Spirit Legacy (2 page)

We pulled along Marlborough Street, which was lined with beautiful brownstones, packed shoulder to shoulder like stately soldiers permanently at attention. Karen swung the car into its narrow spot, palming the wheel with one hand with the effortless expertise of a true city dweller.

“Nice one.”

“Thanks,” she replied. “I have to say, parallel parking was one skill I had to learn as a city girl. You should have seen Noah try to do it when he first moved here. It was pretty pathetic. We lost several good bumpers and pissed off a lot of neighbors.” She squinted out of the streaming windshield and sighed. “Well, this rain isn’t letting up any time soon. We might as well get this over with.”

We flung the doors open and darted around the back of the car to retrieve my bag. Noah had been silhouetted against the window as we’d pulled up, and now bolted down the steps to help us. Though only outside the car for about thirty seconds, we were drenched by the time we crossed the threshold into the entryway.

“Hi, Jessica,” Noah said. There was an awkward moment as he tried to decide whether to hug me or shake my hand. He compromised by patting me on the shoulder. “We’re glad to have you.”

“She prefers Jess, actually,” Karen said.

Noah raised his eyebrows and turned back to me. “Right. Sorry, Jess.”

I’d only met Noah once, on the afternoon of my mother’s funeral. I could definitely tell that he had once been really good-looking. His hair and moustache were still thick and shiny, though streaked liberally with gray. He was tall with what was once an athletic build, though he’d softened up with age. He wasn’t as social as Karen, at least not around strangers; I could relate to that at least. After the funeral he didn’t seem to know what to say to me, and so he’d said very little. He’d stared at me a good deal though, and I recognized the symptoms of someone freaked out by my appearance. He had eyed my fishnet tights, combat boots, and dyed hair with definite disapproval. From the sideways glances I was getting now, I could tell not much had changed.

“I’ll show you around, Jess. Noah, honey, bring the bag up and then we’ll all have a bite to eat,” Karen said.

Noah and my bag disappeared up a polished oak staircase and Karen gave me what she called the “grand tour.” I could tell that she meant it sarcastically, but I couldn’t see what there was to be sarcastic about. Their apartment was… well, amazing. They had purchased the ground floor apartment first, and then bought the second floor as well when it became available. They then renovated both floors into a single apartment. It all had the look of a five star hotel. Intricate oriental rugs dotted the hardwood floors and an eclectic collection of artwork adorned the walls like jewelry. I was pretty sure the one over the mantelpiece was a real Picasso. I almost choked on my gum when I saw it. The downstairs comprised a living room and dining room, both full of antique furniture; a gourmet kitchen, which Karen called “all for show,” since she was rarely home to cook; a mahogany-lined study, and a magnificently appointed bathroom. As we went from room to room, I instinctively kept my hands in my pockets; I felt like a second-grader on a museum field trip, forbidden to touch anything. Upstairs Karen and Noah had a master suite with a four poster bed and Jacuzzi-ed bathroom. Karen’s office was up on this floor, contained behind leaded glass doors. She turned a last corner and opened the door on the right.

“And here’s your room,” she said. “I hope everything is comfortable for you.”

I stared around, gaping. Every inch of wall space was covered in bookshelves, from floor to ceiling, and each shelf was bursting with more books than I’d ever seen outside of a public library or bookstore. In the corner were a bed, an armchair, and a nightstand. A matching bureau stood against the opposite wall, and a mirror hung on the inside of the door.

“I know it’s not completely ideal,” Karen said. “I mean, there’s no closet in here and no room for a desk, but you can use the closet right out in the
hall for whatever won’t fit in the bureau. And I remembered seeing all the books in your room at home, so I thought you might not mind being in here. Obviously we’ve been using it as a library.”

I walked around, examining the shelves. “I can’t believe how many books you have.”

Karen looked pleased. “Well, I’ve always been a reader, so was your grandfather. And your mother, as I’m sure you know. I’ve taken out all the law books, so we won’t have to come in here bothering you with work stuff. And I put your mother’s books in here too.”

“My mother’s books?”

“Yes, she left a number of boxes of books behind when she left home. I’d been saving them in the attic for… well, I’m not really sure why, but they were here, and I thought you might like to have them in your room. I hope that’s okay.

“Thank you,” I managed. Familiar names leapt from the bindings: the Brontë sisters, Jane Austen, Shakespeare, Edgar Alan Poe. A few of them even looked like first editions. Being surrounded by so many familiar stories was like reuniting with old friends, and I fought fiercely against the tears that threatened to well up in my eyes. I really didn’t want Karen to see me cry, and quite frankly I was tired of crying. It was starting to feel redundant.

