Aquarium (19 page)

Have you been here before? I asked my mother.

Yeah. Of course.

When?

I don’t know when. A few times.

She wasn’t looking at me. I went into his bedroom and turned on the light and it was more of the same, piles of stuff everywhere, including a big pile of dirty clothing, most of it black. Bed unmade, and the sheets felt damp in the cold, the heat not on. Smell of sweat and deodorant. My mother had been in here, and when was that? While I waited after school? And the day I was at Shalini’s. And now she’d be able to visit whenever she wanted.

Vamos, Steve said. Bandidos. Un stagecoach waits con mucho gold. Mucho dinero.

Ai yai yai yai yai, my mother said.

They were excited, Steve waving the papers in the air.

We drove through snow and slush to the aquarium, the stereo blasting, and I hoped my grandfather would not be there. I wanted to save him from the bank robbers.

Let me go in first, I said when we had parked in the lot across the street.

We’re all going in, my mother said.

Please. Let me talk with him first. Don’t go in. Wait here and we’ll come out. And I’ll show him the contract.

Maybe we should just kill him after he signs, my mother said. That way we have the house and money and he doesn’t get anything.

Sheri, Steve said.

Okay, fine. He lives. But he’s still getting the best part of this deal. There’s nothing we can do to make the terms bad enough.

I think it’s a good idea to have Caitlin go in alone, Steve said.

Fine. I’m not dying to see him ever again anyway.

That’s the Christmas spirit, Steve said.

That’s what pisses me off most, that he really is getting everything just in time for Christmas.

But you also don’t want to go to work on Monday.

True.

I took the contract from my mother and stepped out into the snow. No sign of his car, but of course it wasn’t something he could drive now anyway.

I hurried inside, where the staff looked surprised to see me. I was never here on a weekend.

I found him kneeling at a tank, his forehead against the glass, eye to eye with a hairy blenny, some sort of communion. Thin covering of hairs on the blenny’s head, same as on an old man.

You’ll never win a staring match with that fish, I said.

Caitlin. He put his arms around me, head against my stomach. Ah, Caitlin. I didn’t think I’d see you today, and I waited yesterday but I guess you couldn’t come.

I didn’t go to school. We stayed home.

He stood up then and held my shoulders and looked at me. I’m so lucky to see you again. I thought I might not. He pulled me close and I put my arms around him.

What are those papers you have? he asked. He sounded afraid.

A contract. My mother said we can come live with you, and she’ll go to school, but she wants money.

Well let’s take a look. He guided me to a bench and we sat and he took the papers.

I’m sorry about your car.

It’s only a car.

But you said it was the engine that would take you to the end.

It’s okay. I can’t read in this light, though. I have to get closer to one of the tanks. Find a bright one.

I took him to a brightly lit tank of triggers. They looked like art projects, colored with blue chalk.

The Bahamas, he said. I wouldn’t mind living there. A place on the beach and go swimming with the fish.

The triggers can eat sea urchins, I said. They blow water to flip them over, then attack the underside.

When we go snorkeling, we’ll have to have some sort of walkie-talkies so you can tell me about the fish.

My grandfather read the contract then, and I could see the two of us in a tropical paradise with palm trees and white sand, swimming through bright blue water with our walkie-talkies. Purple sea fans and giant green brain coral, sea anemones orange and white and triggers chalked blue. Parrot fish patterned in turquoise or red. Nurse sharks sleeping in piles on the bottom. Everything peaceful and warm and easy, the two of us just floating along.

Well, he said. I’ll have no security anymore. I’ll have to go back to work, which means I won’t be here after school. Although maybe I can get an early shift to get out in time. They might give me that. We parted well enough.

I’m sorry, I said. She’s mean.

No, no. Caitlin. I’m the one who failed. Your mother has done nothing wrong. And I’m lucky to have this chance. The contract is only money, and money is worth nothing, it turns out. All my life I was ruled by it, and finally I get comfortable enough and find out it’s nothing. What matters is the chance to be with you and also to get to know your mother again. I would sign something a hundred times worse to have that chance.

So you’ll sign?

Yes, of course.

I started jumping up and down. I couldn’t help it. He laughed and said, That’s worth three houses right there.

T
he wind had come up while we were inside, and the snow was blown now in gusts, clouds of it blocking all view and then clearing again. It swirled around the posts of streetlamps and signs, dust devils in white. My grandfather kept the papers safe in his coat, and he walked hunched over with his chin ducked.

My mother opened the passenger door of the pickup and looked down at us. The engine on and heat blasting.

