Your Chariot Awaits (6 page)

Jerry worked in another wing of the building, and I didn't usually run into him. I was grateful for that now. I sent him a brief e-mail about paying for the damaged car door.

I'd barely gotten home from work when the phone rang. I steeled myself, thinking it was probably Jerry telling me he'd taken the Trans Am into the shop, and repairs were going to cost more than the total worth of my old Corolla.

But it was my daughter, Sarah, singing, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Mother, happy birthday to you!”

“Thank you!”

“I'm calling a couple days early because I thought you might have big plans for Saturday. So, what are you going to do to celebrate?”

“Oh, the usual. Champagne party, catered dinner for five hundred, fireworks, etc.”

“Yeah. That's what I usually do too. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

Sarah is a bright, intelligent woman, but even after all these years of living in Florida, she sometimes gets befuddled about which way the three-hour time difference works.

“No, I'm just getting home from work.”

“Everything okay? You sound a little frazzled.”

There was that downsized-dumped-depressed thing, of course, but I didn't want to unload my problems on her. “I'm fine.”

“Mom, the strangest thing happened yesterday. Do you know someone named Ned Nicholson?”

“Uncle Ned, the family's token rich guy. I understand he died.”

“He was rich?”

“Oil wells, mansion, who knows what else.”

“Rachel and I both got registered packages from a law firm in Texas representing his estate. He left me a can of pistachios and a set of nut-cracking tools. Can you imagine? Pistachios! Why would anyone
bother
? Especially someone rich?”

“What did Rachel get?”

“A book on raising llamas. And we both got framed photos of the old guy. It's just weird. Did you get something?”

These inheritances proved one thing to me. I hadn't received the limousine because I was any favorite of Uncle Ned's. He'd never met either Sarah or Rachel, so he had no reason to hold any grudges against them either. Which meant he must have used the random, papers-in-a-pot system of asset distribution.

“Actually, I did. A cousin delivered it yesterday. I got a limousine.”

There was a moment of stunned silence until Sarah squeaked, “A
limousine
?”

“A limousine. L-i-m-o-u-z-e-e-n, as Uncle Ned called it in his will.”

“We're talking a real, life-size limousine, not a toy?”

“A real stretch limousine. It's sitting out in my driveway now. The cousin drove it up from Texas.”

“What in the world are you going to do with a limousine?”

“Good question.”

“It must be worth something. A whole lot more than a can of pistachios or a book on raising llamas.”

For a moment I thought I detected a twinge of indignation or even envy in her voice. But then, with her usual generous good humor, she laughed.

“I know. You can drive down to visit us in it!”

“Unfortunately, I'm going to have to look for a job. F&N is closing down here, and everyone was terminated.”

Well, almost everyone. There were the Jerry exceptions.

“Oh, Mom, I'm sorry to hear that. Finding another job may not be easy at—” She broke off, leaving unspoken the
at
your age
we both knew was there.

“They're giving me a severance package that will help temporarily.”

“Good. And you know, you're always welcome to come live with us. We'd love to have you. Just jump in that limousine and move on down here.”

“Thanks, but I think I'll be fine here.” Dearly as I loved my daughter and granddaughter, I liked my independent life.

“I wonder how the lawyers knew how to locate all of us.”

“I have no idea. I didn't think to ask the cousin when he was here.”

“Well, given how weird the old guy was, maybe he had private detectives look us up or something. Doesn't matter, I suppose. Oh, in the excitement of birthdays and pistachios and limousines, I'm almost forgetting my news! I've decided to go back to college.”

“Sarah, that's wonderful!”

Sarah had dropped out of college to marry and help The Sleaze-Bum, as I now thought of him, get his degree.

“I'm so glad to hear that.”

“Finances will be tight with both Rachel and me in school, but I'm looking into loans and grants and scholarships, what-ever's available. The counselor I talked to thought I should be able to fulfill the requirements for my degree in two years.”

“I'll do whatever I can to help.” Another reason to get a good, solid job
fast.

We talked a few minutes more about her plans for a degree in business economics at the University of Florida, where Rachel would also be starting this fall. It would be a good deal for both of them, I thought, living at home together and sharing the expense of commuting to classes. And I was so pleased that Sarah was grabbing hold of her life, not drifting as she'd seemed to do since the divorce.

“Oh, here's Rachel. She wants to talk to you too.”

“Hi, Grandma. Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, hon.”

Some shuffling noises, as if she were doing something with the phone, then a frantic whisper. “Grandma, you've got to
do
something!”

I was startled. “About what?”

“About Mom. She's signed up to start college this fall—”

“I know. She just told me. I think it's a wonderful idea.”

“Yeah, going to college is probably good. But she intends to go where
I'm
going. It'll be a disaster!”

“In what way?”

“Think about it, my mother right there on campus. Watching my every move. Doing . . . well, who knows what? We might even wind up having some class together. It's creepy
.
Like some back-to-the-future thing.”