“I’ll just let you get settled and then why don’t you come on downstairs and we’ll have something to eat,” Karen said, tactfully backing out and closing the door.

We ate sitting on the floor around the coffee table in the living room. Despite the initial impression that nothing in the house should be touched, Karen and Noah were pretty casual about their place, Noah kicking his shoes off in the middle of the living room floor and eating his Pad Thai while leaning on the pristine cream sofa. Not quite so brave, I sat on the rug and leaned over the coffee table to eat. We watched the end of a baseball game.

“You know, this might be illegal around here, harboring a Yankees fan,” Noah joked.

I didn’t bother to correct him about my complete lack of association with the Evil Empire. Instead we talked about the plans for the following week. I only had ten days before I was scheduled to move into St. Matt’s.

“So I thought we could drive out together in the morning and try to beat the rush onto campus. Noah and I both took the day off,” Karen said. She poked around in her noodles and speared a hunk of tofu.

“I can just take the train out; it stops just outside campus. I’ve just got the one bag to bring. I can get myself unpacked okay.”

Karen was shaking her head before I’d even finished speaking. “Don’t be silly, Jess, it’s no trouble. We want to help, right Noah?”

Noah nodded absently in agreement, his eyes fixed on the game. “Mm-hmm, absolutely.”

Karen winked at me. “See? All settled. I’ve never been to St. Matthew’s before anyway. I want to see where you’ll be going to school.”

I surrendered, though still feeling like a nuisance. We finished eating and I helped clean up. Foil-wrapped leftovers and take-out containers populated the fridge, teetering on each other like an edible game of Jenga.

“See how domestic my lovely wife is? Betty Crocker incarnate,” Noah said, balancing the half-eaten container of Pad Thai on a pizza box.

“Oh shut up, would you?” Karen said. “Jess, let’s get you to bed, you look absolutely wiped out.”

Washing up in the marble bathroom felt odd; my toothbrush and toothpaste looked like squatters illegally occupying the pristine counter. As I climbed into bed less than ten minutes later, sporting sweatpants and one of my favorite old tees, a quiet knock sounded against the door.

“Come in.”

Karen poked her head around the doorframe, a pair of stylish square-framed reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Are you all settled in? Do you need anything?”

“I’m all set, thanks,”

“Okay, good. I just wanted to say good night.” She looked like she wanted to say more than that. She lingered in the doorway for a moment before she spoke again. “Jess, I just want you to know something.”

I waited.

“The fact that I haven’t been in your life—well, it wasn’t by choice. I’m not blaming your mother or anything. Our falling out was both of our faults, but I just want you to know that I loved her very much. We loved each other.”

“I know.” I wasn’t just humoring her; it was the truth. She’d been absolutely distraught about my mother. I’d seen it firsthand.

“And asking you to stay here- I don’t want you to think of it as charity or something.” She cringed a little at the word. “You’re family. These were terrible circumstances to meet under, I know. I wish it could have been while your mother was still alive, but that wasn’t meant to be. I’m not sure if we’ll ever know why she jumped, but ….”

My head snapped up. “She didn’t jump.”

Karen looked taken aback. “I thought the police ruled it a—”

“—Well, they were wrong. She didn’t do that. She would never have done that.” Without ever intending to, I was almost yelling.

“I… okay. I’m sorry.” Karen didn’t seem to know what else to say, and so she just mumbled a quick good night and shut the door.

I stared at the door for a long time, my blood pounding angrily in my ears. I knew I’d been rude, but I couldn’t help it. It was the same reaction I had every time anyone even suggested that my mother’s death was a suicide, and somehow, hearing it from Karen made it even worse. She had no right to make assumptions about my mom, not anymore. She hadn’t spoken a word to her in years. She hadn’t followed her around the country, dealing with the collateral damage she left in her wake. I had, and I would have known if my mom was suicidal. Self-destructive, yes. Perpetually drunk, absolutely. Suicidal? No way.

I gazed around in the darkness, watching the odd angular shadows the bookcases made on the ceiling. As my anger ebbed away, I became aware of how exhausted I felt, though the fatigue refused to extend to my thoughts, which were still whirring. Sleep fought for several hours with my emotions before it finally won.

Chapter 2—Family Ties

Chapter 2—Family Ties

I
stumbled down to the kitchen the next morning,
having slept much later than I’d meant to. Vaguely disturbing nightmares had interrupted my sleep regularly until near daylight, at which point I had finally been able to drop into a few hours of good, deep sleep. When I opened my eyes again, it was nearly 10:30.

