Part 19 (1/2)

”Thank you, Jake.”

”You're welcome.”

”We'll finish up and leave,” I say.

”No!”

Fran's voice is like iron, the voice I recall from our night together. ”You finish up, and then we'll have lunch.”

”Oh, you don't have to-”

”I'm making lunch,” Fran says, and without another word she's back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Jake looks at me. ”Looks like we have lunch plans.”

”Looks like.”

An hour later we're all seated around the Formica table Jake and I moved for Fran, eating grilled cheese sandwiches and drinking iced tea. Outside, the lawn is twice-mown and raked, and the privet hedges have been hacked into rectangular shapes. I've even spaded the soil around the base of the hedges, to give the place a touch of cla.s.s. Jake and I have filled four big black plastic bags with clippings and tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, neatly lined along the curb for the garbage man.

I fear that Fran will want to talk about our b.u.mbling, stumbling night together, but luckily she doesn't. There's nothing much to say, really-we both know it was a drunken collision between two desperate people. Truth is, Fran seems far more interested in Jake than she does in me. She reaches out and strokes his hair.

”Your grandmother had hair like this,” she says. ”Same beautiful s.h.i.+ne.”

Jake stops chewing. ”Really?”

”Oh yes. Shame you never knew her. What a woman she was!” Fran turns to me. ”I'd say she was just about the most...religious person I ever knew.” person I ever knew.”

I swallow some grilled cheese, nod. ”She was big in church activities, yeah.”

”That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the way she treated treated people. It's not as if I even knew her well. I wasn't much of a churchgoer. But when my husband walked out on me, who do you think showed up at my door with a ca.s.serole?” She smiles at the memory of it. ”It was one of those Italian dishes, with that weird black vegetable Italians like so much.” people. It's not as if I even knew her well. I wasn't much of a churchgoer. But when my husband walked out on me, who do you think showed up at my door with a ca.s.serole?” She smiles at the memory of it. ”It was one of those Italian dishes, with that weird black vegetable Italians like so much.”

”Eggplant parmigiana,” I say.

”That's right! That was it! Something I could never make myself. And she didn't make a big deal deal out of it. She just said, 'I hear you're having some trouble, so I made extra.' That's the kind of person she was.” out of it. She just said, 'I hear you're having some trouble, so I made extra.' That's the kind of person she was.”

Jake is absolutely transfixed by Fran's words. He now knows more about his grandmother than I have ever told him.

”Nice thing to do,” Jake says.

”It certainly was.” Fran turns to me. ”Heart attack, wasn't it?”

”Yeah.”

Fran strains to remember more. ”Wasn't there something unusual about it?”

I force myself to shrug. ”Only that she was young. Just turned thirty-nine.”

Her brow remains knotted for a moment, then relaxes. Luckily for me Fran was a casual Catholic whose memory has obviously been ravaged by years of boozing.

”Well, if there's a heaven, she went straight there, I can tell you that,” she says. ”Really a saintly person.” She smiles at Jake, frowns at me. ”Can't say I thought the same of your father. Little bit of a brute, wasn't he? Whatever became of him, anyway?”

She doesn't know. She stays in this house, trapped by her crumbling hips, so she doesn't know what goes on in the neighborhood.

”He died a few years after my mother,” I finally say.

”He did? From what?”

”Heart attack.”

”Both parents had heart attacks?” Fran says. ”Jeez, that doesn't bode well for you, does it?” parents had heart attacks?” Fran says. ”Jeez, that doesn't bode well for you, does it?”

”I try not to think about it.”

”I'd get a checkup, if I were you.”

”I'll think about it.”

”I can't believe I didn't know about your father dying! Not that I ever hear anything much. I don't exactly get around these days.... Listen, I'm sorry I said that nasty thing about him.”

”It's okay. You're absolutely right. He could be a brute, all right.”

I can sense Jake's excitement. He's stumbled into this mother lode of information about his ancestors, and he's going to make the most of it.

”What made him a brute?” Jake asks.

”Jake, I-”

That's as far as I get. Jake holds a hand up to silence me, without even looking at me. ”I was asking Fran, Dad.”

I shut my mouth. Fran can't help cackling with glee as she says, ”He liked to mix it up once in a while at Charlie's Bar.”

Jake's eyes widen. ”My grandfather was a barroom brawler?”

Fran nods, gulps iced tea. ”I once saw him knock a guy out with one punch. And it wasn't as if he was a big man, your grandfather. Had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the other guy's chin!”

Jake and Fran are laughing out loud. I feel as if the walls of this house are closing in on me.

”We've got to get going,” I say. ”I promised Jake I'd show him the house I grew up in.”

Fran shakes her head. ”I still can't believe I didn't know about your father pa.s.sing.”

”We sort of kept it quiet. There wasn't a wake or anything.”

”No wake!”