Perfect Little World(84)

“I love it,” Mrs. Acklen said. “What’s his name?” she asked Dr. Grind, who nudged Cap and the boy replied, “Cap.”

“I love it, Cap.” She gave him a hug, which made Cap smile, and he slipped away from the crush of kids, a dazed look on his face. One by one, the children handed their cards to Mrs. Acklen, who delighted in each one, especially Jackie’s picture of a stick figure shooting dollar signs from her hands into the open mouths of little-kid stick figures. “She’s busted it down to the bare essentials,” she told Dr. Grind.

Patricia took the picture from her grandmother and frowned. “It’s a little crass, though, even for a kid, Gramma,” she said. Brenda Acklen waved off her granddaughter. “Patricia is a little skittish around children,” she said to Dr. Grind, who could only nod. Patricia looked slightly sheepish and then shrugged. “They’re very unpredictable,” she admitted, as if she were talking about the stock market or tigers kept as pets.

When it was all over and the kids had been introduced to Mrs. Acklen, Ally returned to the table with another card that she had just made and handed it to Patricia. “What’s this?” Patricia asked. “Another card for Gramma?”

Ally shook her head. “It’s for you,” she said. “So you can have a card, too.” Patricia opened the card and then thanked the girl; Ally then ran back to the other children to play. Mrs. Acklen, watching the whole thing, announced that she was quite certain she had made a wise decision to fund this project. “These darn kids are so sweet, it makes you want to cry,” she said, and Patricia nodded. Dr. Grind reminded himself to secretly give Ally a very expensive toy in the near future.


That evening, as the parents prepared the children for bed, Dr. Grind met with Mrs. Acklen and Patricia in his office. He and Kalina and Gerdie had spent almost a week creating a PowerPoint presentation as a last-ditch effort in case Mrs. Acklen decided to pull the funding and shutter the project. He turned his computer screen toward them and started the presentation. The project’s revamped logo, a M?bius-strip-like design of stick figures holding hands, started to slowly spin on the screen, and Mrs. Acklen waved her hands as if surrendering just before a battle began. “Dr. Grind, I am so darn tired. Those kids wore me out, and I hardly even stood up. I just want to get back to the hotel and sleep and then get back to Knoxville. You do not have to sell me on anything else. I’m in. I’m still doing this. You have the full funding and the project will continue.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Acklen.”

“Mere formality. I had decided as much almost immediately after the project started. I know you’re doing something special here, Dr. Grind. I had a vague idea of what I wanted, but you’ve taken it much further than I ever anticipated.”

“Thank you, again.”

Patricia then motioned to Dr. Grind and said, “But I would still like to look over this information, just to see exactly how the money is distributed and, if you’d like, I could offer my own suggestions from an outsider’s perspective.”

“Of course,” Dr. Grind said.

“I’m so happy, Preston,” Brenda said, smiling. Dr. Grind was about to thank her when she continued. “The problem, unfortunately, is that I am dying,” she said, not even the slightest change in her voice, the most beautiful and calm assertion of her own mortality. “I’ve got cancer, quite a bit of it, and it’s going to be awful.”

“Gramma, it’s going to be okay.”

“Well, I have enough money that I might survive, but it’s going to be awful either way. If we’re being honest, Dr. Grind, I probably won’t survive till the end of this project.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Acklen,” Dr. Grind said. He felt a deep, disorienting fuzziness overtake him, as if he had just finished holding his breath for three minutes. He focused and tried to stay present in the moment.

“It’s fine. I’ve had the best life of probably anyone in the entire history of the world. It’s been very good for a very long time. The reason I’m telling you this, Dr. Grind, is not to make you sad or to worry you. It’s to let you know that, even if I die before the project ends, it will continue to be funded. You will have complete control over the project and can continue to run it as you see fit. On our end, Patricia is going to help deal with the particulars. I’ve stressed to her how deeply I feel about this project.”

Patricia then spoke up, saying, “I see real potential for The IFP, something that shifts the paradigm in ways that will be beneficial for all involved.”

“So,” Mrs. Acklen continued, “no matter what happens, you’ll be safe. Patricia will be your liaison and she’ll make sure you get what you need. I do wish you the best of luck. It’s unique, what you’ve made here, so I hope you can keep it going.”

“I’ll do my best,” Dr. Grind assured her.

“And what about the postdoc fellows?” Patricia then asked.

“What do you mean?” Dr. Grind replied.

“When would I talk to them? It seems that it’s necessary for me to have contacts with the people who work for you, to receive some sense of how you’re performing.”

Dr. Grind stiffened; it seemed disrespectful to be discussing this before Brenda Acklen, who was dying, was actually dead. “I guess that could be arranged,” he allowed.