finished, he looked more shaken than I would have predicted, and I wished I hadn’t told him. He said, ‘I’ve had quite a few of those dreams since … you know. I think in all of them your mom needs my help, and I can’t give it to her. Sometimes we’re kids in the dreams.
It’s weird. The dreams are disturbing, but I almost like having them.’
‘Because she’s alive again,’ I said. ‘Even just in your head.’
Paul stood up and started doing the dishes. He didn’t say anything else and didn’t need to. We understood each other.
Paul promised to see Ronnie early that day. Not only did I have a stack of student essays to grade, which had been sitting in my briefcase since before Mom died, but I also woke up to two messages on my phone. One was Detective Richland asking me to call him back. I assumed the two officers who’d responded to the break-in at my apartment had told him about it, and he wanted to get the straight story himself.
The other call was from Mom’s attorney, Frank Allison. He too wanted me to call him back about, as he put it, a matter concerning my mother’s estate.
Estate,
I thought to myself. Such an expansive word for describing the worldly possessions of someone who didn’t have that much. I thought Detective Richland’s call would be more complicated, so I called the attorney first. I hadn’t heard from my landlord about the lock. I opted to head to a local coffee shop and grade my papers there. I was on my way, cautiously driving with one hand on the wheel and holding the phone with the other, when I was connected with Mr Allison.
‘Ms Hampton?’
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry
to bother you, but I wanted to touch base with you about filing your mother’s will.’
I skirted the edge of downtown and headed north towards campus and the Grunge, my preferred coffee and grading hideaway.
‘I know I have to do that,’ I said. ‘Everything’s been crazy.’
‘Oh, no, no,’ he said. ‘I’m not calling to put pressure on you.’ His voice practically boomed through the phone, his tone somewhere between commanding and jolly. ‘I just wanted to let you know about a phone call I received.’
‘Okay,’ I said as I slowed to allow pedestrians to pass in front of me. Classes were changing. It was close to nine, and the intersections around campus swelled with students. Traffic backed up at every crosswalk and corner.
Mr Allison continued. ‘Someone called, a woman, asking about Leslie Hampton’s will. At first I thought it was going to be you. Your mother named you executrix, after all. But it turns out it was someone asking if the will had been filed yet. Apparently this person thought she might be named in there and wanted to know if she could do anything to speed the process along. I guess she needs the money.’
‘Who was it?’ I asked.
‘She didn’t leave a name. All I could tell her was that the will hadn’t been filed for probate yet. You know, there’s no time limit on such things. But you may want to tell your relatives that you haven’t gotten around to it yet.’
He didn’t say why, but I understood. He didn’t want to
have a bunch of relatives calling to ask him if their ships had come in.
But there was something about the whole thing I didn’t understand: who was this woman who thought she would be named in my mother’s will?
19
I managed to grade a few papers at the Grunge. My mind wandered every chance it got – to Paul’s state of mind, the break-in at my apartment, the woman calling about the will. I wondered how anyone functioned in the world when dealing with a crisis. And I answered my own question: you just do it. You do it because you have to.
I’d called Detective Richland back after talking to Mom’s lawyer. Richland seemed thrilled to hear from me, as if I’d called to offer him a year’s supply of tooth pain. He didn’t give me a chance to mention the break-in. He was on his way to a meeting – could I come by the station around
It’s weird. The dreams are disturbing, but I almost like having them.’
‘Because she’s alive again,’ I said. ‘Even just in your head.’
Paul stood up and started doing the dishes. He didn’t say anything else and didn’t need to. We understood each other.
Paul promised to see Ronnie early that day. Not only did I have a stack of student essays to grade, which had been sitting in my briefcase since before Mom died, but I also woke up to two messages on my phone. One was Detective Richland asking me to call him back. I assumed the two officers who’d responded to the break-in at my apartment had told him about it, and he wanted to get the straight story himself.
The other call was from Mom’s attorney, Frank Allison. He too wanted me to call him back about, as he put it, a matter concerning my mother’s estate.
Estate,
I thought to myself. Such an expansive word for describing the worldly possessions of someone who didn’t have that much. I thought Detective Richland’s call would be more complicated, so I called the attorney first. I hadn’t heard from my landlord about the lock. I opted to head to a local coffee shop and grade my papers there. I was on my way, cautiously driving with one hand on the wheel and holding the phone with the other, when I was connected with Mr Allison.
‘Ms Hampton?’
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry
to bother you, but I wanted to touch base with you about filing your mother’s will.’
I skirted the edge of downtown and headed north towards campus and the Grunge, my preferred coffee and grading hideaway.
‘I know I have to do that,’ I said. ‘Everything’s been crazy.’
‘Oh, no, no,’ he said. ‘I’m not calling to put pressure on you.’ His voice practically boomed through the phone, his tone somewhere between commanding and jolly. ‘I just wanted to let you know about a phone call I received.’
‘Okay,’ I said as I slowed to allow pedestrians to pass in front of me. Classes were changing. It was close to nine, and the intersections around campus swelled with students. Traffic backed up at every crosswalk and corner.
Mr Allison continued. ‘Someone called, a woman, asking about Leslie Hampton’s will. At first I thought it was going to be you. Your mother named you executrix, after all. But it turns out it was someone asking if the will had been filed yet. Apparently this person thought she might be named in there and wanted to know if she could do anything to speed the process along. I guess she needs the money.’
‘Who was it?’ I asked.
‘She didn’t leave a name. All I could tell her was that the will hadn’t been filed for probate yet. You know, there’s no time limit on such things. But you may want to tell your relatives that you haven’t gotten around to it yet.’
He didn’t say why, but I understood. He didn’t want to
have a bunch of relatives calling to ask him if their ships had come in.
But there was something about the whole thing I didn’t understand: who was this woman who thought she would be named in my mother’s will?
19
I managed to grade a few papers at the Grunge. My mind wandered every chance it got – to Paul’s state of mind, the break-in at my apartment, the woman calling about the will. I wondered how anyone functioned in the world when dealing with a crisis. And I answered my own question: you just do it. You do it because you have to.
I’d called Detective Richland back after talking to Mom’s lawyer. Richland seemed thrilled to hear from me, as if I’d called to offer him a year’s supply of tooth pain. He didn’t give me a chance to mention the break-in. He was on his way to a meeting – could I come by the station around
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