Part 27 (1/2)

When I finally made it to the door of Art's office, I found him staring at a computer screen. An old-fas.h.i.+oned adding machine sat on the desk, cascading paper onto the dusty tile floor.

He didn't hear me right away, and so there was a moment when I stood and watched him, concentrating hard, traces of my father in the shape of his hands and forearms, in the way his sideburns tapered into his graying hair. When he glanced up and saw me he was startled, and his face opened and went slightly slack with surprise; then he laughed, relaxing back into the chair.

”Lucy,” he said. ”What a surprise.”

”Big leap?” I asked. ”From hardware to software, I mean?”

He chuckled. ”Sure is. You any good with spreadsheets?”

”I am, actually.”

”Ah. Want to have a look?”

”No, not really.”

He looked at me then, taking me in for the first time, and the uneasy expression that moved across his face echoed his look when he'd first seen me.

”No?” He folded his arms across his chest. ”Then, what can I do for you?”

I felt sorry for him then, because he suddenly looked old and vulnerable behind that desk.

”I was just pa.s.sing by and saw the light was on,” I said, gesturing to the window. ”I parked here and went to the party. I saw you, but didn't get to say h.e.l.lo.”

”I stopped in. It was fun. I always like the ring of fire, and the concert-I like that, too. Your father and I used to light flares as kids. It doesn't seem that long ago.”

”I've been driving his car,” I said. ”You know, the one he fixed up?”

”I know. I went out to look at it earlier. He sure loved that car.”

”Yes, he did. My mother hasn't had the heart to touch it all these years, so it's mostly just been sitting in the barn.”

He nodded and looked out the window at the gravel parking lot, where the Impala sat at the edge of light from the streetlamp, the silver arrows glinting.

”He'd be glad, I think.” Art said. ”Glad to know you were enjoying it, Lucy.”

I leaned against the chair. ”I am enjoying it. Though it drives like a boat. And the other day I had a flat tire, coming back from Elmira. I had to call the car service, you know, and the guy who came pulled everything out of the trunk. You'll never guess what I found.”

”I can't imagine-a tire iron?”

”Yes, actually. And my father's tackle box.”

Art sat up straighter then, leaning a little forward. He folded his hands carefully on the desk.

”Yes? Are you sure? We looked and looked for that the night he died.”

”I know. He used to take me fis.h.i.+ng. All the lures I remember were there.”

”I see.”

”Did you fish with him a lot when you were younger?” I asked, sliding into the chair, its leather smooth against the backs of my legs.

”Yes, as a matter of fact. We did. Summers, we were out on the water every morning. Me and Marty. We'd catch a whole string of fish sometimes. Other times we'd come back empty-handed.”

I nodded, thinking with nostalgia of all the mornings I'd spent with my father in just this same way.

”It's funny, though,” I said. ”The lures were in the tackle box, just like you'd expect, but none of his tools were in the bottom. No tools, no wire, nothing. It made me sad, somehow, all that empty s.p.a.ce. Then I found the papers.”

”Really?” Art said. ”What papers were those?”

”A will. Your grandfather's will, in fact.”

Briefly then, without pausing to weigh the possible consequences, I told the story-Rose and her daughter, and the will written by my great-grandfather, which included Iris.

His expression didn't change. After a minute, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head.

”So, do you have this will?” he asked. ”Could I see it?”

I'd left it in the Impala, locked back in the tackle box.

”It's at the house,” I said. ”My mother put it away somewhere, I'm not sure where.”

He nodded.

”Not that it matters,” he said. ”Such a will would hardly be valid, all these years later. Rose is long gone, and probably her daughter, too. What difference could any of it make?”

He had no idea, I realized. Not about the chapel or the windows, the fascinating life Rose had led, the other branch of the family, living not very far away.

”Well, actually, she's still alive. Iris, I mean. I met her recently. She has two grown sons, and grandchildren about my age.”

”Are you serious? You say you met her?”

”Yes. It was really kind of amazing. She's ninety-five years old. Very together. She has the family eyes.”

”Does she know about the will?”

I thought this was a strange first question to ask. ”Not yet,” I said. ”I found it after I met her. But I think she should know, don't you? I mean, it might not be valid, but emotionally it might matter to her. To know she wasn't excluded.”

Art's voice got lower then, not warm exactly, but inviting me to hear a confidence. I thought of Iris, and of Rose, of all the things I knew about the family that he did not know, and leaned a little forward, so I could listen. Listen, gather more, collect another piece of the puzzle that might let all the others fall into place.

”Lucy,” he said softly. ”Surely you understand that the marshland is worth a great deal of money at this moment. It hasn't always been valuable, and it may not be again. This is a golden moment, is what I'm saying. Probably this will you're talking about is null and void. I'm not all that concerned about it. But even so, if you contact this person, this long-lost relative, you open up the door to competing claims, even litigation. And I warn you, the moment will pa.s.s, and anything you might have had-anything your family might have had-will be gone.”

”It isn't about money,” I said, but even I could hear the uncertainty in my voice. I was thinking of Blake, and the falling-apart house, even as I was remembering floating in the marshes with my father.

”It's always about money,” Art said. ”Make no mistake, Lucy.”

Art waited a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was wistful. ”I loved your father,” he said. ”He was always such a sunny kid, the one everyone was drawn to, growing up. That was hard, and I did some things I regret, and so did he, but I loved him. I like to think that if he'd lived, we'd eventually have made things right between us.”

I took a deep breath, the air full of the scent of cut wood and iron. ”It seems to me you had plenty of chances to make that happen.”

He shook his head, gazing beyond me to the doorway, to some distant point in the past. ”Your father was a very stubborn man. He had his ways. He wouldn't listen.”