Little Sister (10 page)

Andrew leaped from his chair, as if he were the unfortunate patient, and twisted the volume dial on the TV, and the sound boomed out. “I can’t hear anything,” he screamed.

Leonora rose to her feet, walked to the TV, and punched the off button. The sound died; the picture faded away.

They faced each other across the ancient console. “Don’t bother to show me your temper,” she said in a low voice. “We know all about your temper.”

Andrew stared at her for a long moment, his hands gripping the comers of the set. Then he suddenly realized that he was on his feet. Without a word he turned his back on her, ran for the stairs, and bolted up them and down the hall to his room. Once inside, he slammed the door shut and leaned against it as if he had escaped some kind of danger. He could feel the tight, squeezing sensation in his chest again. He limped to the window and threw it open, gulping in the air.

The air felt good, although with the window open he could hear the night whispering again, and he thought it might be making fun of him for being trapped there. “Not for long,” he said to the darkness.

He wondered for a minute if Francie might be at her window looking out, thinking of escape, thinking of him. The harsh lines of his face slackened as he thought of her. She was so smart and grown-up, and she belonged to him. She was always telling him stuff about how great he was, and how handsome. At first he didn’t like it because he thought she was making fun of him the way the other girls did, but lately he realized that it was true. He had asked her to swear that she meant it, and she had. And he told her that she would have to prove it, and she said that she would.

The mocking voices of the night seemed to be drowned out by his thoughts of her. He began to pace his cell-like room, remembering those first days. She would come into the store, interrupt his reading, and keep on talking to him. It made him angry at first, because girls had always joked about him in school and would run away, laughing loudly with their friends, if he tried to be nice to one of them. But this one would come in and hang around the counter; the TV dinners she had chosen would sit thawing by the register as she asked him questions. And she didn’t seem to be laughing. One day Noah said to him, “She likes you.” Noah’s saying that had made him furious, and he had yelled at him to shut up, but then afterward he began to think about it a lot and wonder about it. Then, one day, she brought him a present. It was a stupid present, a key chain with a bird on it. He didn’t thank her or anything, but afterward he began to think that she was going to be his girl. One day he was getting off work, and she was there, hanging around, and he walked her to the top of her street, and he told her she was going to be his girl. She liked it. She said okay.

His girl. Pride welled up in him at the thought. She would do anything he asked her to. She said that she would.

Andrew heard the sound of his mother’s footsteps coming up the stairs, and he froze for a moment. All thoughts of Francie vanished from his mind. He pulled a book from the shelf by his bed, and opened it. It was a new one he had started reading, L.A. Gundown. He crawled onto the bed and huddled near the headboard. He could hear her footsteps. He counted them coming, his hands trembling as he held the book. He willed her to go by, but the footsteps stopped at his door. He looked up and saw the doorknob turn and the door open. He slid off the bed and stood between the bed and the wall, having hidden the book under his pillow. Leonora poked her head around the door and then sidled into the room.

“Andrew,” she said gently, “I don’t want to fight with you. You and I are, well, we’re partners in a way. I get mad sometimes, but you know how much I love you. More than anything. I would do anything in this world for you. I think you must know that.”

Andrew nodded, but he remained pressed against the wall, his eyes wide, his breath labored.

“Don’t be upset, dear,” she said, coming over to the foot of the bed. “You know I would never let anyone or anything hurt you. You can always count on me.”

She came toward him, down the narrow corridor between the bed and the wall. Andrew shook his head and tried to turn his face away from her. She smelled of mints. She always sucked on a mint between meals. “Occupational hazard,” she liked to say. “I have to keep my breath sweet at all times.”

“Don’t be mad,” she said. “Now, give me a kiss, or I’ll be worried and I won’t sleep.”

Andrew held his breath and, with cold lips, placed a kiss on her soft, rubbery cheek.

“That’s better,” she said. “Oh, let’s close this window,” she exclaimed, shuffling over to the window and slamming it shut. “You’ll catch a cold in here. We can’t have that.”