I halted at the bottom of the stairs at the sound of my name. I listened carefully.

“Jessica had no right to yell at you like that. I could hear her from downstairs,” Noah was saying.

“She had every right. I should have known better than to bring it up,” Karen replied.

“Well, if you ask me, that’s indicative of a nasty temper.”

“I don’t remember asking you, actually.”

“Yeah, you didn’t really consult me on much of this at all, did you? We don’t know anything about this girl.”

“She’s Lizzy’s daughter, Noah. That’s all I need to know.”

“I think a few more details would be nice! Does she really need to dress like that? The neighbors are going to see her hanging around and call the police!”

“Oh relax, will you? She’s got a unique style, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Are you sure she isn’t into witchcraft or devil-worship or something like that?”

“Noah, don’t be absurd, please! She is a nice kid who happens to dress a little differently from what you’re used to. That doesn’t make her a punk. In fact, she must be an exceptional student to get a full boat to a school like St. Matthew’s. And anyway, she’s been through a lot, moving all over the place, a different school every six months, and now she loses her mother. If she’s acted out a bit, looks-wise, you can hardly blame her. The kid’s just expressing herself. Honestly, Noah, you didn’t used to be this much of a stiff when I met you. In fact, I happen to remember a certain pair of leather pants that you—”

“—Yeah, yeah, alright. But couldn’t you at least bring her down to Newbury Street and buy her some—”

“—If you think I’m going to tell that girl how to dress, you are out of your—”

“—Fine, it was just a suggestion. I’m going to work on those depositions.”

I heard a chair scrape the floor and footsteps stomping down the hallway as Noah headed to his office. When I heard his door close, I arranged my face into an impassive expression and walked down into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Karen.”

“There you are! I was debating whether or not to go check for a pulse,” Karen said as I shuffled over to the table.

“Sorry. I guess I was really tired.”

“Don’t apologize! I remember when I used to be able to sleep like that! I miss it. Nowadays I can’t force myself to sleep past 8AM, no matter how badly I want to. My guilty conscience always drags me out of bed.” Karen walked over toward the cabinets and then stopped. She spun around and eyed me critically. “Are we okay? You and me?”

I returned her gaze for a moment. A part of me wanted to say, “No,” but I bit it back. I wasn’t angry with her anymore, not really. She’d only made the assumption that everyone else had made, including the police. Everyone except me.

“Yeah, we’re okay.”

“Good.” Karen opened a cabinet and eyed the contents with a sheepish expression. “It would seem your choices for breakfast are Lucky Charms or Fiber Bran.”

I had to laugh. “Who eats the Lucky Charms?”

“Well, I may not be able to sleep like a teenager, but I can eat junk food with the best of them,” Karen admitted.

“And the Fiber Bran?”

“Noah is attempting to reform me. A futile effort, but I let him try anyway. Would you like to be reformed, too?” She waved the stern-looking box at me in mock temptation.

“Lucky Charms it is,” I replied. “I’ll eat anything as long as it comes with a side of coffee.”

“Industrial strength,” Karen promised.

As I sat down to eat, my mind wandered to a question I’d had the night before; was I going to be introduced to my grandfather today? I hadn’t really expected to see him last night; I’d arrived so late that I figured he would already be asleep. But now that the morning had come, my curiosity about him was peaked again. Come to think of it, I didn’t remember Karen even pointing out his room.

“So, where’s my grandfather?”

“What?” Karen looked up swiftly from her Wall Street Journal.

“I thought he lived with you. My mom always said that he was with you in Boston.”

“Oh.” Karen put her paper down and surveyed me over the top of her reading glasses. “I think you misunderstood. Your grandfather doesn’t live in the house with us. He’s in a permanent care facility outside of the city. How much did your mother tell you about your grandfather’s… condition?”

“Not a lot, actually. When I was little I would ask questions about our family, before I understood that she didn’t like to talk about it. She’d told me that he had dementia and couldn’t remember things anymore, and that was why she wouldn’t take me to see him when I asked.”

Karen just nodded. I felt a little pang of guilt as I realized it must be hard for her to talk about it too. Still, it didn’t stop me from pressing the subject.

“So, do you see him often then?” I asked as I brought my empty bowl to the sink.

“Certainly, I do, as often as I can—which isn’t saying much, I guess, with work being what it is. I really should be a better daughter. But as your mom said, his mind is gone—he can’t even remember who I am, so I try not to beat myself up over it.”

