Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
There were nearly two hundred in attendance at Bill’s funeral. The crowd appeared as Nelson expected, the oldest resigned, the middle-aged freaked out. Nelson was also middle-aged, but then he had quite a lot of experience with funerals.
There was a good deal of crying. This surprised Nelson, as he had not thought of Bill’s family as prone to emotion, even in extreme cases.
Nelson spotted Joan in a black dress with long sleeves, her children beside her.
Lee and Jamie each clutched a book, which Nelson thought smart; it was an excuse, an escape from having to speak with adults, who tended to say horrible things at funerals.
Theo was by the closed casket in a pin-striped suit. He had sobbed during the funeral’s only reading, Juliet’s recitation of a Yeats poem. After it was over, Nelson slipped out and called Adam.
“I wish I could be there,” Adam said.
“You know you hate driving.” They both did. They were staying for the season in a rental in Healdsburg while their place in Hayes Valley was remodeled. Nelson could have made the trip back, but Joan had offered him a room at a nearby hotel.
Nelson had made fifty copies of the will, far more than necessary, but he always printed extras as a policy. He brought them to the family reception, held at a Greek restaurant in Palo Alto.
“Aren’t you staying for dinner?” Juliet asked when he didn’t take a seat. He could feel her new boyfriend’s eyes on the folder in his hand.
“No,” Nelson said. “I just came to say hello. And to communicate Bill’s wishes.” These were the magic words. The parties were shy, or wanted the appearance of such, but one by one they came. He handed them the papers and slipped away.
Nelson regretted his decision to stay the night.
He could have already been halfway home, though he knew that had he been driving, he would be tired and regretting things the other way around.
The hotel was clean but sterile, with a king-size bed and shampoo and bar soap for toiletries, one of those chains furnished with a businessman’s needs in mind.
More out of curiosity than desire, Nelson opened the minibar and found it empty.
He would have to remember that—to make sure the room was not charged for drinks upon checkout.
He would not want Joan to think he was someone who drank from the minibar when another party was paying.
On impulse, Nelson went to the lobby bar.
Unlike the rest of the hotel, the bar was dimly lit; there were records on the wall, for no thematic reason he could discern, as there wasn’t music playing.
There were a few others seated: a bearded man in a pink polo and two women who were clearly expecting to be approached by men.
When Nelson entered, they glanced at him and then quickly returned to their conversation, their backs a wall.
Was it because he was older? Or Indian? Or maybe they simply didn’t like his face.
When he was younger, he’d always been on the hunt for offense—there were, after all, so many aspects of Nelson for others to find offensive.
He considered picking someone up. Not to sleep with (but maybe? maybe?). He hadn’t done that in years.
The bartender took his order, and Nelson briefly locked eyes with the man in the pink polo.
Polo Man wasn’t Nelson’s usual type, and if he and Adam were compared in nearly every vector (physical, personality, taste), Adam was likely to win with embarrassing margins.
And yet Polo Man was new, and newness was interesting.
A hand grasped his shoulder. “I knew it was you.” Nelson recognized the voice without looking. “I’m staying here too.”
Theo dropped onto the empty stool beside him.
He already had a glass in hand. The two women across the bar eyed him with hope; even shiny-faced and drunk, Bill’s son resembled some sort of Greek god, his blond hair pushed back, skin smooth and jaw defined.
Imagine having all of that, everything Theo possessed, and still being so miserable, Nelson marveled. For Theo did look miserable.
“I bet you’re happy that’s all over,” Theo said.
“I’m just tired. And sad. I was fond of your father.”
“I noticed you didn’t stay for dinner. Everyone was reading the will. But you knew that. You knew what was in there the whole time I was asking about the house.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Nelson said softly. He caught the bartender’s attention and tapped a finger on his water glass. The bartender nodded.
“I really thought he would leave me the place. After all, he bought one for Juliet. And what do I have? Fucking nothing.”
“You have so much, Theo.”
Theo scooted closer, the stool making an ugly noise against the floor.
“Do you know where Joan lived before she met my dad? Apparently she was some sort of servant . Whereas I grew up in Falling House; it’s where I was born.
And Ava Castillo is dead in the ground. It’s not like she can build another one. ”
“You can design your own place.” Nelson nudged the water glass toward Theo. “You can make it however you like.”
Theo stared at the glass, which Nelson still held. Theo moved his hand over Nelson’s and then, very slowly, gently ran his pinky up and down the back of his hand. The movement was ticklish. After a moment Nelson set both hands in his lap. Theo laughed.
“Please,” Nelson said, clearing his throat. “Drink some.”
Theo picked up the water. In one quick motion he tilted both his head back and the glass; the ice hit his teeth and the water flowed from his mouth over his chin and neck. He continued to drink like this, the water soaking his shirt, until there was only ice.
“Are you okay?” Nelson asked, knowing it was a stupid question.
“I know people think I’m a failure. They see me, and in their head they go: Loser . Which really hurts my feelings! Didn’t you ever fantasize about proving everyone wrong?”
“You aren’t a loser.”
Theo wiped his mouth. “I told him the house was my only wish. One fucking wish! What kind of father doesn’t even give that?” He began to cry.
“Sometimes that happens,” Nelson sighed.
That night, Nelson couldn’t sleep. Theo’s wet face, the water running down his neck, the comics clutched by Jamie and Lee as they stood in the pews—the images haunted him.
He recalled his last meeting with Bill at Falling House.
Did Theo really want the place out of sentiment?
Or just for its monetary value? In Nelson’s experience, these were rarely simple questions.
People believed they wanted one thing and became fixated: on a divorce, a settlement, a company.
They desired it to the point of obsession, and most of the time it was impossible to talk them out of it.
And at the end, those instances when Nelson did manage to obtain it for them, they were rarely satisfied.
The whole business was extremely depressing.
Nelson closed his eyes, but sleep continued to elude him. This was unusual; he could normally nap in the most cramped airline seat or at a raucous party. Adam said this was just genetics and Nelson shouldn’t be judgy about people who required lots of melatonin.
A chilly wind blew into the room. He’d forgotten the window was open. Damn! He didn’t feel like getting out of bed. Nelson grabbed the covers and shivered: a foreboding, a tickle of paranoia.
His thoughts drifted again to Falling House.
It wasn’t a magical elixir; it wasn’t a panacea or a fountain of youth.
It was just a house. And yet people seemed to treat it as more.
Nelson recalled again that lunch with Joan so many years earlier when she’d asked for the house.
Someplace I can think of as my own, she’d said.
The house. The house. The words rang in his head until they formed an annoying little chorus.
The house, the house! Nelson shivered again and rolled to the edge of the bed.
He fumbled for the phone, his hand on the headset, as he debated whether to dial.
He finally did, but no one picked up. He dialed again.
He was aware he was calling a widow, the phone shrilling through her rooms in the far too late hour, over and over on the night of her husband’s funeral.
Joan still didn’t answer. Nelson sat up and turned on the light. “Shit,” he said.