The window firmly closed, she turned with a satisfied smile. “Good night, dear,” she said.

She closed the door to his room behind her. Andrew stared at the door after she was gone, still trying to catch his breath. But the room seemed stifling, and the air smelled of peppermint.

BETH PAID THE CHECK
and then caught up with Francie, who was waiting in the parking lot of the little restaurant where they had eaten lunch. They had an appointment with the lawyer in Harrison, and Beth had suggested brightly that they have lunch on the way, but although Francie had agreed, they both had been silent and uncomfortable during the meal, trying to avoid each other’s eyes as they waited for the waitress to deliver the food.

Beth took a deep gulp of the air outside as she walked toward the car, relieved that the meal was over. Francie was waiting there, her hands stuffed in her pockets. Beth unlocked the driver’s side and then glanced down at her watch. She gazed around the bleak countryside surrounding the restaurant like an Indian scouting the hills for buffalo.

“Whatsa matter?” said Francie.

“Well, it’s only noon, and we’re not due over there until one-thirty.”

Francie nodded, knowing that they both had eaten quickly to get the meal over with.

“So,” Beth continued, “I’m just wondering what we should do.”

“I don’t know.”

“If it’s okay with you, I noticed that we passed an antiques barn a little ways back, and I’d like to have a look.”

Francie raised her eyebrows and gazed blankly at Beth. “You want to go shopping?” she said.

Beth pressed her lips together, remembering with a feeling of guilty embarrassment how she had berated Francie for wanting to go out for a walk the night before their father’s funeral. Here it was, two days later, and she was out bargain hunting. “We have to do something to kill the time.”

Francie shrugged. “I don’t care,” she said. She pressed on the door handle, and Beth quickly slid into the driver’s seat and opened the door for her.

It was only a short distance back to the old farmhouse with the nearby barn that had an
ANTIQUES FOR SALE
sign on it. They walked up the driveway toward the open doors of the barn. Beth knew that there was not much traffic for this sort of thing in the winter, so there was a chance that she could pick up a few items that would go well in her house. There was not much in her father’s house that she wanted. Most of it had unpleasant associations connected to it. But if you looked carefully in places like these, there were often inexpensive items that needed only a little care and restoration. It was always worth looking.

Francie, who had been quiet and glum all morning, seemed to find the old barn interesting once they got inside. Beth scoured the old proprietor’s goods with a practiced eye and was a little disappointed to note that there was very little that attracted her. Francie, however, picked up and examined the man’s knickknacks as if they were baubles in a treasure chest.

“How much is this?” Beth asked, holding up an old earthenware pitcher and checking it for cracks.

The old man, who had a yellowing mustache and was wearing a gray corduroy shirt with a spot on the front, answered firmly, “Ten dollars.”

“It’s very nice,” said Beth, knowing that it was probably worth a lot more but that she didn’t really need it.

“This is pretty,” said Francie solemnly from across the crowded garage. Beth glanced over and saw her sister holding up a silver necklace set with cranberry-colored stones. She went over to have a better look at it. The stones were surrounded by a delicate filigree and were cut in such a way that they shimmered. Francie stared at it as if mesmerized by it.

“That belonged to my wife,” said the old man proudly. “She used to wear it when she was only a little older than you. It’s really more for a young girl than an old woman.”

Francie looked at him seriously. “Don’t you want to keep it to remember her by?”

The old man looked perplexed, and then he laughed. “Oh, no, she’s the one who wants to sell it. She never wears it anymore. No, no, she’s still around. Up there in the kitchen doing dishes, right this minute.”

Francie looked relieved.

She thinks that everybody dies young, thought Beth. “Do you want it?” Beth asked aloud.

Francie put the necklace back down on the display of old jewelry. “No, I don’t need it.”

“How much do you want for that?” Beth asked.

“Well, it’s not cheap. I’d want forty dollars for it. This is a valuable piece of jewelry.”

“Try it on,” Beth said to Francie.

The girl backed away. “No, I have no use for it. It’s too fancy.”

“Well, I’m sure that sometime you will.” She took out her wallet and counted forty dollars into the old man’s hand.