“Is he close by?”

“Yes, relatively. He’s in Winchester, about half an hour from here.” She paused and then added, “He was a good man. He loved his girls, and I know that he would have loved you too. I’m sorry that you never got to know him.”

The sudden shift to the past tense unnerved me a bit, but I continued anyway. “Would it… I mean, if it’s okay with you, could you maybe take me to see him?”

“Jess, I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Look, if you’re too busy, I can just call a cab or—”

“—No, it’s not that!” Karen snapped. “It’s not a question of how busy I am! It’s just a very stressful and emotional experience to see someone in that condition.” She gave a little involuntary shudder. “I wouldn’t feel right taking you just after your mom … well, I just don’t think this is a good time.”

“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you, but don’t you think that’s my decision? He’s my grandfather and I’ve never met him. I have every right to—”

“—You haven’t upset me,” Karen said. “I just wasn’t prepared to … let’s get you settled here and off to school and everything first, okay? We can talk about it again when you’re back for Christmas break.”

I shrugged, deciding to let it go for the time being. Karen was lying, though. She
was
upset, I could tell. Her formerly calm face was flushed with emotion and she couldn’t seem to refocus on her newspaper. Frustrated, I made my way back to my room to start unpacking, resolved to figure out how to see my grandfather on my own.

As it turned out, I didn’t need to. Later that afternoon, Karen appeared at my bedroom door and informed me that she would take me to see my grandfather later that week, if I still wanted to go. I agreed immediately, though I was surprised by the offer. I think she felt guilty about her initial response to my request. When the morning of our visit dawned, however, there was no doubt about it; she was a ball of nerves.

I noticed it the moment I came down the stairs on Friday. Her usually cheerful greeting sounded subdued and muffled, as though she’d been crying. When she turned around to hand me my bowl of cereal, my suspicions were confirmed. Not even Karen’s usually flawless make-up could entirely obscure the red puffiness around her eyes and at the tip of her nose. The sight gave rise to an immediate wave of guilt, and I felt like shit for bringing the whole thing up.

“We’ll get going right after breakfast,” Karen told me, in a brave attempt at her usual lighthearted tone.

“Karen? Are you okay?”

“Fine, Jess, totally fine. Just a little cold, that’s all. Or maybe allergies, I’m not sure.” She shrugged airily. “Do you want to stop for coffee on the way? I think I’m gonna need a little pick-me-up.”

“Sure.” I took the cue and quickly dropped it. If she wanted to tell me why she was upset, great. If not, it was her business. I thought I could understand, though. She hadn’t physically lost her dad, as I had my mom, but he was gone just the same. In some ways, I could see how that could be worse than if he had actually died.

I waited in the car while Karen ran into Starbucks and emerged a few minutes later with a pair of frothy lattes. We drank them in silence, following the highway out of the city and into the quieter northern suburbs. Karen always listened to talk radio, a nod to her political vigilance. I couldn’t really tolerate the rightwing sentiments, but I let the sanctimonious voice of the host drone on, harmonizing with the smooth hum of the car’s engine. It was an oddly lulling sound. As we pulled off the interstate and onto a quiet tree-lined street, Karen spoke.

“So just remember, Jess, his mind is pretty much gone. He recognizes me occasionally, but not often. And naturally he won’t know who you are because he’s never met you. I told him about you, of course, but I don’t think he remembers any of that. And sometimes …” she paused here, as though searching carefully for the right words. “Sometimes he says things that don’t make any sense. So just try to remember that he’s not mentally sound anymore.”

I swallowed hard, as some of Karen’s nervousness started to rub off on me. We rounded the bend and arrived in front of a white Victorian with gingerbread trim and a wooden sign on the gate that read, “Winchester House for the Aged.” A wide porch wrapped around the outside of the house, dotted with empty rocking chairs. One glance at those forlorn chairs and I found myself having to fight a sudden and alarming urge to cry.

§

The house had clearly once been a private residence converted for its new purpose. The shape of the house had a distinctly turn of the century feel, but the renovations were clear. Telltale modernity reared its ugly head in sharp contrast to the original features; insulated windows stared blankly from fluted window frames, and window air-conditioning units protruded like so many blemishes. Reinforced metal handrails and handicap ramps added the final touch of indignity.

Inside, the high-ceilinged entryway housed a sort of reception desk. A nurse was seated there.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hunt. You’re here early this week.” She slid a clipboard toward Karen, who clearly knew the protocol and signed in.

