“This is so sad.”
“It is, but we’ll be okay. I’m determined to get through it and move on to a happier life, hopefully. It should not impact you in any way.”
“I wasn’t thinking about myself, Simon.”
“I know. I appreciate the work you do here, Tillie, and I know I don’t say that enough.”
“Thank you, Simon. I like my job.”
“That’s good to hear. And on another unhappy note, I’ve gone to the bank again because Paula needs some cash. You know how much I hate to do that, but I have no choice.”
“Your call, boss.” She smiled and got to her feet. “And, if you need someone to talk to, I’m always here. With, you know, the female perspective. Plus, I have one divorce under my belt so I’ve been through it.”
“Thank you.”
She turned and walked to the door. Simon couldn’t help but admire the view. Tillie was really getting in shape. After she closed the door, Simon pondered something that he should have already noticed. Tillie was a brighter, happier person these days, and she was spending more time not only in the gym but also at the mirror. The clothes, in smaller sizes, were more stylish and flattering.
Could it be that Tillie, after a long dry spell, had found someone new? He certainly hoped so.
Chapter 20
Eleanor was getting pushier about their lunches, which she was now describing as their “dates.” Simon was suffering through them because they might lead to a pot of gold. However, the culinary adventure had been his idea and he couldn’t stop it. Plus, he was getting closer to Netty and she was relying on him more and more. She even let it slip that she “needed” him.
Her friend Doris had eaten twice at the Bombay Oven, a quaint little café in a converted gas station five miles west of town. Eleanor was determined to go there, if for no other reason than to keep up with Doris, who was quite envious that her friend was lunching with a handsome young lawyer. The more Simon heard about Doris, the less he wanted to meet her.
He arrived early as always so he could scope out the parking situation and position himself, low behind the wheel, to study Eleanor’s driving ability. It was a county road with little traffic, but Netty managed to find plenty of it. When she came into view, puttering along in the old Lincoln at no more than thirty miles an hour, there were a dozen cars bumper-to-bumper behind her. As she slowed even more and began to pull off the road, the idea of a turning signal never crossed her mind. Horns were blowing as the traffic passed.
He helped her out of her car. She looked great, as always, ready for church in a pretty blue dress, one he’d seen several times, a floral scarf bunched around her neck, dark hose, low heels. As they entered the café, Simon half-expected to smell diesel fuel and axle grease, but the interior was ultra-modern with black and white tiled floors, mirrors, glass, and tables adorned with linen cloths.
So much for a cheap lunch, he thought to himself. They ordered tea and a baked flatbread to get started. The restaurant was quiet and not crowded, the tables spaced reasonably apart. Simon had an agenda but did not want to hurry. These outings meant a lot to Eleanor.
After some chitchat about their complete lack of knowledge of Indian cuisine, they put down the menus. She got serious with “Wally Thackerman called again this morning.”
“Again?”
“Yes, he’s been calling for a month now, wants me to come to his office to review my estate and such.”
At that moment, Simon could think of nothing in his complicated life that was as important as Eleanor’s estate. The idea of another lawyer, especially a worm like Wally, getting anywhere near it was quite unsettling.
He gave a nonchalant shrug and asked, “What did you tell him?”
“I’m not a liar, Simon,” she said, with a look that implied he thought she would lie.
“Who said you were?” he asked, defensively.
“I told him I wasn’t feeling well, which at that moment was a true statement because his calls were upsetting me. But he isn’t going away, evidently. What are we going to do?”
Shoot the little bastard, Simon instantly thought, but let it pass. “Well, we could always call Clyde and tell him to come on back and finish the job.” Simon was smiling at his own humor. Eleanor was not.
“Sorry, just joking.”
“I’m serious here, Simon. I still feel deceitful for not telling Wally the truth, that I’ve signed another will and the one he prepared is no good. This just doesn’t seem right.”
“And you think Wally’s been up-front with you? Keep in mind, Netty, he secretly hid a gift to himself in your will and didn’t tell you about it. Almost half a million dollars. You’re not dealing with an ethical person here. As I have explained, more than once, you have no obligation to inform Wally about our will. And why worry, Netty? You have at least ten more years, maybe twenty.”
That made her smile. The waitress brought over a platter of naan with a bowl of spiced garlic hummus. They each took a bite. She said, “Well, what if I go to his office and talk to him, just to see what he’s up to? I don’t have to tell him anything and I don’t have to agree to anything, right?”
“Right. Great idea. Go sit with Wally, talk about his episode with Clyde, and so on. See what he’s thinking.”
“That’s what I’ll do.”
When the waitress returned, Simon said, “An Indian friend recommended the kofta, meatballs stuffed with pork and onions and other things, and your chicken curry.”
“I’ll take the same,” Eleanor said.
The waitress sized them up and said, “I recommend that you go pretty light on the spices, okay?”
They agreed and she took their menus.
Simon said, “I’d like to finish the conversation about your final arrangements, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s not one of my favorite topics.”
“Understood. But we’re talking about dying, Netty, otherwise you would never have called my office in the first place. As soon as we can get all the paperwork done, then we can stop talking about dying.”
She crunched on some flatbread and looked like she was about to cry. “Do you really think I’ll live ten more years?”
“Yes, at least ten,” he said with a smile.
“And you think I should do the cremation thing?”
“Yes, I really do. It’s quick, easy, and more sustainable for the environment.”
“Okay. If you insist.”
Simon scribbled some meaningless notes on a small scrap of paper. “What about your funeral service? I asked you to write down some ideas.”
“That’s ten years away.”
“Look, Netty, I really don’t want to be doing this. I’m your lawyer, not a blood relative. This is a job for someone in your family, you understand? I don’t really care how you want to be buried.”
She burst into tears and he felt like a heel for whatever he’d said. She removed her glasses and wiped her eyes. Simon looked around to see if anyone was watching. She put her glasses back on, swallowed hard, and said, “I have no one. I’ve told you this.”
“I’m sorry, Netty. I didn’t mean to upset you. But, again, the sooner we get these matters wrapped up, the sooner we can stop talking about them.”
“I’ve made some notes about my service and I’ll bring them next time. It will be a small affair in the chapel at the funeral home with the Lutheran minister doing the honors. Just a few friends, that’s all. My niece and nephew will never know I’m gone. So sad, isn’t it, Simon? To have no one.”
She looked as if she might cry some more and he truly felt sorry for her. The chicken curry arrived first in small bowls. The aroma was delicious and they ate in silence for a few minutes.