Chapter 23
"The Big Bird Lands in Lexington"
I DROPPED THE PHONE TO THE BED BESIDE ME, FEELING BONELESS, SENSELESS AND STUNNED.
IT COULDN'T BE TRUE. MY MOTHER WAS DEAD? … AND I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW?
*OH MOM … I AM SOOO SORRY …*
MY HEAD WAS EMPTIED OF ALL REASON, LEAVING ME HOLLOW INSIDE AND DEEP IN SHOCK. WHY HAD I NOT LEFT BEHIND A WAY FOR HER TO REACH ME WHEN THOMAS DIED? SHE NEEDED ME AT HER SIDE. THIS WAS WAY BEYOND IRRESPONSIBLE. IT WAS INEXCUSABLE.
I THOUGHT THEY WOULD LIVE FOREVER. KIDS BELIEVE THEIR PARENTS ARE IMMORTAL … BUT I'M NOT A KID ANYMORE.
THOMAS DIED BEFORE HER, LUTHER TOLD ME. SHE WAS ALONE WHEN SHE DIED ….
NO OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS WERE PRESENT WHEN MY DAD DIED, EXCEPT MOM AND ME. NOT EVEN HER SISTER, LONG GONE BY THEN. ONLY USMC BRASS AND CURIOUSITY SEEKERS.. WILSON DRAGGED ME THERE, KICKING AND SCREAMING, BUT IT DIDN'T COUNT BECAUSE IT WASN'T MY IDEA.
BLYTHE HOUSE'S ONLY CHILD … HER ONLY LIVING RELATIVE ACTUALLY … WAS TOO HIGH ON A PINNACLE OF SELF-ABSORBTION TO ASSUME HIS RIGHTFUL PLACE AND SHOW UP WHERE HE WAS SORELY NEEDED. OR EVEN HAVE THE PRESENCE OF MIND TO LET SOMEONE ELSE KNOW WHERE HE COULD BE CONTACTED. SOMEONE LIKE LUTHER …
I BROKE DOWN AND WEPT: GREAT HEAVING SOBS OF SORROW AND REGRET IN MY LONELY HOTEL ROOM. I HID MY FACE IN SHAME EVEN THOUGH THERE WAS NO ONE TO SEE THE RENOWNED DR. GREGORY HOUSE HIDING FROM HARSH REALITY AGAIN.
BUT LUTHER FINN, STILL ON THE OTHER END OF THE LINE, HEARD WHAT I WAS EXPERIENCING …
"Greg? Are you still there? Talk to me … please. I regret you had to find out this way. Are you okay?"
Luther's plea fell on deaf ears. I couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe.
My mother and her husband were dead and I had not been there for them. I had too often belittled their marriage and blew them off like cat fuzz from the furniture. In my adult life I had not been there for anyone when they needed me. Was there no limit to the disregard one adult could exact upon another? I never intended to hurt her but I could not stand to look into her eyes when she was looking at me, the walking wounded. I could never be the person she needed me to be, and so I avoided the expressions of sorrow I saw on her face. I ran away to my island hideout and never told a soul … and now all my chances had come and gone. I had exhausted all the opportunities.
Determination to not become emotional after hearing bad news is one thing. Calling one's mother on impulse late at night and finding out from her lawyer that she is no longer among the living … is something entirely different. The shock of hearing news of her death literally took my breath away.
Despair welled inside me, spilling over. Like seeing your life rush past as you lay dying. I saw my childhood; every moment I'd ever spent with my parents, speeding through my memory like an old video tape set on "fast forward". The tears and shakes that followed … there seemed to be no end to them. No force of will strong enough to halt them. My eyes streamed useless tears; sobs I could not contain shook my body with such force that I found myself gripping the edge of the mattress to keep from falling off the bed.
I let the hurt wash over my empty soul and drown me in the furious waves of dreaded emotion.
Beside me, the phone chirped again with the worried voice of my mother's lawyer. Anxiously waiting for me to pull myself together.
"I'm here, Greg, whenever you can talk … I'm here. Greg?"
My head finally cleared a little as I felt myself running out of tears. I became aware of the insistent squawk from the telephone and I wiped my streaming eyes on the shoulders of my tee shirt. I lifted the receiver and spoke a few shaky words.
"Luther? It's me. Yeah. I'm okay. Thanks for waiting me out. I kind of lost it for a minute or two."
