Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Theo informed Nelson of Bill’s death. He’d been calling nearly every week after Bill’s diagnosis. He was subtle at first but turned direct toward the end.
“I want to know about the house,” Theo had said. “And whatever else I’m supposed to get.”
“Let’s have a meeting with your father. Once it’s the right time.” There was never a right time in these situations, and yet Nelson always believed one might still come.
Nelson hung up after Theo told him the news.
He’d been in bed when he picked up the phone; for some foolish reason he’d given Theo his home number for emergencies, information Theo regularly abused for nonemergencies.
Nelson had been reading a book as he reclined against pillows (a CEO’s autobiography, which he kept rereading sections of without absorbing the content) while his boyfriend, Adam, watched TV.
Nelson informed Adam that his client of two decades was dead. He felt a heaviness about himself, as if something were being pressed across his face. “I feel strange,” Nelson added.
Adam took his hand. “I’m sorry. You knew it was coming, though, right?”
“I don’t think I believed it would actually happen. He was just so dynamic. I remember how exciting it was when Phillip retired and made me the partner on the account. I thought maybe Bill wouldn’t keep me, but he did.”
“Who called just now?”
“His son.” Nelson paused to let the laugh track drain off.
He was mildly irritated that Adam had not bothered to mute the TV.
“Who’s obsessed with whether he’s going to inherit the house.
And God knows what else he wants. Everything, maybe.
” This was a common expectation, as well as a disappointment, in Nelson’s line of work.
By certain logic, children might expect to be the main inheritors from their parents, but all this went out the window when there were multiple marriages.
New loves that bloomed in later decades.
The children of these loves, who were smaller and cuter and less bitter than the adult children.
“Gosh,” Adam said. “When the death bit happens, things do seem to get wonky.”
Wonky? The death bit ? Nelson tried to suppress his annoyance.
It wasn’t as if Adam had ever experienced death close hand; he had an almost perfect family, a healthy family, and each time they called, Adam would try to put Nelson on the phone.
“Just say hi,” he’d whisper. “They want to hear from you!” Adam had no idea how complicated death could be, how it might be only the start of problems.
Adam passed him a joint. Nelson took it and inhaled. There was a slight lemon flavor, and he sat up and pretended to read more of his book, and then a new episode came on TV, this time Seinfeld , which Nelson liked. “I’m sorry about your friend,” Adam said during a commercial.
“Hm?” Nelson said. He’d momentarily forgotten. And so the passing of Bill Lauder was recorded in the Das household.
Nelson’s last memory of Bill:
Six weeks earlier, Bill had asked him to the house. It was only after he arrived that Nelson realized Bill must have timed it for when Joan was out. The front door was open, and when Nelson entered, Bill was seated at the kitchen table with a cup of water.
“Dead man walking,” Bill said as a greeting.
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m sure I look it.”
“You actually look fine.” Bill did. He was paler and thinner, but his clothes mostly hid it.
Nelson was impressed by those who naturally defaulted to slacks and a button-down each day, even if they were just hanging around the house.
Nelson had a closet filled with beautiful clothes, but at home all he wanted to wear was pajamas.
It was Nelson’s first time visiting Falling House.
Bill had invited him before, to birthday parties and Easter brunches, but Nelson had never come (he liked Bill, but did not enjoy many of his type crowded together).
At Bill’s request, they moved to the covered patio, which he called the sunporch.
The light splayed through the many windows onto the walls and floor.
I can hear all the birds, Nelson thought. It’s like being seated directly in nature.
Nelson handed Bill the documents he’d requested. Bill took them and then moments later shoved them back to Nelson. “I can’t read this. Just tell me the highlights.”
Nelson put on his glasses. “A set amount goes to each of your siblings. Some other gifts, like your bequest to Patty and Gene. The majority to your children. Theo, Juliet, Jamie, and Lee. Four equal parts.” Though there wasn’t much, certainly not as much as Juliet and Theo likely thought, as Bill had not managed his funds so well over the years.
Juliet’s new home in Belvedere, Theo’s ongoing “capital infusions,” decades of alimony and school donations and a few overleveraged investments—the inflows simply hadn’t kept up with the outflows.
No matter how exotic the circumstances, the financial problems Nelson saw always came down to this equation.
“And Joan?”
“She’s taken care of. If she spends responsibly.
” This last part Nelson didn’t emphasize; he knew Bill wouldn’t like to hear that Joan would need to live more modestly.
Men like Bill had to believe they would forever be regarded as titans, great benefactors—any dent in that conviction, and the idea of death became unbearable.
“Your prenuptial agreement states she receives the house if you’ve been married over ten years and you pass.
You’ve been married thirteen.” He recalled the lunch where Joan had asked for Falling House.
In case Bill changes his mind, was what she’d said.
But Bill hadn’t changed his mind, at least not about Joan.
Bill nodded. He yawned, and for the first time Nelson thought he did look sick—and old.
Bill directed a sharp look at Nelson, as if he knew his thoughts.
“I never believed it would happen. I thought I would outlive you. I thought there would be a time when you got too old and slow, and I’d have to get a new lawyer. ”
Nelson nodded. He knew Bill was beyond pleasantries. “I understand why you may have thought that.”
Bill stood, pressing himself against the table to push himself up. “I’ve got a bit of energy. Let’s go outside.”
Bill leaned on Nelson and clutched his arm.
Once they were in the garden and could look back upon the house, Nelson was struck again by the elegance of the property.
The Bay Area was changing: most of his days now were spent advising technology businessmen and the infrequent woman, people convinced they were uniquely important because they had built a company.
I made this, they boasted. Without me, this (software, gadget, whatever) would not exist. But these sorts of projects were everywhere, and usually far more miraculous than whatever Nelson’s clients did.
They were the great volumes of water collected into reservoirs from storms, the lanes added to freeways, the museum exhibits curated.
How many people had worked on Falling House?
Who had set the great cedar beams inside and the flat stepping stones in the garden just so?
Nelson wondered how it must feel to wake each morning in this place, to reside within such beauty and expect it as your natural habitat.
Bill coughed. From where Nelson stood, Bill appeared almost like his old self; his frailness was shaded and his eyes were young in the light. “I forgot what it was like out here,” Bill said. “It’s astonishing, isn’t it?”