have any siblings.”
I nod. I try to hide my surprise. He talks like a thirty-year-old. Most boys I know can hardly talk at all. They just point and grunt, like little cavemen.
“Okay,” I say. “David. Your mom and I were like sisters once. That makes me like your aunt. But you’re right—I’m not really your aunt. So you can just call me Kat. You ready to go?”
I’m expecting an argument, maybe. But I guess there’s nothing keeping David attached to the Molton residence. There are no goodbyes, no thank-yous. He picks up a suitcase that’s already packed and marches past me toward my car.
I exchange glances with Mrs. Molton. She shrugs.
“He’s had a hard time, obviously,” she says. “But he’s tough. A very mature little fellow. Kind of like a ten-year-old businessman. He basically takes care of himself.”
“Thanks for looking after him,” I say. “Josie would have appreciated it.”
“Good luck,” says Mrs. Molton. She closes the door and goes back to her wealthy life.
In the car, David sits still and silent. He’s so tense, I worry he might rupture something. I would like to break the ice a little, but what does one say to a ten-year-old boy these days? I have no idea. Then I remember. Food. Boys are always ravenous. Everyone knows that.
“We’ve got kind of a long drive,” I say. “You hungry?”
“No, thank you,” he says.
“Not even a hamburger?”
“Hamburgers are the cause of Amazon deforestation,” David says.
“Huh?”
He sighs, like he can’t believe he has to explain this to someone as stupid as me.
“Fast-food places buy meat from cattle ranchers in South America. They keep cutting down rainforest for more pasture. The rainforest is the lungs of the world. If the rainforest is gone, we die. So no, I don’t want a hamburger.”
Wow. What planet did this kid come from? I decide to try a different tack.
“David…I’m really sorry. I had no idea anything was going on with your mom. I didn’t even know she was sick.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I wish she would have told me,” I say.
“Why?” he says. “You couldn’t do anything about it.”
He really does sound like he’s thirty instead of ten. It’s a little creepy. And he’s lacking something in the manners department too.
“I guess not. I mean, I…I don’t know what I mean. I’m just sorry about the whole thing, that’s all. I want you to know I really care about you. And I’m going to take good care of you until your dad comes. We’re…”
I almost say, We’re going to have lots of fun. But that would sound ridiculous. The kid just lost his mom. Nothing is going to seem fun to him right now. I could take him to the most exciting theme park in the world, stuff him full of cotton candy and give him unlimited rides on the roller coaster, and he would be miserable. His poor little heart is broken.
“We’re going to be just fine,” I say instead.
He snorts.
“My mom used to say that all the time,” he says. “Obviously, it doesn’t mean anything.”
This kid out-argues me every time I open my mouth. I start the car up. We pull away from the curb.
“I lost my dad five years ago,” I say.
“You did?”
“Yeah. So I kinda know how you feel.”
“How did he die?”
I wasn’t expecting him to ask that. But I deserved it. I can’t even believe I brought my dad up. Normally, I never mention him to anyone.
“He…died very suddenly,” I say.
“Were you there?” David asks me.
“When he died? No.”
“So you didn’t see it happen?”
“No, I didn’t see it. I wish I had, because I wouldn’t have let it happen.”
“Why? How did it happen?”
“I don’t want to go there,” I say.
David sits looking straight ahead.
“I was there when my mom died,” he says.
I look at him in surprise.
“You were?”
“Yeah. She wanted me to be there.”
“She…what?”
“She was holding me in her arms,” says David. “She wanted me to be there when she left. To be the last thing she felt in the world. She said she was sorry, but it was better this way. That I would understand when I was older.”
I pull the car over to the curb.
“Davey,” I say. “I’m so, so sorry you had to go through that.”
I put out my arms to hug him. But he pulls away.
“Don’t touch me,” he says.
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“My mother was the last person to touch me. And no one is ever touching me again.”
I nod. I understand just what he means.
“Okay,” I say. “I won’t ever try to touch you again. I promise.”
I pull away from the curb again and drive back through town toward the highway. Soon Morganville is in my rearview mirror, where it belongs.
FIVE
It’s late at night by the time we get back to my apartment. When I left earlier in the day, I had no idea I was going to be coming home with a new kid. I don’t even have a goldfish. I’m not set up to care for anyone but myself. So my place is a little messy. And me being a single woman, there are a few…personal items lying around that I don’t usually bother hiding.
I make David wait outside while I run around and make sure there’s nothing that will shock him or get me sent to prison for corrupting a minor. Then I open the door and bring him in.
“This is going to be home for you until your dad shows up,” I say. “Mi casa, tu casa. Home sweet home. You can do whatever you want here.”
David looks around. He’s clearly unimpressed. My place is probably too girly for him. Or at least not very kid-friendly.
“Are you going to make me go to school?” he asks.
“Uh…” Of course he would want to know that, but I haven’t had time to think about any of these things. He’s been here less than five minutes and already I’m being tested.
What would my dad do? That’s probably the last question I should be asking myself, since he was about the least responsible person on earth. But it’s all I have to go on for now. The only other role model I have is my mom, and I know what she would do. Make the kid take a bath, put him in a clean set of pajamas, tell him to say his prayers, put his ass to bed and force him out the door first thing in the morning to a brand-new school where he would know nobody and would probably have to fight for his life on the playground.
Yeah right. Like that’s gonna happen. This is why I’m my father’s daughter, not my mother’s.
“Well, if you’re only going to be here a few weeks, there’s really no point in going to school, is there?” I say. “Wherever you end up living with your dad, you’ll be going to school there. So look at this as kind of a vacation.”
He nods.
“Right,” he says. He looks relieved.
“You don’t like school, huh?”
“The other kids are idiots. They make fun of me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m different.”
“That won’t last,” I say. “When you get older, people will like that about you. Different people make the world interesting.”
“I don’t really care what they think of me,” David says. “The less time I have to spend around stupid people, the better.”
Okay then, I think. I wonder if I’m on his list of stupid people. Something tells me it’s a long list.
“Nice computer setup,” he says, pointing to my desk.
“Thanks,” I say. I am rather proud of my battle station. I have three large monitors and a really expensive system. It looks like the command center of a spaceship.
“Are you a programmer?” he asks.
“No.”