Читать книгу Freeing the Magician - Dawn Leger - Страница 5

Peggy found us in front of the fireplace when she returned home that evening, deep into a hot and heavy Scrabble game. Michael jumped up to greet her and signaled me to cover up the board, but I was not quick enough.

“Michael, are you playing ‘dirty words’ again? And, with a guest? Haven’t I told you that it’s not nice to use my nice clean house for such a filthy pursuit?” She looked over his shoulder and winked at me. “You must be Cassie. It’s so nice to finally meet you in person after all these phone calls and emails,” she said. “I feel like I know you already.” She extended her hand to me and I reached out to give her a brief hug.

“So nice to meet you as well,” I said. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a lovely home.”

“Ma, she’s from New Jersey, she’s never been in a nice house before,” Michael said. “I had to show her how to use the toilet.”

“Michael, hush,” she said. “We’re happy to have company for the holiday. With this one being so rude and all”—she sat close to Michael and grabbed him by the arm—“I feel lucky to have any people come to visit.”

“Well, you raised me, Margaret,” he said.

“And you did a fine job,” I added. “Most of the time, he’s a real gentleman. Just when there’s food around, he’s a little hard to control.”

“Speaking of which,” she said. “I brought home some freshly baked cookies. Can I get you one? I know Michael will have one, or two. Honey, do you want a glass of milk with your cookies? Cassie, can I bring you some milk?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you,” I said.

We watched Peggy as she went into the kitchen. “Wow, is she really bringing cookies and milk?” I asked. Michael nodded. “She’s like one of those TV moms, the ones who don’t exist anymore.”

“See why I put on all that weight?” Michael said.

I nodded. We both turned and slid the dirty words into the box before Peggy came back to the living room; somehow, it felt like the cookies would spontaneously combust if the obscenities were still on the scrabble board. Peggy smiled when she saw we’d put away the game.

“Here we are,” she said. “Now, tell me about your day.”

She was laughing about Michael’s pedicure when I took out the portfolio and showed it to them.

“I found this in the Levenger store,” I said. “It was on the clearance table, but the clerk said it wasn’t their merchandise and that I could have it. It looks a little antiqued, but the inside is brand new. I thought about giving it to my father for Christmas. What do you think?”

Michael looked at it and nodded, but Peggy turned white and her lower lip trembled as she said, “Is this a joke?”

“What do you mean?” Michael asked. “What’s the matter, Mom?”

“Don’t you recognize it? This was your father’s portfolio. How did you find it? Were you going through the boxes in the attic?” she asked. “I can’t believe you would do this.”

“Peggy, what I just told you is the truth,” I said. “I found this on a clearance table at the Levenger store. It was just sitting there. I was looking for a gift for my dad, and I saw it. There’s no connection to Michael’s dad. We didn’t go in the attic, and he certainly didn’t plant this portfolio there for me to find.”

“No, Mom, I would never do anything like that. I never saw this before,” Michael said.

Peggy got up and left the room. Michael looked at me, and we stared at each other.

“What should we do now?” I asked. “Follow her?”

“Let’s see. I wonder… Do you think she went to the attic to check?” he asked.

I followed him to the stairs. We could see the stairs pulled down, a single light bulb illuminating the vast area above.

“Can you make it?” I asked.

Red faced, Michael climbed the stairs until he was looking into the attic. Peggy was sitting in the dust surrounded by boxes, some opened, piles of paper around her.

When we approached her, I pulled a chair over for Michael to plop into. She held up a portfolio very similar to the one I’d acquired.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Here it is. I should’ve known. But it looked just like his, so I thought… Oh, I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry, Cassie, Michael. I didn’t mean to accuse you.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Michael said. “Forget it.”

She put her head in her hands for a moment. “I don’t know why, but lately, I’ve been drawn to this stuff. I know I should have thrown it out years ago, but I never did. Maybe now’s the time to get rid of it.”

“Maybe. You’ve been avoiding it for a long time. It might be a good idea to finally clear it out. Did you ever think about starting over? You know? Going out with someone new?” he asked.

She laughed then. “Really? That’s what you suggest? How about we get rid of some of this old crap first, before I take on any new baggage? And while we’re cleaning things out, maybe you can go through some of your old boxes, with your school stuff—see that big pile over there? All the trophies and all your notes and books and photos I saved for you. And old school clothes and records. How about going through and getting rid of that?”

“Sounds like fun,” Michael said. “I’ll do mine if you do yours.”

“And I can help,” I said. “It’s always good to have an independent person to help decide what to keep, what to sell, and what to give away.”

“So we have a project to keep us busy for the weekend,” Peggy said.

“Just make sure we have beer in the house,” Michael said. “I’m game.”

“We’ll start bright and early, and I’ll make you a nice mac and cheese for lunch,” Peggy said. “And then we’ll go and visit Uncle Oscar for the first night of Hanukkah. By tomorrow night, we’ll all need to get out of the house, so it’ll be a perfect time to visit Oscar, don’t you think?”

“Who is this Oscar?” I asked.

“He’s my favorite uncle,” Michael said.

“He’s your only uncle,” Peggy said. “And he’s as rich as Croesus, so we like to visit him every December and kiss his ring.”

“Okay, Mom, let’s go downstairs and have another cookie. You’re starting to sound like me, and that’s not good. You must need oxygen. Or maybe a glass of wine. Come on, we’ll tackle this in the morning,” Michael said. “And Cassie gets to see all our family skeletons. Isn’t she lucky?”

“I think so,” I said. “This is going to be fun. Tell me. This uncle—does he have children?”