"I can understand, my boy. You've suffered a terrible shock that you weren't expecting. You have my sympathies, I assure you. Your parents … and Mr. Bell … were personal friends. With their passing you must know we should meet and talk. Your parents' and Thomas' estates are in limbo here. There are no heirs other than yourself. Are you aware of that? Their combined legacy is extensive, and we need to know your wishes about the dispensation as soon as possible.
"How soon are you able to come down here? We can't do it on the telephone."
*Oh Jesus!*
I'd been attempting to pull my dismal life into some semblance of sanity, but the news of the deaths had unhinged me and driven a stake into my heart.
To undertake a trip of almost six hundred miles after so recently traveling over twenty one hundred miles might be more than I could manage in my present state of mind.
If I begged off and delayed things, I would have to confess the truth of my physical limitations. I was scared to drive that far, but I would have no choice.
I must do this for Mom, dammit. This wasn't about me!
Finally I leveled with the guy. I told him about going away for a year to give my deteriorating leg a chance to gain what recovery was possible. I did not go into detail. I said only that I was nervous about driving to Lexington, and I would need my own car if I had to drive anywhere while there.
Without a pause, Luther Finn advised me to fly down the next day and he would meet me at the airport. To my great surprise, he assured me he would be more than happy to take care of it himself. All he would need was the ETA of my flight. Easily done. After a short discussion, I agreed to take the first available flight, get my car later, and call him when I knew the schedule.
After we rang off, I booked a flight from Newark International for noon the following day, to arrive in Lexington ninety minutes later. A short flight; just a pain to get to the airport. I called Luther back with the arrival time, thanked him, and set about making provisions to step into the unknown. When the exchange was finally finished, I was shaking like a leaf. I hurt all over. I was nothing but a dismal failure.
My Mom was still dead.
Emptying the backpak of nonessentials took ten seconds … I upended it on the bed and everything fell out. I searched the luggage for a few changes of clothing to last however long I had to remain in Lexington. I dreaded having to visit that huge empty house on the outskirts of town, and I hated to think of moving through it, trying to decide what to keep … what to give up ...
Taking possession of Mom's Baldwin spinet was a no-brainer. It would be nice to have a piano again, no matter where I dropped my anchor for good. It would remind me of her whenever I played it. I would also have liked to keep Dad's big Dodge Ram, even though I was sure I would be unable to drive it. Too hard to get into the cab … and it was stick shift.
The house must go on the market. I was certain of that. I couldn't do the maintenance and yard work. I would also have to hire someone to clean and do laundry, because the washer and dryer were in the basement whose steps were impossible for me to navigate. The whole second story and attic would also be inaccessible. I did not wish to live in a huge house where my footsteps echoed through the hallways. I did not want to rattle around in there all alone.
Neither did I look forward to seeing ghosts in every corner. It would be difficult enough going through their belongings … but seeing their shadowy images watching me dispose of their lifelong possessions would be nearly intolerable.
Most of all, I had decided I really wanted to go to New England. I wanted to be the limpy old dude with handicap license plates on his car, battling snow and ice and frigid weather in a place that "Snowbirds" ran away from every winter. I was determined to live there all year 'round. Maine or Massachusetts or Vermont or New Hampshire … somewhere unspoiled and wild and beautiful that still boasted fresh air and sunshine and the changing leaves in autumn, and piney-smelling woodsy places; up there where I could be an old country doctor and make a difference again, leg or no leg. Someplace where I might cultivate a few friends and continue to work on changing my negative attitude: make up in some way for failing my parents.
And I did not want to be alone for the rest of my life …
By the time I finished my imaginary walkthrough of the Kentucky house and decided that I must sell it, I had calmed down to manageable levels emotion-wise. The backpak was stocked with clothing for my trip, and I had added my laptop and its charger, plus the charger for my cell phone and a few cigars thrown into the front pocket just-in-case. And the cane still stuck out the top. (I should soon get rid of it, maybe …)
I trundled my suitcases to the area near the door and left them where I wouldn't stagger into them. It was getting late, and I still had to shower and order something to eat. I wouldn't have time in the morning. My leg was cramping from being in the same position so long. I took two Vicodin, grabbed clean underwear and rolled across the floor into the bathroom.
Hot water loosened my muscles and I luxuriated in the warmth while allowing a few more tears go down the drain with the shower water. Afterward I called nighttime room service and ordered a hamburger basket with French fries and a Coors Light Silver Bullet to top it off. It was almost 2:00 a.m.
