Death Benefits by Sarah N. Harvey Page B

“Who knew? And look at you. My little boy…all grown up.” I bow, and she giggles again.
    The limo driver clears his throat, and Mom blushes. I offer her my arm as we go out. The limo is huge and we sit facing Arthur, who is huddled in a corner, looking miserable. No one speaks as we drive to the hotel. When we get there, everything changes. Suddenly Arthur is the life of the party, and Mom is whisked away by a woman who is already a little bit drunk and a whole lot silly. Me? I stand behind a potted palm and watch the show, which is mostly well-dressed people getting drunk on free booze and listening to a bunch of speeches about how great Arthur is. The guys from the clothing store turn up wearing suits and shades and a lot of bling. No camo. No baggy pants.
    I’m thinking about going over to talk to them when one of the catering staff, a really cute girl whose name tag says Dani , comes up to me with a tray of appetizers and says, “I know you. You’re in my math class. Or you used to be. There was a rumor going around that you were in jail.”
    Jail? Talk about an undeserved reputation. I will myself not to blush as I answer her. “I had mono.”
    â€œOh, yeah? My friend had that. Totally sucks. When you coming back?”
    â€œUm, I don’t know. September, I guess.”
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” she asks.
    I take one of the appetizers off the tray, hoping to keep her with me a few minutes longer. I point to Arthur, who’s surrounded by laughing women. “He’s my grandfather.”
    â€œYou’re kidding me. He’s, like, ancient. Way older than my grandpa.”
    â€œYup.” I grab a shrimp roll and stuff it in my mouth. “He’s ninety-five.”
    She smiles as she stares at Arthur, who is now sitting in a wingback chair with a martini in one hand, holding court. “Sweet shoes. He’s sort of cute, for an old guy. Must run in the family.” She looks straight at me, her brown eyes bright, and this time the blush rises to my cheeks.
    â€œAwww, that’s so sweet,” she says, putting down the tray and whipping a pen out of her apron pocket. She writes a number on my palm, which I pray isn’t sweaty. “Call me. We should hang out.”
    I watch her ass swaying in her short black skirt as she walks away. I can’t believe it. A hot girl just came on to me at Arthur’s party, and there’s no one to tell. Not my mom, that’s for sure, although it looks as if at least one guy is hitting on her. Then the guest of honor breaks away from his harem and makes his way slowly toward me, a girl on each arm. He looks like a really ancient, wizened Hugh Hefner. He’s grinning at me, and I realize there is at least one person I can tell.

Eleven
    T he morning after the party, Mom sleeps in. Or to be more accurate, she stays in her room with a bucket beside the bed and the curtains drawn. I stick my head in to say goodbye before I leave for Arthur’s, but all she does is groan and pull the pillow over her face. Her black dress is on the floor, crumpled beside the sparkly shawl. I wonder if I’m going to find a similar scene at Arthur’s, although I don’t think he was drunk the night before, just happy. He fell asleep in the limo on the way home, and I had to undress him, get him to the bathroom and tuck him in while Mom entertained the limo driver by playing show tunes on the grand piano. By the time I got Arthur settled, she and the driver were singing a duet of “Some Enchanted Evening.”
    When I open the door at Arthur’s, the first thing I notice is a breeze coming from the living room. Now, the one thing I know for sure is that Arthur can’t stand drafts. It can be eighty degrees and humid, but if he feels a breeze, he goes on a mission to find its origin and eliminate it. He wears long johns year-round. So there’s no way he’s opened the door to the deck to let