On Second Thought(105)

“I’ll do it.” We were both superstitious, Dad and me. Him, because he worked in baseball, and those men fell apart if they didn’t wear their special pants or cross themselves three times before batting or turn in a circle three times at first base.

Me, because I’d grown up in a world where moms went for a bike ride and got hit by trucks.

“Hi, Gram-Gram!” I chirped when she answered, giving Dad the thumbs-up. “Just wanted to say hi. How are you?”

“Oh, honey, you’re so sweet! You are! I’m fine. Well, I’m lonely. I’m a lonely old woman waiting to die.”

“Don’t say that,” I said. “I’d miss you too much.”

“Well, it’s true. I have nothing to look forward to.”

“What about that date you went on?” I’d fixed her up with George from Kate’s grief group, and they had lunch the other day.

“All he talked about was soup.”

“You like soup.”

“That’s true. Bisque. I really like bisque.”

“See? It’s a start.”

“You’re wonderful. Do you know that? You’re my best friend. I love you, honey!”

“I love you, too, Gram-Gram.” I hung up, feeling relieved, adoring, adored and rather pimpish.

Jonathan was staring at me from his office. Not only did I have a family member at my desk, I was making a personal call at work. “I’d like to schedule that employee review, Ainsley,” he called.

Apparently, sleeping with the boss wasn’t going to win me any points. There was no hint of a smile in his dead-eyed stare. “It was an emergency,” I said. “We thought Gram-Gram might be dead. She’s not. I’m going to lunch. You remember my dad, right? Bye!”

My father drove me in his little convertible, and it was like old times, doing errands/visiting his girlfriends when I was a kid. We talked about baseball, how much we both missed Derek Jeter, where Dad’s next game would be, the pulled pork sandwich he’d had in Kansas City.

“Shall we eat here?” Dad asked, pulling up in front of Hudson’s. “I’ve never been.” He and Candy didn’t go out together a lot (or ever), and the place was relatively new.

“Sure. I came here for drinks with the girls a few weeks ago. It’s really cute.”

A few minutes later, we had a nice table overlooking the river and had placed our orders—fettuccine Alfredo for both of us, rich and delicious and unhealthy, the kind of food Candy never made. “So, Dad. This is nice. And strange. I don’t think we’ve had lunch together in ten years.”

“I know, Ainsburger. That’s my fault. Too much travel!” But he smiled; he really did love his job. “I wanted to see how you were doing about Eric.”

Dad, worried about me? That was new.

It dawned on me that I hadn’t thought too much about Eric in the past couple of days. I mean, sure, he’d crossed my mind; Jonathan was only the second guy I’d ever slept with, so there was some comparison. I was happy to say that Jonathan won. “Well,” I said, “I’m getting over it, I guess. He’s making it easy by turning into a total idiot.”

“I always thought he’d take good care of you. That’s why I liked him. Nice parents, too.”

They were nice. But the last time I’d called Judy, she hadn’t called back. The thought made my throat swell, but I smiled at my dad anyway.

“How are you doing for money?” he asked.

I sighed. “I have a little saved up. But I have to find a place of my own. Kate won’t want me with her forever.”

“It’s awfully nice, you staying with her.”

“It’s awfully nice of her, putting me up.”

“She never could ask for help. I’m glad you’re there.” Our lunches arrived, and we dug in. It was heaven, this food. Heaven.

“The reason I asked about money, Ainsburger, is I have some for you.”

“That’s okay, Dad. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s from your mother.”

I blinked. “It is?”

He nodded, not looking at me. “She had life insurance. Not a lot, but it’s been earning interest all these years. Close to a hundred thousand now.”

I sputtered in shock. “A hundred thousand dollars?”

“Yes. I figured I’d give it to you when you got married, but...well, it’s yours.”

I sat back in my chair. “Why didn’t you ever mention it before?”

“The truth is, I kind of forgot about it. It was supposed to be yours when you turned twenty-five.”

Leave it to my father to forget a huge sum of cash. I closed my mouth.

My mom had been twenty-five when she died, almost twenty years younger than my father. Did most young mothers take out life insurance? “When did she do that?” I asked.

“The week before you were born. She had this... Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It does, Dad. You never talk about her. Please tell me.” The truth was, I’d learned more about my mother from Kate a few weeks ago than I had from Dad in three decades.

He sighed. Looked out the window. “She had a dream that she was dying,” he said very, very quietly. “That she was giving birth to you, but she knew she wouldn’t make it, and all she wanted was to last long enough to see you. She woke up so upset. Cried and cried.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I used to tease her about it after you came. Tell her at least she got to hold you, see you walk, see your first tooth. I never thought...” His voice broke.