When I finished, the steward picked up the cart and the tray, and I tipped the guy ten bucks. I was tired and achy again; washed out from the unaccustomed shock of powerful emotions I was still trying to sweep under the rug.
Mom and Thomas were dead. Period. Dead. Not: "gone to a better place". Not: "gone to meet Jesus", and not: "passed away". Dead. We had not had the chance to say goodbye, and I had to find a way to live with that. I pushed the wheelchair into a corner and got into bed; pulled up the covers. It didn't take long before I dropped into a troubled sleep that paraded ghostly images through my mind for the remainder of the night …
I was in the lobby by 9:00 a.m. McIvers and Mason were standing behind the counter discussing a work sheet of some kind. I said 'good morning', propped my crutches against the desk and prepared to check out. They looked at me strangely, likely surprised that I was leaving abruptly without prior notice. Actually it was none of their business, and all I had to do was ask for my refund and depart.
After my room service bills and laundry bills were added up, McIvers refunded a total of $175.00, which I shoved in my pocket. "I need someone to take two suitcases back to my car, please. And I want to say thank you for the help your people gave me. I appreciated it very much. I'll be in the restaurant having a cup of coffee. Here's my car keys. Your steward can return them to me there."
By the time I turned and hitched myself away toward the restaurant, Mason was already on the phone.
The noon flight to Lexington was on time.
There were no passport checks, no unusual inspections, no snarly female security guards. My luggage was in the trunk, and my Dynasty was parked in Newark's long-term lot in the handicap section. I had my keys and the claim check and I was set. I had no idea when I'd be back to pick up the car.
The attendant wheeled me to my seat on the plane and folded the wheelchair between the rows. The man asked if I was comfortable. My leg hurt, but I told him I was fine. I had the Vicodin in the backpak beside me if I needed them.
Shortly after we were in the air, a female attendant walked up to me with a pillow which she offered with a smile. I nodded my thanks and lifted my leg on the seat so she could place it beneath my knee.
"You looked a little uncomfortable, and we can't have that," she said. "Is there anything I can get you? Are you in pain?"
I smiled sweetly in response. She was a cutie. "No," I said. "And yes … in that order. But nothing I can't handle. Thanks for asking. I'm fine."
My old instincts were raising their lecherous heads. She was giving me a very nice view from above and she didn't even realize it. She was also young enough to be my daughter.
"If there's anything I can do for you, please ask. By the way, I like your fancy red crutches. You must have a good sense of humor."
Dammit, she was playing hell with my blood pressure. "That's the idea," I said. "Throws people off the track."
She nodded and stood, a little unsure of my meaning. The view of her cleavage went away and so did my pleasurable palpitations.
I watched her rhythmic retreat down the aisle.
The plane landed at 1:38 p.m. I guessed we'd had a tail wind.
The same male attendant who brought me aboard also took me off. I told him I was meeting someone out front, so we went there and he stayed with me while I waited.
Ten minutes later a very highly polished, very black Mercedes Benz pulled up in front of us.
The window slid down. A cherubic face decorated with black-rimmed bifocals and a Tom-Selleck mustache, called out to me:
"Gregory, my boy … you're here! What in the world has happened to you? Let me get out and give you a hand!"
Luther Finn. All 365 pounds of him!
I didn't answer right away, but I did reach out to shake his hand. The pained look I saw in his eyes belied every negative opinion I'd ever had about him. But it did confirm the one thing I most hated to see on the faces of those who dared look at me like that: honest, pained sympathy..
I swallowed hard and looked up. "I got older, Luther. My leg took a turn for the worse. Don't look at me like that … please. Actually, other than that, and the fact that my mom is dead, I'm fine. Not fine as in fine … but fine as in: you don't have to worry about me …"
He fussed and fluttered about like an old woman. He touched my shoulders, my arms; and he bossed the airline attendant around as though the young man didn't know what he was doing. I'm sure the kid had run into his share of fussy old men before, and he treated Luther with silent respect. He saw me roll my eyes once and smiled at me and winked. I grinned back. He stowed my backpak in the trunk, rattling stuff around back there.