“Nope,” Michael said. “He’s a skinflint old bachelor. Maybe he’ll take a shine to you.” I went down the ladder first and then turned around to help him with the narrow stairs. “Just think—you could become my rich auntie.”

“That is rich. I love it,” I said. “I’ll only consider it if he has one foot in the grave and—oh, how does the saying go?”

“The other on a banana peel,” Peggy chimed in. “Come on, I’ve got homemade ice cream.”

I looked at Michael. “No wonder you gained weight living here.”

“I heard that,” she said. “It’s all about balance, and my philosophy is that you can eat whatever you want as long as you get enough exercise. My son’s problem is that he’s become a couch potato.”

“Mom, remember the compound fracture of my leg?” he asked. “I didn’t have many options for working out until that was healed. And now that it has, I’m getting back into shape. Just slowly. One step at a time, Margaret, not willy-nilly like you do things.”

She waved her arms around. “There is nothing random about my exercise regimen,” she said. “Just because your trainer doesn’t like it, doesn’t make it wrong or crazy, you know.”

“She does crazy things like ten mile runs every day for a week, then only weight training for a month, then swimming for six days a week, then Zumba class every other day, then cross-training for a month,” he said. “It’s totally random and undisciplined. If you would just stick with one plan for six months, then you can see what’s working… ”

“I know how my body feels and what I need to do to be healthy. So that’s what I listen to,” she said. “You do what works for you, and I’ll stick with my routines.”

“Deal,” he said.

“Until the next time,” she said. She turned to me. “He’s always picking on me, you see?”

I nodded, my mouth full of cookie.

“Are you like this with your parents?” she asked.

“My father is very independent, just like you, I suppose,” I said. “I learned a long time ago not to try to tell him what to do. It just irritates him, and it usually doesn’t make any difference what I say anyway.”

“See,” she poked Michael in the side. “She’s smart—you could learn something from her. And what about your mother?”

“Oh, Mom,” Michael started.

“No, it’s okay,” I said. “I don’t know where she is. She left my dad many years ago, and I haven’t seen her for quite a while. I’m not sure exactly where she’s living anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…You’re saying that she left your father and her child? When you were small, she left you behind? How does a mother do that? Was she having an affair? Where did she go?” she asked.

“Mom, really, that’s none of your business," Michael said. "Sorry, Cassie.”

“It’s really okay, Michael, it was a long time ago,” I said. “And I can sort of understand why she did it. I think she wasn’t cut out to be a mother or a wife, and she just had to get out. It took me a long time to figure that out, but now I get it. I’m not saying it didn’t hurt, because it did, but I’ve come to accept why she left.”

“Really?” she asked.

“She had to save her own life. So she made a choice. And I’m okay with that,” I said.

She looked at me hard for a minute, and I felt like I could see all the pain that was deep in her soul at that moment: the anguish of having a husband who chose suicide and the challenges she’d faced as a widow all this time. I realized that she had not yet come to terms with her loss, or forgiven her husband, or even dealt with the anger she carried from that event. Her chatty exterior was a very brittle shell.

“I think I’m going to bed now,” she said abruptly. “I’ll see you two in the morning. Michael, make sure your guest has everything she needs. Good night.”

She walked away and up the stairs before we could even react. In silence, we looked at the table and spooned melted ice cream from the bottom of the thick white bowls.

“You want any more?” Michael asked.

I looked into my bowl. “Got any chocolate sauce?” I waited while Michael scooped another ribbon of Rocky Road into my dish. “Tell me why you’re going to suck up to your uncle tomorrow—and don’t skimp on the cherries.”

“Peg is mortgaged to the hilt on this place and she thinks she has to kiss Uncle Oscar’s ass every holiday so that he’ll be sure to bail her out if she runs into trouble with the IRS or the banks.”

“I know this is none of my business, but why the big financial mess? What’s the deal there?” I asked.

“Oh, she bought the shop where she’d been working part-time for the last fifteen years, and in order to do that and get a line of credit, she had to mortgage this place to the hilt. I’m not in a great financial position right now, so maybe when I get tenure, I’ll be better able to help out. But I’d like to be able to afford a better apartment, too, and that seems like a really long way off for me if I want to stay in Manhattan…So it’s our tri-annual begging pilgrimage. We do an excellent one at Passover, and we seriously rupture ourselves prostrating before him at Yom Kippur.”

“Why don’t you just ask for help?” I said.

“Are you crazy? Peg offered him shares in the business. No dice. Silent partner. No way. He says, ‘It’s better not to mix family and business.’”

“So what’s he going to do with all his money if he has no other relatives?”

“Apparently, he’s planning to give it to charity. Nothing I have been able to find out about. Can you believe that?”

I shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s two things that don’t mix well: families and money. If there’s anything I can do…”

“Well, unless you want to become a partner in a bakery, no, but I appreciate your broad shoulders. Just don’t mention this to Peg—she doesn’t like it when I tell anyone our family business,” he said. “And anyway, we have a big surprise for you tomorrow morning, so we’d better get to bed soon. It’s almost time to get up. Mom likes to get an early start to the day.”

I lay under the covers for a very long time, thinking about the anger and loneliness I’d seen in Peggy’s eyes. There was something not quite right about Michael’s mother, and I wanted to take some time to think about it. The way her mood changed so abruptly, the anger that almost bordered on paranoia—these seemed like signs of a looming mental health issue. I wondered if she’d always been this volatile, or if these changes were recent. Something was definitely not right with Peggy Simone. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, and I was nervous about where it was going to lead.