thoughtful,” Judith allowed. “What are you doing
right now?”
“Making a family tree,” Gertrude said. “Mike called.
He wants to see who all’s hanging on it for Little
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Stinkers Preschool or whatever it’s called. Dumb. Why
can’t kids stay home and play like they used to?”
“I don’t entirely disagree with you,” Judith said.
“Today’s parents seem in such a rush to get them to
grow up. Maybe that’s why when they hit twenty, they
suddenly stop maturing until they’re almost middleaged. They’re making up for all the lost years when
they should have been carefree kids.”
“Well.” Gertrude chortled. “Maybe I haven’t raised
such a nitwit after all. When was the last time you
agreed with me on anything?”
“Come on, Mother,” Judith said. “I agree with you
on many things. Um . . . Who are you putting on the
family tree?”
“Family,” Gertrude retorted. “Our side. The Grovers
and the Hoffmans. You can do Lunkhead’s.”
Judith wasn’t sure which husband Gertrude was referring to. Her mother referred to both Dan and Joe as
Lunkhead. In fact, Judith had never been sure if
Gertrude knew—or recognized—that Mike wasn’t
Dan’s son. Over thirty years ago, a baby conceived out
of wedlock was a shameful thing. At least by
Gertrude’s strict, old-fashioned standards. While Judith believed that her mother knew, deep down, she’d
been in denial for the past three decades.
“That’s good,” Judith said, aware that her mother’s
memory, like those of most elderly people, recalled
more from the distant past than the immediate present.
“I mean, you can remember all those relatives who
were dead before my time.”
“You didn’t miss much with some of ’em,” Gertrude
declared. “Take Uncle Kaspar. He thought he was a pencil. My grandmother was always pretending to sharpen
him. The funny thing was, his head did come to a point.”
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“I never heard you mention him before,” Judith said.
“Maybe I forgot till now,” Gertrude said. “Then there
was my father’s cousin, Lotte. Big woman. Lotta Lotte,
my papa used to say. She sat on his favorite mare once
and the horse fell down, broke a leg.”
“Did they have to shoot her?” Judith asked.
“Yep,” Gertrude replied. “The mare was fine,
though. Fixed her up good as new.”
“Mother,” Judith said severely, “you’re not telling
me they shot Lotte!”
Gertrude was chuckling. “Why not? It was the old
country. They did a lot of queer things over there. Oldfashioned stuff, like wars and bombs and all that other
goofy stuff.”
“Mother,” Judith said stiffly, “I don’t want you making up information. It’s important to Mike and Kristin.
In fact, I’d like to know more about our family tree myself.”
“Wait till I get to your father’s side,” Gertrude said
in a low, insinuating voice. “Bet you never knew about
Uncle Percy.”
“Before my time?” Judith ventured.
“A bit.”
“What about him?”
There was a long pause. “I forget. It’ll come to me.
Hey, toots, got to go. Arlene’s here to let me teach her
how to play gin rummy.”
Gertrude hung up.
Judith looked at Renie, who was guzzling more
Pepsi. “Did you ever hear of Uncle Percy on our fathers’ side of the family?”
“No,” Renie replied. “Did your mother invent him?”
“I think she’s making up most of my side,” Judith
said. “It’s not like she doesn’t remember from way
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back. It’s five minutes ago that eludes her. Have you
made up your mind how to get dinner from the front
door to our room?”
“I told you,” Renie replied with a scowl, “I’m asking Tubby Turnbull. He should be about ready to leave.
I’ll go look.”
Tubby, in fact, was sauntering out of Addison
Kirby’s room. Renie put out a stocking-covered foot,
which caught him above the ankle. “Oof!” Tubby exclaimed in mild surprise. “Sorry. Did I step on you?”
“Mr. Turnbull,” Renie said, turning on what meager
charm she could manage, “I’m upset. Who are you getting to replace Joaquin Somosa?”
“Well . . . ,” Tubby drawled, rubbing his prominent
chin, “that’s a darned good question. Who do you think
we should get?”
“Me?” Renie pointed to herself. “I’m just a fan, a
mere woman at that. How should I know?”
“Well . . .” Tubby scratched at the elaborate combover that covered his bald spot. “Sometimes player
trade ideas come from the darnedest places. I got the
inspiration for our closer, Ho Boy Pak, from a fortune
cookie.”
“Really,” Renie breathed. “I’m not surprised. He
sort of pitches like chop suey.”
“Yes,” Tubby agreed, “he can be kind of erratic.
Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Renie put out her good left hand. “Oh, please, Mr.
Turnbull, could you step in for a minute and meet my
cousin? She’s a huge Seafarers fan.”
Renie made the introductions. “What a pleasure,” Judith enthused, studying Tubby more closely. He was definitely tubby, soft, and pliable. For a moment, Tubby
seemed to be deciding whether to sit or stand. He eyed the
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visitors’ chairs, the beds, even the commode. At last, he
stayed put. Judith knew of his reputation for indecisiveness, and noticed that the socks under his galoshes and
shoes didn’t match. Judith wondered if he’d simply not
been able to make up his mind when he got up that morning. “I’ve been rooting for the Seafarers ever since the
franchise got here,” she said as Tubby slowly released her
hand. “I’m a big sports nut. Wasn’t that terrible about Bob
Randall?”
Tubby nodded. “Really terrible. Just like Juan. And
that actress, Addison Kirby’s wife. It makes you stop
and think.” Tubby stopped, apparently to think.
“It was nice of you to call on Mr. Kirby,” Judith said.
“My cousin here actually saw him get hit by that car.”
“Really?” Tubby turned to gaze at Renie. “That’s
terrible, too. I guess you can’t blame Addison for being
kind of upset.”
“That’s true,” Judith responded. “You know, we
spoke to him before the accident. He told us he was on
his way to meet you. I’ll bet you wondered what happened to him when he didn’t show up.”
Tubby rubbed at the back of his head. “Did I? Yes,
sure I did. I wondered a lot. Then the hospital called
and told me what happened and that I’d better mosey
on over to see him. So here I am.”
“How thoughtful,” Judith said. “We gathered that
Addison had something very important on his mind. I
hope he was feeling strong enough to tell you about it.
It’s so hard to be laid up and not able to get things off
your chest.”
“That’s terrible,” Tubby agreed, “being laid up like
that and not able to . . . Yes, he got it off his chest. But
I don’t see how I can help him. I know very little.”
Behind Tubby, Renie nodded emphatically.
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“You know very little about . . . what?” Judith
prompted.
“About . . .” Tubby scratched his triple chins. “About