Commonwealth(76)

“This is my sister, Caroline,” the blonde said. “I hope you don’t mind us coming over. Albie was worried about you.”

“He turned out to be a worrier,” Teresa said. She was trying not to pant. “It’s strange, when you think about all the worry he caused us, that he would turn around and worry.”

“I guess it happens,” Caroline said.

Teresa looked at them for a long time. She had seen so many pictures, heard so many stories. Caroline was the aggressive one, Franny placating. They both made good grades in Catholic school but Caroline was smarter. Franny was kinder. “I know this sounds crazy but have I ever met you girls before?” One of them finished law school and one of them dropped out. She couldn’t say she remembered which was which but she could sure tell by looking at them.

“Cal’s funeral,” Franny said. “I think that was the only time.”

Teresa nodded. “I wouldn’t remember it then.”

“How are you feeling?” Caroline asked. Straight down to business. She had authority. Teresa had the feeling that if she lied about anything Caroline would walk over and poke her in the stomach.

“I’ve been sick,” she said, putting her hand on the chair. “But I’m getting better. I’m up now. It’s hard when you get to be my age. Little things knock you out.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see a doctor?” Franny asked.

Had I liked to see a doctor, Teresa thought, I would have seen one. But she wouldn’t be nasty. There was nothing wrong with these girls. Albie had asked them to come. It wasn’t their fault. “No,” she said.

The smarter one squinted slightly. “We’re here. We can drive you over to the hospital. If you have to call an ambulance at eleven o’clock at night it’s going to be a lot harder. I’m sorry to say this but you don’t look great.” Miss Rational Argument. She’d probably already made partner.

“I’m eighty-two,” Teresa said. She could feel the sweat on her face. “I haven’t looked great in a long time.”

“So you’re not going?” Caroline asked. Let the record state the defendant declined the offer for transportation to the hospital despite the advice of counsel.

“I’m sorry my son made you come all the way over here for nothing. If he’d asked me first I would have told him not to call.” They would leave in just a minute and she could sit down. She could fall down. She wouldn’t make it back to bed but the living room couch was all she could ever want.

“Okay,” Franny said, “but my father’s in the car and he wants to say hello to you. Come say hello to my father and we’ll leave you alone.”

“Fix is in the car?”

Franny nodded. “Today’s his birthday. He’s eighty-three. That’s why we’re out here.” Franny waited for a minute but Teresa didn’t make any offers. She decided to up the pot. “Dad has esophageal cancer. He’s very sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Teresa liked Fix Keating. She’d only met him that one time on the terrible day of the fire, but she remembered him as being a very nice man. Albie, radiant in his silent fourteen-year-old rage, had gone to his bedroom and slammed the door while she and Fix sat in the kitchen and had a drink together. There was fresh orange juice in the refrigerator and she made them each a screwdriver. When he tapped his glass to hers he looked her straight in the eye and said, Solidarity. She thought that was just the classiest thing in the world.

“Ask him to come in,” Teresa said, wondering how much time this was going to take and if she’d have to offer anyone a drink. That would not be possible.

Caroline shook her head. “We’ve been out all afternoon. We could never get him up the stairs.”

There were three short steps to the front door, a decorative wrought-iron handrail on either side that Albie had put in for her last year. If Teresa made it down the stairs she wouldn’t make it back up. “Tell him I said hello,” she said.

“Dad’s dying,” Franny said.

So am I, Teresa wanted to say. She looked from one girl to the other. Suddenly she could see they were tag-teaming her: good-cop daughter, bad-cop daughter. They weren’t going anywhere. Another wave of pain crested up from below her navel. She’d been standing there too long being nice. She closed her eyes and tried breathing through her mouth, her fingers digging deep into the back of the chair.

“I’ll get your purse and lock up,” Franny said. “Is your purse in the kitchen? Are all your insurance cards in your purse?”

Teresa moved her head a quarter inch in confirmation while the other one came and put her arms around her. She was gentle but she was undeniably holding her up.

“Are you ready to walk?” Caroline asked.

She had been up and down those steps countless thousands of times, and now she felt like Eva Marie Saint looking over the edge of Mount Rushmore in North by Northwest. A Keating girl stood on either side and lifted her up. She had never been a big woman, never tall like her children, even before she’d started shrinking. She didn’t feel like a burden to them. They were strong girls, obviously. They were her kidnappers, sailing her across the lawn and into the backseat of the car, lifting up her feet while pivoting her around in a way that was disturbingly professional, as if stealing old people was what they did. They clicked the seat belt to lock her into place and when she cried out briefly in pain because nothing should touch her stomach, they took it off again.