When she opened the door, she said, “Oh, it’s you. I couldn’t imagine who was knocking at my back door. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have put on some clothes. I have the day off, so I was having a lazy morning.”
“I was just dropping off the boxes we picked up from Pete’s landlady. I left everything in the garage.”
I held up the kit and the two bags. “His car’s gone. Looks like the guy who bought it cleared out the trunk, the map pockets, and the glove compartment.”
Ruthie relieved me of the items and put them on the kitchen counter. “Come in and have a cup of coffee. I could use the company.”
“I’d like that, thanks.”
I followed her into the kitchen. During the earlier visit, the front rooms had been tidy and I suspected the disorder here had accrued as a function of too much stuff and no clear sense of what to do with it. My guess was that for a short time after Pete’s death, she’d worked with efficiency, thinking if she kept everything shipshape, she’d stay on top of the process. Little by little, though, she’d lost control. In her shoes, I’d have called the junk man and had him haul everything away, but something of Pete’s obsession with storage cartons must have been contagious. Truly, there was no way to know what he might have hidden away. Pack rats by nature are attached to the objects they accumulate—old newspapers, tires, vintage soda bottles, bobbleheads, canned goods, shot glasses, baseball caps. Pete had an issue with cardboard boxes, which he’d apparently found irresistible. I’m sometimes reluctant to toss one myself, especially if it’s in pristine condition. What if you have to ship something? What would you pack it in?
As soon as we settled at the kitchen table with our coffee cups, I leaned down and removed the wedding clipping from my shoulder bag and passed it across the table. “I thought you might like to have this.”
She took the picture and studied it, smiling to herself. “Nineteen forty-nine. It seems like yesterday and then I’m reminded how young we were. I swear that dress felt very stylish at the time.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“I’d just completed my AA degree at City College and I was waiting to get into nursing school. I was working at the front desk at a walk-in clinic. He came in to pick up a prescription for an antibiotic in advance of some dental work. We chatted and when I got off work, he was waiting in the parking lot. He asked if I wanted to have coffee and I said sure.”
“And that was that,” I said.
“More or less. I was smitten with him from the first. He was sweet and unassuming and almost pathologically shy because of his Marfan’s, which wasn’t that severe. He had scoliosis and those long white fingers of his. His eyesight was bad, too, but none of that bothered me.”
“What did your family think?”
“They were puzzled, but they didn’t discourage the relationship. I’m sure they didn’t think it would last. I was never interested in motherhood, and with his Marfan’s, kids were out of the question because the condition’s genetic and the risk is too high.”
“So you didn’t have to explain.”
“Right, and I didn’t have to justify the choice. Nobody understood what I saw in him, but I didn’t care about that.”
“He was a lucky man.”
“I was lucky, too,” she said. “I take it there was no sign of accounts receivable and no cash hidden away.”
“No, though I confess I skimmed over much of it. I don’t know how you’ll decide what to keep and what to toss, but most of it looked like trash. No offense.”
“It’s the same with his belongings here. Clearly, he was secretive and it worries me to think there are items of value tucked into the nooks and crannies.”
“If there’s any way I can help, I’ll be happy to,” I said.
“I appreciate that.”
“There’s one issue I want to clear with you. For some reason, Pete had files that belonged to the old agency run by Ben Byrd and Morley Shine. I held on to the box because I’m uneasy at the idea of those contracts and reports in circulation. Throw files in the trash and you really never know where they’ll end up.”
“I wouldn’t have known a box was missing, but thanks for telling me.”
We chatted for a while and then I decided I’d better be on my way. I gave her one of my business cards in case she needed to get in touch. My car was still parked in the alley, so I left by way of the back door.
Before we parted company, she reached out impulsively. “I have a favor to ask. And please . . . if this is something you’re not comfortable with, feel free to speak up. I’d like to have a memorial service for Pete. Not right away, but in a month or so. He didn’t have close friends, but people around town knew him and I think he was well liked. He was a gentle soul and I can’t imagine he had enemies. I wondered if you’d be willing to give the eulogy. You knew him better than anyone else since you worked together for so long.”
I could feel the heat coming up in my face. Given my disdain for Pete, I was the last person in the world she should’ve asked to stand up and testify as to his sterling character. But Ruthie was good-natured and oblivious, and I felt bad at the state he’d left her in. All of this flashed through my mind before I opened my mouth.
“I don’t know,” I said, uneasily, and I could feel the lie bubble up in my throat like acid indigestion. “I’m terrified of public speaking. Occasions like that trigger panic attacks. I once fainted when I was asked to read a Bible verse in Sunday school. Much as I’d love to help, I couldn’t handle it.”
“I understand. Just give it some thought and let me know if you change your mind. I know how much it would have meant to Pete.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, reciting the second lie in as many sentences. I’d already put the idea out of my mind.
She gave my hand a pat and I was on my way.
By the time I got to my car, the horror of the request had made my hands clammy. Even as accomplished a liar as I am, giving testimony about a man I’d liked so little would have been my undoing.
• • •
After I left her, I stopped by the office to make sure pipes hadn’t broken and there were no pressing calls to return. I gathered bills, flyers, and catalogs from the floor where the mail had been pushed through the slot. Those I tossed onto my desk to deal with at a later time. After that, I headed for home and let myself in the gate. Once in the backyard, I saw Henry’s back door was shut and his kitchen was dark. No telling what Anna had talked him into buying for her now.
Ed had left two dead lizards on my welcome mat. I unlocked the door and as I opened it, he appeared out of nowhere and strolled in ahead of me. I was about to object, but the cat seemed so interested in the place, I didn’t have the heart to shoo him out.
I’d no more than closed the door when I heard a knock. I looked out the porthole and opened the door.
Anna was standing on my welcome mat, her arms crossed as though for warmth, her expression subdued; same boots and jeans, navy fleece top.
She said, “I know I shouldn’t have showed up in Santa Teresa out of the blue. I would’ve called, but I was afraid you’d tell me not to come.”
“It’s your business, Anna. Do anything you want.”
“I know you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m annoyed. I don’t want you taking advantage of Henry. He’s a sweetheart.”