The Silent Sister(14)

“Well, he was a reticent man. He loved to gather information from other people, but he never was very good at sharing his own thoughts and feelings, was he? Still, he adored his family. He loved to show me those pictures … you know, that big box of family photos he has? He liked to reminisce. I think that’s one thing that drew us together, since I knew your family so—”

“What big box?” I interrupted her, setting down my taco.

“The one in his bedroom closet. Don’t you know it? There’s pictures of you when you were little. Pictures of your brother and sister and mother.”

“Oh, yes.” I remembered no such box, but didn’t want to tell her there was yet one more thing I didn’t know about my father.

“And I’d show him pictures of your mother from when she and I were kids, back in our teen years. I met Deb when we were in the eighth grade in Arlington, Virginia, and we became inseparable.”

“What was she like?” I asked. Suddenly, I felt terribly sad that I’d never asked my mother about her childhood. I’d never thought to ask either of my parents. Jeannie was right about the “me, me, me” part. And now I’d lost the chance.

“She was always the life of the party.” Jeannie smiled broadly.

“My mother?”

“Absolutely! She was always getting us into trouble. We’d hide other kids in our trunk to sneak them into the drive-in movie. We weren’t allowed to be there with our boyfriends in the first place, because you know what went on in those cars.” She laughed. “No one watched the movie, that’s for sure. And she was always talking me into cutting school with her.”

My mouth hung open. “This doesn’t sound like my mother at all,” I said.

“No? How do you remember her?”

“Super-Catholic and really … I don’t know. Law-abiding. And depressed.” And distant, I thought. You could be in the same room with my mother and barely feel her presence. “Antidepressants barely seemed to touch her sadness,” I added.

Jeannie nodded. “She changed after Lisa passed away,” she admitted. “That’s very true.” She looked at her watch. “So, Riley,” she said abruptly, “why did you want to see me today?”

I would have liked to hear more about my mother but guessed Jeannie was pressed for time. “I saw Daddy’s lawyer a couple of days ago,” I said. “My father left you ten thousand dollars and his piano.”

She sat back a bit from the table. “Oh,” she said, and I couldn’t read the emotion behind the word. “Well, that’s very sweet.” Her voice was strangely flat. “And I do love that piano. I have an upright, but I guess I can sell that and squeeze the baby grand into my living room.”

“You don’t have to take it,” I said, trying to interpret her reaction. She was clearly not thrilled and that bothered me. He didn’t have to leave her anything. “I’ll be selling his things and I could sell the piano, too, and give you the money.”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “I’d love the piano. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” Then she smiled a sad, sad smile. “It’s just hard to say good-bye, you know? The piano will be a good way for me to remember him. I know some piano movers, and I’ll arrange to have them pick it up whenever’s convenient for you.”

“Perfect.” I pulled one of my business cards from my purse, crossed out the number for the school where I worked, and wrote my cell number in its place. I handed it to her across the table.

“So, I assume you’ll be selling the house and RV park and all his collections?” she asked, glancing down at the card.

I nodded. “Well, I’ll sell the house and park, at least, but he did leave one of his collections to someone. The pipes will go to Tom Kyle. Do you know him?”

“Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “How odd.”

“I thought so, too, at first,” I said. “But I think the Kyles were closer to him than I realized. They’ve lived at the park for as long as I can remember and I guess my father probably thought he should leave them something. I think they can use a little extra cash.”

She looked at my business card like it was the most interesting thing in the restaurant. “That was very generous of him,” she said.

Everything out of her mouth sounded as though it had a double meaning. I set down my taco, feeling impatient. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, no.” She smiled. “Not at all. When did your father write that will?”

“Three years ago.”

She nodded absently. Sipped her soup. “Don’t you wish you could talk to him?” she asked. “I mean, we have to guess why he did what he did. Why the pipes to the Kyles? That collection has to be worth at least ten thousand.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Your father knew what he was doing as a collector. I’m not sure he knew what he was doing when he wrote that will, though.” She pursed her lips. “He was not all that friendly with the Kyles. I always had the sense he disliked Tom Kyle, actually.”

And I’d gotten the sense from Tom Kyle that the feeling may have been mutual. I looked down at my barely touched tacos. “Yes, to answer your question. I’d love to be able to talk to my father. I suddenly feel like I didn’t know him as well as I thought.”