Dovetail(9)

“This is your house?” Joe asked incredulously. “And my father grew up here?”

“I grew up here and moved back after my father died. Your dad spent a lot of time in this house when he was growing up, but he never lived here.”

“It’s quite a house.”

She nodded. “It’s Gothic Revival, a style not very common in this area.” Her voice was full of pride. “My grandfather built it. For many years, there was always a tire swing on the branch of that oak tree.” She pointed. “And of course, if you go down that hill, you’ll find the lake.”

They got out of the car, Joe with his duffel slung over one shoulder. He couldn’t take his eyes off the house. It was the size of an apartment building. A mansion compared to his own house.

Pearl swung her legs out of the car, waiting while Howard brought her the walker, which had been folded up in the back seat next to Joe. She unfolded the side pieces and rose to a standing position, shutting the door behind her.

Joe followed Pearl and Howard inside, which seemed to take forever, Howard with his cane and the old lady leaning on her walker. Shuffle, move, shuffle, move. Once inside, Pearl flipped on a light switch, and the front hall came into full view. To the left was a sitting room, with furniture covered by white sheets. A large arched opening on the far side of that room led to a space defined by a hanging light fixture. A dining room perhaps? A small study sat to the right. A rolltop desk was open, with papers and pens covering the surface. In the middle, a hallway stretched into darkness. Joe could tell the place was once impressive, but years of neglect were evident in the faded wallpaper, dusty baseboards, and cobwebs in the corners.

“You said I could call my folks?” Joe said.

“Of course.” Pearl crooked a finger, beckoning him to follow, then shuffled down the hall, turning on lights as she went. Each light switch made a loud click, like she’d thrown on the lights at a stadium. Along the way they passed a staircase and another room on the right. When they turned left into the kitchen, he saw that one side of the room opened into the space he’d guessed was a dining room. They seemed to have come full circle.

Pearl pointed to an old rotary-dial phone sitting in an alcove. A fabric cord dropped down to a plug above the baseboard. He dialed and listened as it rang at his house.

Pearl raised a finger and whispered, “I have to go check on Howard,” then made her way back down the hall, one pronounced step at a time.

His sister answered, using the wording required by their mother. “Arneson residence, Linda speaking.” He smiled. Such a little lady.

“Linda, this is Joe.”

“Joe!” He heard the excitement and love in her voice and suddenly missed her terribly. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it’s you. I’ve been missing you so much.”

“I miss you too.”

“Are you coming home?”

“I hope so. Can you go get Dad?”

He heard the receiver clunk as she dropped it to the counter and went to get their father. A minute later, his dad was on the line, and Joe was giving him an update.

The conversation didn’t go the way he’d hoped. It would have helped if Trendale had called his house to lay the groundwork, but that hadn’t happened. “Let me get this straight,” his father said, exasperated. “A woman shows up at Trendale saying she’s your grandmother, and you just walked right out and left with her? Have you lost your mind?”

“So she’s not your mother?” Joe asked. “Because she has paperwork that’s pretty convincing. Birth certificates. And she showed me her driver’s license too.”

“Pearl Arneson is my mother, yes, at least legally, but we haven’t been on speaking terms for a long, long time. And I’m not planning on changing that anytime soon.”

“Why? What happened?”

A heavy sigh. “It’s not important anymore.”

Joe knew that impatient tone. He just didn’t want to talk about it. Sweeping away painful memories was his father’s way of dealing with things. Or in this case, not dealing with them. Joe said, “Do you want to talk to her?”

“No, I don’t want to talk to her.” The impatience notched up to irritation.

Joe knew he better get to the point. “I’m at her house now. On Stone Lake Road? Can you drive up tomorrow and pick me up?” He knew enough not to ask him to come tonight.

There was a noticeable pause, and then his father said, “Just a minute.”

Down the hall, Joe heard Howard saying something to Pearl about having to get back to the home. In his other ear, he heard the muffled sounds of his father explaining things to his mother. His dad must have covered the receiver with the flat of his hand.

After a long pause, he heard the fumble of the receiver and his father’s voice. “What’s the number there, Joe? I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Joe leaned over and read what was printed on the card in the middle of the dial. “Hopkins 4–3695.”

“The same one as always, then.”

“I guess.”

“Tell you what, Joe.” He paused, and Joe imagined the weary look on his face and the way he pinched the bridge of his nose when dealing with something uncomfortable. “I have to think this through. I’ll call you in the morning, and we’ll talk then.”