Chapter Twenty-four
Mark is sitting on the floorof his grandmother’s bedroom, her jewelry box open in front of him, his hands dripping with thin gold chains, his fingers working frantically to separate them before Julia comes back inside. She’s been tinkering around in her tiny back garden for the better part of half an hour, and he doubts she’ll have the stamina to be out there much longer. Gardening is hard work, something he discovered yesterday when she cajoled him into helping her out.
With her unceasing encouragement, he’d mowed the lawn, pulled out a bunch of surprisingly strong and stubborn weeds, then assisted in the planting of several rows of bright coral impatiens along the bottom of the waist-high black iron fences separating his grandmother’s property from the backyards of the houses to either side.
“Beautiful,” his grandmother had pronounced when he was done, her voice brimming with satisfaction. “That looks so much better! Well done, sweetheart.”
He’d felt a surge of pride, which was followed immediately by an even bigger surge of shame when she thrust two twenty-dollar bills into his hand as payment for his efforts. “No, Nana,” he’d protested, having already removed that same amount from her purse earlier in the day.
“Nonsense,” she’d insisted. “You worked hard. You earned it.”
Of course, he’d used the money to buy weed.
He shakes his head, recalling the hint of menace in his dealer’s voice, the not-so-veiled threat that it was either time to come up with the money he still owed or pay the consequences.
So, what choice does he have? His grandmother isn’t going to miss one measly gold chain that she never wears. Hell, she won’t even know it’s gone. He tugs at the chains, realizing too late that he’s only made things worse. “Goddamn it,” he whispers.
“What are you doing?” the voice asks from the doorway.
Fuck. Mark feels every muscle in his body tense. He closes his eyes, trying to will himself into invisibility, then considers jumping to his feet and hurling himself out the second-story window. Anything to avoid having to turn around, to confront the mixture of confusion and disappointment he knows he’ll find on his nana’s face. How could he have been so stupid? More to the point, how could he not have heard her come inside?
“Nana,” he says, forcing a smile onto his lips as he swivels toward her, allowing the chains to drop back into the jewelry box. “I swear, this isn’t what it looks like.”God, could he sound any lamer?
“What does it look like?”
“Like I’m trying to steal…I’mnot.”She’s not going to make this easy,he thinks, hoping desperately to come up with something even vaguely plausible to explain what he’s doing in her bedroom, his hand caught in the grown-up equivalent of a cookie jar. “Actually,” he says, hitting on something that just might work, “I was hoping to surprise you.”
“You succeeded,” Julia says, waiting for him to continue.
“It’s just that I noticed that these were all tangled up and I thought that, what with your arthritis and everything, you’d never be able to do it, so I thought I’d untangle them for you.”
“That’s so considerate of you, sweetheart.” She’s smiling now.
He smiles in return. “Well, I—”
“When did you notice this?”
Shit.It’s not an unreasonable question. Damn it. That was the problem with lying. You always had to be ready with a quick follow-up. “The other day. When you couldn’t find your glasses,” he improvises, gratefully recalling an incident he could exploit, “and I came in here to look for them. I thought maybe you might have left them in a drawer when you were getting dressed, so I started opening them, which is when I saw the music box. And I’ve always had kind of a thing for music boxes….”Really? I had to add that? I couldn’t stop while I was ahead?Which was another problem with lying, he understands. The desire to embellish. Not knowing when to stop.
She smiles and Mark feels his body relax with relief.She’s buying it.“Anyway, I opened it. And I saw all these chains, pretty much glued together. And I thought that if I ever got the chance, I’d surprise you by untangling them.”
Julia looks crestfallen. “And I went and ruined the surprise.”
God, I’m a shit,Mark thinks. “No, I’m just sorry, the way it must have looked….”
The phone rings. Nobody moves.
“Are you going to answer that?” he asks. “It could be the IRS.” He tries for a laugh, but the sound scrapes against his throat, then dies in his chest.
Julia walks to the phone by the side of her bed and picks it up. “Hello? Oh, hello, dear. It’s your father,” she whispers to Mark. “Yes, I’m very well, thank you for asking. You? That’s good. And…Poopsy?” She smiles, and Mark stifles a laugh. “Yes, sorry, dear. I know. I shouldn’t make fun. Yes, Mark’s still here. And yes, I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I’ve apologized. But he’s been a big help to me. No, no trouble at all. Did you know he’s a wonderful cook? Well, he is. He’s standing right here. Do you want to speak to him? What’s that?” she asks, shaking her head in Mark’s direction to indicate his father’s lack of interest. “Twelve o’clock, Friday? Yes, that should be okay. Shall I invite Mark to join us? Oh. Okay, fine. I guess I’ll see you then.”
“What’s happening at noon on Friday?” Mark asks as Julia replaces the receiver.
“Lunch at The Breakers.”
“Wow. Fancy-shmancy. I take it I’m not invited.”
“I’m sorry, darling. Your father can be quite the ass sometimes.”