Thank you, Sheri, my grandfather said. I’m happy to sign the papers. Thank you for this chance.

You have to sign with a notary today. And we’ll have a new contract from a lawyer, and you have to sign that, too.

I’m happy to sign.

You fuck. I bet you are happy. Getting everything you want.

Sheri, Steve said.

Fine. But I’ll never forget what you did. I’ll never forget who you are.

I won’t either, my grandfather said. Believe me. I know how worthless I am. Nobody knows it better.

I know it better.

I know I can’t make it up to you, Sheri, but I’m going to try anyway. The house will go in your name now, and all the money I have will go to you and Caitlin. You’ll have everything from me now, all that I am and all that I have. I can’t offer more than that.

My grandfather in the snow and wind, his arms wide, offering up to a god.

Well it’s not enough, she said. It will never be enough. Then she stepped down and he backed away. Get in, Caitlin, she said, folding her seat forward.

I climbed into the back.

Follow us, she told him, and hopped back in and closed the door. The side window was fogged and I couldn’t see him.

That was harsh, Steve said.

Shut the fuck up, my mother said.

I could see Steve’s jaw clenching. He put the truck in gear and drove slowly to the parking lot exit, looking in his rearview. That must be him, he said. A small rental.

Then let’s go, my mother said.

I have limits too, Steve said.

My mother said nothing. Steve drove only a few blocks and parked outside a Mail Boxes Etc. Then we all went inside and my grandfather joined us.

My bank is closed now, he said. But Monday we can go and I’ll transfer the house into your name. You’re already listed on my retirement and life insurance accounts.

And when did this happen? my mother asked.

Years ago.

You’ve been here for years, living right in Seattle. Why now?

Sheri, I can’t explain really.

Have you always been here?

No, I went back to Louisiana and lived there eleven years.

But you’ve been back here for eight?

Yeah. I’m sorry. I meant to be in touch with you right away, but I knew how angry you’d be.

Eight years.

Sorry to interrupt, folks, the notary said. She was clearly getting impatient. I need you to sign now if we’re going to do this. Ten dollars per signature.

My grandfather signed the contract and the notary’s logbook, then my mother signed. Then we waited.

You can come to the house now if you like, my grandfather said. And you can move in anytime.

Did you have another family?

No other children, no. But I did remarry in Louisiana.

And what happened to her? Did she catch a cold and you ran back here?

Sheri, Steve said.

My mother gave Steve a sharp look but held back this time from saying anything.

She left me, my grandfather said.

Was she younger?

Almost twenty years younger.

Jesus.

You don’t have to confess everything, Steve said.

No, it’s all right, my grandfather said. I’m not hiding anymore. I’m willing to tell anything.

You’re such a hero, my mother said.

Twenty dollars, the notary said.

Steve pulled out his wallet.

No, my mother said. Make him pay.

I’m paying, Steve said, and he put down a twenty. Let’s go.

So we followed my grandfather this time in his small white rental car. We drove up East Yesler Way, past my school, and kept going, turned north on 23rd Avenue past the high school, residential areas, a strip mall, a power substation, then he turned right on East Pine. Big houses, individual, better than where we lived. This is nice, I said. He turned left after one block, on 24th.

He’d better not live in a big house, my mother said. I’ll kill him.

But the house is yours, whatever it is, Steve said.

I’ll still kill him. Eight years, and where have I lived those eight years? Or the last nineteen years?

My grandfather turned left onto an unpaved drive. A small, beautiful house with space all around, on a big lot. Much bigger houses to both sides, but this small one was so perfect.

Wow, Steve said. A Victorian. Only one story, but a lot of character.

It was dark blue, with cream around the windows and steep roof, and a light blue door with a curved awning above, like a fairy-tale house.

Steve followed down the drive and parked beside the front steps. Another roof and bay window jutting out the side. Sheri, he said. This is good.

My mother was quiet.

My grandfather walked past and up the stairs, opened the front door and stood there waiting in the snow.

Sheri? Steve asked.

This is all happening so fast, she said. In just a few days, everything changes? Suddenly I have a house and I don’t work and I’m living with my father who left?

We waited then, sitting in the cab as the air cooled. My grandfather went inside finally and closed the door. He was probably very cold by now. I wanted him to come out to the truck, but I understood why he didn’t. I closed my eyes and wished I could pray, but there was no god I knew, only fish. The mola mola, perhaps, with that smaller white eye looking upward, mouth open in rapture, as my grandfather had said. A shadow form come close for a moment and then vanished again. Still there, but only felt, not seen.

Help us, was all I could think to ask. Crescent moon propelled by those great dark wings.