“You can’t question these things… They happen the way they happen. And a lot of time, they make no sense. But I understand what you’re saying, and it makes sense from your perspective, although I hope what we discuss today won’t end up in your book.”
“No. Of course not. That’s not my intention. Whatever ends up in my book will only talk about their lives and accomplishments. They deserve to be celebrated. I think they were great people.”
Her eyes glint with emotion.
“I’m sure your mother was. And my son was remarkable too. I only have good things to say about him.”
She pushes her chair back and rises to her feet, inviting me to follow her into the living room. She shows me to the armchair before she opens a drawer and retrieves a photo album.
We spend half an hour talking about Andrew. She shows me pictures of him as a kid, a teen, a high schooler, a military academy graduate, and later, a business owner.
Everything I suspected seems to be correct.
Andrew was a life-loving man who liked people and enjoyed spending time outdoors and being an accountant.
He was industrious, organized, and never had a speeding ticket in his life, let alone a run-in with the police.
He didn’t have vices, and he lived alone. He was happy, his mother says.
His life was full.
He was involved in his community, helped his brother raise his children, and never got into an argument with anyone.
Andrew was an upstanding citizen.
The opposite of my father.
She confesses his unexpected death has left them confused.
It was so uncharacteristic of him. There were no signs something was off with him, and so on…
The woman tears up, remembering their last conversation. He was talking about an upcoming business seminar and was excited about it.
Nothing in his demeanor had suggested he was someone struggling to stay afloat.
I can’t help myself and ask her if she has noticed anything unusual in his life at that time.
She pushes her glasses up the ridge of her nose.
“Not that I remember of. Even now, going back and trying to look at it with different eyes, I can’t single out one thing that could, in all fairness, be deemed suspicious. Sometimes he seemed distracted. But who isn’t? People have always had a short attention span. These days it's even worse than it used to be. He occasionally seemed preoccupied. And I thought it was because of his work.”
“What happened with his firm?”
“George, his brother, runs it now. It makes good money. They provide good services and have a great reputation, so their clients have stayed with them year after year. Taxes, audits, business consulting. It was good business when Andrew was alive, and it’s good business now.”
She gestures, pushing that thought away, and shows me a few more pictures of the cabin.
It’s in a wooded area, and the scenery is beautiful.
“No one wants to go there now. His brother never liked it. My nieces and nephew don’t care. I’m too old to spend time over there. But, I didn’t want to part ways with it because Andrew loved it so much. It’s one of the things that remind me of him, and I refused to let his brother sell it. Maybe after I’m gone, but not now. You can go there if you want to. Take a look at it. The neighbor has the key. There’s someone there who lives all year round. They weren’t there when the tragedy struck. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened,” the woman says.
She barely finishes saying that when the sound of a car engine travels from outside.
She pushes to her feet and slides the album into the drawer. I sense an urgency in her gesture.
“He doesn’t like me to talk about him. He thinks I unearth the dead,” she says, ticking her chin toward the entrance.
I push to my feet too when the door opens, and a man younger than my father walks in.