“It’s too expensive.” Francie yelped, as if pained by the thought of the price.

“No, it’s worth it,” said Beth, lifting the necklace from the makeshift jewelry case and handing it to Francie.

“There, it’s yours,” said the old man. He reached up on a shelf near the door and pulled down an old mason jar full of bills. He stuffed the forty dollars inside and put the jar back up on the shelf. “Wear it in good health.”

Francie held the necklace gingerly. “It’s—it’s really pretty.”

“Enjoy it,” said Beth, feeling a sudden surge of triumph. She knew that she wanted the girl to have it, but it took her a moment to realize why. Sure, she had done it to be nice. But more than that, she had just bested her father. She had been generous and free with her money, the way he never was. Suddenly she felt ashamed, trying to get the better of a dead man. But Francie, who was carefully tucking the necklace into her pocket, did not seem to notice.

The woman who admitted them to the waiting room of the lawyer’s office was middle-aged, cheerful, and quite smartly dressed, Beth thought, considering the local standards. She offered them seats and went back to her typing.

In a few moments the door to the waiting room opened, and a short man with glasses, wearing a charcoal gray suit and a bow tie, stepped in. “Miss Pearson,” he said gravely, shaking hands with Beth, and then, repeating the greeting, he shook hands with Francie. “So sorry to hear of your father’s death. Won’t you come in. Would you like some coffee?”

Beth shook her head, and they followed the lawyer into his office.

They sat down in the chairs in front of his cluttered desk. Beth crossed her legs and settled back, her arms draped over the chair arms in an attitude of determined nonchalance.

Mr. Blount looked over his glasses. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

Beth shook her head. “Only a few minutes.”

“Good,” he said. “Well, let’s get right to it.”

“Fine,” said Beth.

“Now, this will was written when your mother was alive. Despite my best efforts, I could not induce your father to come in and update it after your mother’s death.”

“Does that mean it’s not legal?” Beth exclaimed.

“No, no,” said the lawyer. “It’s quite legal. It has provisions for all circumstances in it. We took care of that in the event that they died at the same time. The fact that their deaths came some years apart does not affect the validity of the will.”

“Oh, good,” said Beth. “I’d hate to have the thing all tied up in court for ages.”

“No, that’s no problem,” the lawyer murmured, flipping the pages of the document in his hands. “It is a fairly standard form, and I will spare you the reading of the whole thing, unless you wish me to.” He looked up at them.

“Fine,” said Beth, and then remembered to look over at Francie. The girl was sitting very still in the chair, gripping the chair arms as if for support and looking at the lawyer with an intent, serious look on her face.

“All right then,” said Mr. Blount. “You, Beth, have been named the executrix of your father’s estate, being that you are over twenty-one at the time of his death.”

Beth nodded, expecting this.

“All your father’s property and the house and all its contents are left equally to the two of you. Naturally you are also responsible for any debts, the funeral expenses, and legal fees. As you may know, you will be taxed on your inheritance but not on any insurance he might have had.”

Beth nodded, mentally calculating the small sum of money involved.

“You look confused,” said Mr. Blount kindly, leaning toward Francie.

“I don’t know what this all means,” said Francie.

“What it means, dear, is that your older sister was named by your parents to settle all your family business. It will be up to her to see that all the bills your father owed are paid, and then, whatever is left, you and your sister will divide equally. Because you are a minor, we may have to put whatever money there is aside for you until you are eighteen.”

“Oh,” said Francie, “I see.”

“I’m sure your sister will do an excellent job of taking care of all this. Now, do you have any questions?”

“I don’t know. I guess not.”

“Mr. Blount,” said Beth, “how long, if at all, must we wait before we put the house on the market?”

“Well, there’s no reason to wait at all. You may not receive the proceeds until the will is probated, but that is just a formality.”

“Wait a minute,” said Francie. “What do you mean about selling the house?”

Beth turned to Francie, who was staring at her with her mouth hanging open. “Well, I don’t see any point in holding on to it. And we can use the money.”