Chapter Nineteen. The Body in The Compromising Position
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE BODY IN THE COMPROMISING POSITION
Felix bounces off the couch with a garbled explanation about picadillo that makes him look incredibly shady.
You’d think my grandmother had found us dangling naked from the light fixture.
This is not the cool customer who can rock a fake mustache and a show tune, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t enjoyable to watch him flail.
Especially since all I can think is that she must be okay if she has the energy to go full Southern belle. It’s one of her most iconic characters.
Grandma Lainey places a finger to her lips, shushing him. “Never give them the rope to hang you with.”
He clamps his mouth shut, gathering our dishes and carrying them to the kitchen. There’s some intense eye contact at the door, like he’s sending me a coded message. I silently hold up my phone, reminding him that texts are a thing.
“Good night … everyone,” he says, hustling out the door.
“Poor thing would have cracked like an egg if the po-po got hold of him.” With a sigh, my grandmother settles into the armchair opposite the couch.
“Are you okay? Can I get you something to drink?” I ask.
She waves this off. “They tried to drown me down there.”
“What?” Surely they wouldn’t waterboard a senior citizen?
“Water, coffee, juice, Gatorade … apparently they thought I was at risk of imminent death by dehydration.” She cocks her head, considering. “That’s one we haven’t tried.”
I don’t know if she’s making light of the experience for my sake, but I’m not a kid who needs to be protected from the truth. “What happened?”
“Very little, for the amount of time I spent there.” She glances at the bar cart, like she’s reconsidering my offer of a drink.
“They didn’t accuse you of anything.” It’s less a question than a request for confirmation.
Grandma Lainey shakes her head.
“So you’re not out on bail?”
“Correct.”
“Do they have any theories?”
“None that they chose to share with me.”
Right. That makes sense. Probably I should let it go, wait until tomorrow when she’s rested to get the full story, but … there’s no chance I’ll be able to sleep without more information. “Do you have any theories?”
My grandmother stretches her legs in front of her, flexing her feet. “I’ve been thinking about your mother.”
“You think Mom offed Bradley?” Maybe the stress of her ordeal is messing with my grandmother’s usually sharp mind.
“Of course not.” She slides off one of her bangles and sets it on the coffee table. “That would be reckless and irresponsible. Not her groove.”
“Also wrong.”
“That too,” she agrees.
I watch her remove the rest of her wrist jewelry, trying to remember the last time she steered a conversation to my mom. We usually tiptoe around the subject with careful politeness, avoiding the elephant in the room: their strained relationship.
“What did you mean?”
Grandma Lainey shifts in her chair. “My instinct is to point the finger at that Berniece woman.”
I don’t think she’s talking about her index finger.
“It’s obvious she’d love nothing more than to turn this place on its head,” my grandmother continues, massaging her scalp with both hands.
“She hates what Claude loved, and everything he stood for. Because sometimes it doesn’t matter how close your blood ties are.
Everything about that person rubs you the wrong way. ”
My stomach burbles, meat and tomatoes leaving an acid aftertaste. Maybe I shouldn’t have inhaled that picadillo. “And you think Mom is like Claude’s sister?”
“Oh no, I’d never say that about your mother.
” She catches my eye so I can see she means it.
“Though it likely would have been validating for her, on some level, to know that I’d run afoul of the law.
She would have been worried and embarrassed, but I’m sure some part of her would have thought, I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. ”
“I doubt she warned you about getting falsely accused of hiding evidence.” I’m not sure which of them I’m defending.
“I was speaking more generally. Your mother has always wanted me to hew a little closer to the straight and narrow.”
“But it’s not your fault,” I argue, even though I know she’s right about my mother. She’s always been braced for trouble where my grandmother is concerned.
“You know, I let myself off the hook for a lot of things,” Grandma Lainey muses, rubbing her knuckles. “Possibly too many. It took me a long time to recognize that I was not an easy person for your mother to live with.”
“The two of you are … very different. From each other.”
My grandmother slides me a wry look, acknowledging the understatement.
“We were always pulling in opposite directions. I thought she’d loosen up with age, she thought I’d settle down.
But maybe what she needed wasn’t what I had to give.
I thought I was setting an example of how to lead a bold and unconventional life. ”
“You were! You do.”
Her hmmm doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
“But to her it was messy and stressful. Is it any wonder she rebelled by being aggressively normal and organized? Not even speaking of the physical distance.” She glances at me, gauging my mood.
“Do you want to know the worst mistake I made with your mother?”
“I guess?” But only because not knowing will haunt me, now that she’s put it out there.
“Making her think she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes at all. If she didn’t want to be like me.”
It sounds like a permanent state, as if neither of them is capable of change. Is that how families work? I think of what Bernie told me in the elevator, the flashes of still-simmering resentment of her brother. We loved Claude, but that doesn’t mean everyone saw him the same way.
“Do you think Claude and his sister would have patched things up eventually, if he’d lived longer?”
Grandma Lainey sighs, and I’m sure she knows what I’m really asking.
“I don’t know that they would ever have seen eye to eye,” she says at last. “Or genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.
But they could have learned acceptance—allowing each other the space to live as they saw fit.
That’s much better than letting old wounds fester. We’ve seen where that leads.”
“Accidental death?” I guess.
“Smart aleck.”
“I’ve never heard you up on the peace, love, and harmony soapbox. What was in that Gatorade?”
One elegant brow arches. It’s mostly penciled on at this point, but still effective.
“I’m trying to deliver an inspirational speech,” she says with mock affront.
“The point is that I don’t want you to ever feel caught between your mother and me.
You don’t have to pick a side or model your choices on one or the other of us.
Be yourself and be happy. That’s all either of us wants for you. On that much, I promise you we agree.”
I feel like my mom’s vision is a lot more specific than that, with a lot of detailed to-do lists and preferred methods for executing household tasks, but I see Grandma Lainey’s point. “Okay.”
“Because we’ll both love you, no matter what.”
“Right,” I say slowly, more concerned with deciphering the weird subtext of this speech. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”
“Mervyn gave me a lecture on the drive home. ‘It’s time to get your affairs in order, Elaine. You have to start planning for the future.’”
“Why? Does he think you’re going to jail?”
Grandma Lainey stares at the darkness beyond the sliding glass doors. “I’m dying, Virginia.”
I make a choking sound.
“Not now,” she adds with a casual flap of the hand. “But one day. Just like everyone else.”
“Are you kidding me?” I press a hand over my racing heart. “That was twisted. Even by your standards.”
“What can I say? There are some gags that only land when you’re old. It’s like waiting to play the role of King Lear. You have to seize the moment.” She grins at me. “I hope you’re lucky enough to have a granddaughter of your own one day.”
“Me too. So I can play mind games with her. Make sure she’s emotionally scarred.”
Her smile widens. “You’re one of the great gifts of my life. Your mother would have hated that joke.”
“Really?” I say with maximum snark. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Speaking of relationships, is there anything you want to tell me about young Felix?”
“I don’t know.” I tap my chin, pretending to think it over. “Is there anything you want to tell me about Mervyn?”
“Touché.” She sits forward, hands on her knees. “How about some warm milk before bed?”
It’s a peace offering, but I recognize more than that. “You know Mom makes that for me? To help me sleep.” Sometimes she doesn’t even remind me to brush my teeth again afterward.
“Does she?”
Maybe it seems like a small thing, but I can tell from the soft hmph of surprise that my grandmother is happy to know her daughter didn’t reject everything she learned at home.