They both assisted me in maneuvering from the wheelchair to the front seat of the Mercedes, as though I was made of glass. I bit my tongue and kept quiet. The car was cool and I could hear the A/C as it hummed away. When I was settled, I touched the kid's sleeve. He looked at me in question and I pressed a twenty into his palm. His smile widened and he nodded in understanding. "You take care, sir," he said. He grasped the wheelchair by both handles and disappeared with it into the terminal.
Luther drove us the four or five miles back to Lexington, going on and on about the details of mom's and Thomas's funerals and legacies, and his vivid memories of their ceremonies. Some of it was a repeat of words we'd had on the phone, so I sat and pretended to listen and nodded my head during what I deemed to be appropriate intervals. Everything he said was a new source of hurt …
It was difficult to hear elaborate descriptions of flower-draped caskets and Luther's evaluations of the friends, neighbors and acquaintances that walked past them in tribute. Human rituals, I decided, like the ceremony of Dad's funeral: showcases for officials who wanted to be seen paying their respects, but who didn't like John House any more than I did.
I, however, paid more attention to what Luther didn't say. As I'd already known, both recent funerals had to have been bereft of family. My parents had few immediate family still living. Both were the last of the line. Other than that, I was clueless. I wasn't sure about Thomas, but I had known he was a lifelong bachelor, and childless.
Luther avoided mentioning the glaring absence of Blythe's crippled son, and as I said, there was some significance to that in the things he didn't say.
The law offices of Finn, Gladsburg, Stein and Loftus was located on Main Street near Cheapside Park. We entered the city on Man O'War Boulevard, passing through one of the cleanest, neatest cities I'd ever seen. Rows of well-tended homes and wide streets with historic-looking buildings rolled by as Luther brought us closer to the area of the downtown. People were out and about and traffic was lugging slowly in the outside lanes. It was an hour past noon now, and we were slowed to a crawl by cars and trucks ahead of us, lined up like ants at a picnic.
"Caught in a traffic jam a block from home base," Luther groused. "You have to live here to appreciate it. Can't expand the city outward or put in a bypass because of the ordinance for the horse farms. They have precedence. Always have. Actually, I won't represent any conglomerate that wants to fight it … but it sure makes a labyrinth of this town sometimes."
I had no idea what he was talking about. I listened because I was a prisoner in this metal box on wheels, and because my leg pain was ramping up and I didn't want Luther to see. So I tensed my shoulders and bit my lip and hoped he wouldn't notice.
Finally! Luther put on the brakes and flipped the right turn signal.
We made a sharp turn into an underground parking garage that faced the street. I hadn't even noticed what the building overtop of us looked like. This place was at least as cavernous as the one at PPTH, and the tires screeched just as loudly on the smooth concrete. He pulled into a parking space and shut off the ignition.
"Well, here we are. I would like you to sit still, Greg. I know you're in pain and I need you to wait until I get the wheelchair out of the trunk." He gave me a stern, no-nonsense look before opening his door to unfold himself from the front seat. The car door snuffed shut as though closing on a vacuum.
*Oh crap!*
I decided that it would be difficult to get anything past this old bruiser, so I said nothing and waited.
The trunk lid went up; the wheelchair clanked out and hit the floor with a loud bang when it snapped open, resounding like a rifle shot in the cavernous garage. There were some further sounds from back there before the trunk slammed down again with a thump that produced another reverberation. I winced.
*Jesus, Luther!*
He assisted me out of the car with hands as gentle as a woman's. Made sure I was seated as comfortably as possible. Handed me the backpak and the crutches and rolled me across from the car to an elevator I hadn't noticed before. I'd probably been here as a kid, but I didn't recall much.
"Are you having the rest of your luggage sent here by messenger?" Luther inquired casually.
"No," I said. "For the short length of time I'll be here, I didn't see the need."
He stopped dead in his tracks. Eyes wide, mouth open. "Oh, dear boy … I thought you knew … the processing of this will and its subsequent legal formalities … they can take months!"
I gawked up at him and my leg twitched in agony. My eyes and mouth were gapped open even wider than his.
"Oh … fuck!
"Sorry …"
I counted three floors before the elevator stopped with a ding. The doors parted and we were facing a wide corridor with large corporate offices along both sides. It was vaguely familiar, but I decided it must have been modernized greatly during the past forty years. Luther turned us to the right and we halted a few steps later before a door marked with his own corporate logo.
"LAW OFFICES OF FINN, GLADSBURG, STEIN AND LOFTUS."
*And so it begins.*
I suddenly wished I was back on Barbados … where life was a lot simpler …
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