“Yes, I brought my niece up from New York to see her grandfather.” Karen inclined her head toward me.

“Oh, how nice! Well he’ll be very glad to see you both, I’m sure. Let me check the schedule to see if he’s in his room.” The nurse smiled brightly and turned her back on us to use the telephone.

I looked around while we waited. The entryway opened into a fireplaced sitting room. Sunlight streamed through the white lacy curtains. A number of small tables and armchairs were set up around the room in cozy, inviting arrangements. The room was so quiet and still that at first glance I thought it was empty. However, as I let my eyes wander more slowly over the room, I realized that wasn’t the case.

There were five residents scattered about the room, all completely motionless. An ancient shriveled woman in a blue fleece nightgown was propped in a wheelchair by the window, presumably to admire the view, though she seemed wholly unaware of the existence of any outside world at all. Two old men were hunched over a chessboard; whose turn it was—anybody’s guess—for they just kept staring at the board in a puzzled way, as though unsure of its purpose or relation to them. Two white flossy heads perched on bony shoulders were visible over the back of a pink sofa, facing a silent television set with the closed captioning flashing across the bottom; it would seem that no amount of raising the volume would make the program audible. No, I was right the first time. The room was empty. God, someone please shoot me before I get that old.

“Jess? We can go upstairs now. The nurse says that Dad is in his room.” Karen pointed toward the entryway staircase. I followed her upstairs.

The staircase looked like a family portrait gallery for a family that had never known youth. We passed photo after photo of elderly people, donors to the home and its programs. Every single frame bore a gold name plate bearing the donors’ names and, grimly, their birth and death dates. I could barely repress a shiver but kept reading them. It was like walking through a wall-papered, gilt-framed graveyard.

At the top of the stairs we entered the very first room on the left. It was a surprisingly bright and cheerful room, with tall windows that faced the morning sunshine, which fell across the floor in an orderly geometric pattern. Frilly white curtains hung in the windows and the two beds were covered with bright patchwork quilts. There were suggestions of illness of course; a wheelchair, an industrial-looking shower, several hospital monitors and IV stands. But the overall feel was of one’s own home, not of an institution. I had a sudden rush of affection toward Karen for finding a place like this for her father.

“That’s him over there,” Karen murmured in my ear, pointing to a plush green armchair facing the window. It was the kind of chair I’d always envisioned a jolly old grandfather would sit in, with slippered feet and a head ribboned about with pipe smoke, an image no doubt conjured from literary sources. The man who occupied the chair bore little resemblance to the grandfather I had imagined for myself.

He was staring out the window, not blankly, as the woman downstairs had done, but with palpable expectation. He was startlingly gaunt, with hollow cheeks beneath severe cheekbones that seemed determined to break the surface. His posture was lifted off, leaning toward the window and clutching the arms of his chair with white-knuckled intensity. His hair was white and flyaway, and he was wrapped from the waist down in an afghan. Sitting so, he gave the impression of a seeded dandelion in a pot, stretching toward the sunlight. He seemed completely unaware that anyone had entered the room.

Karen led me across the room, a gentle pull at my elbow. We sat together on a matching green sofa facing the chair. Up close, I could see that my grandfather’s lips, terribly chapped and dry, were moving very quickly in some sort of silent stream of words.

“He usually does that. I’ve never actually been able to figure out if he is really saying anything. He hardly ever speaks aloud anymore,” Karen whispered to me. Then she turned toward her father and said in a loud clear voice, “Dad, I’ve brought someone to visit you.”

I watched my grandfather closely. Something stirred in his eyes and he twitched his head a bit. I realized that on some level, he had acknowledged we were there.

“Dad? Dad, I want you to meet someone. This is Jessica,” she paused and threw me an apologetic look. “I mean Jess. This is Jess. This is Elizabeth’s daughter. This is your granddaughter.”

“Um, hi, Grandpa. It’s nice to meet you finally,” I said. It felt so silly to even try to communicate with him.

I thought he might have adjusted the angle of his head ever so slightly, as though in response to the sound of my voice. I opened my mouth to speak again, but I didn’t know what else to say, so I snapped it shut.

Karen stood up. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” She tip-toed quickly out. Her voice had that muffled sound again, a betrayal of too much emotion.

I sat with my grandfather for a very long, very silent minute. I felt more comfortable just looking at him now that Karen had left the room. I watched the subtle, steady movement of his mouth. I leaned in closer, trying to see if I could understand what he was saying, but it was impossible; he was either speaking too quickly or the movements were not forming words at all.