So Long, Chester Wheeler(79)

“Oh, Lewis,” she said. “I arranged for a hauler to clear the driveway. And a real estate agent is going to come for your key.”

“They’ve both been here,” I said.

“Oh, good. Did my checks come?”

“You know . . . in all honesty, I’ve been forgetting to bring the mail in. I’ll do that as soon as I get off the phone.”

“You can just tear up that other check if you don’t want it.”

“No. I’m not going to tear it up. I’m going to take the course and get certified.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Lewis. I’m really glad to hear you say that.”

“So, listen. A question. Did you really mean what you said about Chester’s Winnebago? You really don’t care what happens to it?” I walked to the window as I spoke. Pulled back the curtain and stared at the monster. Briefly questioned my own sanity. “You don’t even want any money for it?”

I heard her sigh on the other end of the line.

“I should want the money, I suppose. It’s probably worth a few thousand dollars. But I’m just so tired, Lewis. I’m so tired of the whole thing with my dad. I just want to be done with it already. And the idea of trying to sell that huge beast when I don’t even live in Buffalo . . . if you wanted to sell it, we could split the proceeds.”

“Oh,” I said.

“You sound disappointed.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking maybe I’d keep it. Maybe some other client will decide there’s something they always wanted to see before they die.”

“Lewis,” she said, her voice firm again, “it’s all yours.”

“Thank you. That’s very generous of you. So much so that I hate to even push my luck by bringing this up, but I never did find the title.”

“I’ll have my attorney write up something you can take to the DMV.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’d better go check my mail.”

“Let me know who comes to look at the house, okay?”

“Will do.”

And we ended the call.

I emptied the mail from the box at the curb, and holy cow. It was full. The mail was actually wedged in, it was so full. I had to keep changing the angle of the stack, and bending, and pulling.

When I’d brought it into the house and weeded out the junk mail, what was left was mostly bills. But Ellie’s checks were there. And the check Ellie had sent for my services was very large. Very generous. More than we had agreed on by quite a bit. So at least I didn’t have to dread the bills. I’d have a fair chance of paying them, at least.

I put myself to bed and slept for a very long time.



I woke in the morning to voices outside.

I got up and crossed to the window in just pajama bottoms, and pulled the curtain aside.

A family was looking at Chester’s house.

There were three medium-sized children running loose on the mostly dead lawn. Two boys and a girl. The husband and wife were standing on the front stoop, talking to that real estate lady with the bad habit of thinking out loud.

It seemed ironic. Young couple in love. Two boys and a girl. I wondered if any of the kids saw monsters under their bed at night. I wondered if the adults told each other everything, or if they had secrets.

I wanted to say, “Be kind to each other, and don’t let anybody come between you. And if someone else does come in and break up the marriage, and there’s no way around that, at least find a way to equitably share the raising of the children.”

Needless to say, I didn’t know these people, and they didn’t want my advice, so I knew I would say nothing to them at all. That was just what the situation made me want to say.

My phone was on the bedside table, and it let out a tone announcing a text.

I walked back and picked it up.

The text was from Brian.

It said, What would you think about a real date, with dinner out, followed by a play or some kind of show? Maybe the steak house on the avenue near you and then the comedy club? What would you say to that?

I typed back, I would say yes to that.

He returned a little heart. But, again, not an actual emoji. Just the kind of sideways heart you make with that . . . I’m not sure what you call it. Maybe it’s called a less-than sign? Like a caret, but lying on its side. And the number three.

<3

Brian was a little different. And I don’t mean that in a bad way at all.



He showed up two nights later at seven.

He was wearing jeans with a crisp white shirt and a sport coat. His hair was neatly combed, which seemed too bad to me. I had liked it tousled.

We stepped out into the evening together.

“We could take my car if you want,” he said. “But the restaurant is just a few blocks from here.”

“It’s such a nice night,” I said. “Let’s walk.”

We made our way down my front path to the sidewalk together.

I had moved the Winnebago several feet forward so that it was parked in front of my house, not Chester’s. The real estate agent had requested it. But I would have done it anyway, because it was mine now.

I stopped on the sidewalk in front of it, and he stopped, too, though it was clear he didn’t know why.