“Rachel, I think you're overreacting. The University of Florida has a huge number of students, and it's unlikely you and your mother will have any classes together. And even if you did, I'm sure she isn't going to humiliate or embarrass you.”

“No? She was trying on jeans the other day. The kind that come to about four inches below your belly button. And one of those gauzy tops. Grandma, she's thirty-nine years old.”

“Thirty-nine is not over the hill, Rachel. In fact, it's . . .” I searched for an appropriate word and chose Fitz's. “It's prime time, Rachel. Definitely prime time.”

Small silence, as if Rachel was wondering whether that could possibly be true. “Actually, she looked pretty good in the jeans,” she finally muttered grudgingly. “But still . . .”

“Did she buy any?”

“No. But she might
.
Okay, I gotta go now. She's coming back down the hall.”

“Rachel, I think this is something you just have to live with. Your mother has a life to live too, and you need to be supportive.”

Another moment of silence as she digested Grandma's tough-love stance. “I suppose.”

In a you'll-be-sorry-when-I'm-dead tone she added, “I guess if it gets too bad, I can always go raise llamas. I have this book on how to do it, you know.”

“There you go,” I agreed cheerfully.

Although, after Rachel hung up, I had to wonder. Sometimes women Sarah's age, and in a situation such as hers, did try the back-to-youth thing, with disastrous results. Something else to worry about.

I changed out of my office clothes and went to stare into the refrigerator, trying to spot something appealing for dinner. I was echoing Joella's
good riddance
about Jerry, but at the same time the evening stretched out long and empty without even the prospect of a phone call.

This is what life is going to be like from now on,
I reminded myself dispiritedly.
Get used to it.

6

I
was just sitting down at the counter to eat leftover meat loaf and spinach when the phone rang again. Whatever worrisome news it was this time, it couldn't be any worse than the down-sized, dumped, and granddaughter blues I'd already encountered.

“Hello?”

“Andi? Is that you? This is Fitz. From the coffee shop. Remember?”

“I remember. The guy who read my private letter.”

“That's all you remember about me?” He sounded disappointed.

“There's more?”

“You could remember that I'm this handsome ex-TV detective, currently involved in glamorous charter sailboat trips, and I wanted to buy you a peach smoothie.”

“Whatever.”

“Come to think of it, if that Jerry guy doesn't have your evenings all sewed up, I might even spring for dinner.”

I gasped dramatically and clutched my throat. “Be still my throbbing heart!”

“You going to hold some permanent grudge about the letter thing?”

Okay, it probably was petty. Nosy wasn't a capital offense. I changed the subject. “I thought you were taking a charter sailboat trip out today.”

“We are. I'm on my cell phone. We're sailing by Seattle right now. I can see the Space Needle and the Seattle skyline. It's beautiful. Maybe you can come along sometime. You'd love it.”

“Ummm,” I said. How did he know what I'd love? For all he knew, I could be a shopping-mall addict without a drop of outdoorsy blood in my veins.

But he was right, of course. I probably would love it. I'd loved hiking and sailing with Jerry.

“The reason I called, I stopped in at the Sweet Breeze this morning before I picked up our guests, and Joella told me about your limousine. She said you're thinking about starting a limousine service.”

“What I'm planning to do is sell it.”

“Oh? Isn't this a great opportunity to have a business of your own? You wouldn't be stuck in an office. You'd be meeting interesting people and going places and being your own boss. All kinds of adventure and excitement.”

He had some good points there, though adventure and excitement were not high on my list of occupational requirements.

I muttered another noncommittal “Ummm.”

“The thing is, we have guests from New York arriving next Tuesday for a trip up around the San Juan Islands. They'll be coming in at Sea-Tac. I usually transport people in our SUV, but these people are arriving at a different time than they originally planned, and I have an appointment with a lawyer set up for that morning.”

A lawyer? I wondered why, of course, but I hadn't the nerve to come right out and ask. Though I suspected Fitz might have, if the situation were reversed.

“Anyway, I was thinking you could pick up these people with the limousine. In fact, we might turn it into a regular thing. It would add kind of a classy touch. We'll pay whatever the going rate for limo service is, of course.”

I was still hung up on one word back there. Sea-Tac. The huge Seattle-Tacoma airport was situated on the other side of Puget Sound, up between the two cities, at least an hour and a half or two hours' drive. Maybe considerably more, if the traffic was bad, and it often was. Just the thought of putting my long-tailed limo out there for every eighteen-wheeler and oversized SUV to take aim at made me cringe. “Oh, I don't think so. It's quite a distance, and all that traffic . . .”

“Joella said you took her for a drive and did great in traffic. And you are unemployed, remember?”

Like I needed reminding. “What's the going rate for limousines?” I asked cautiously.

“The one time we used one, I think we paid something like $250 or $300 to a limousine service in Olympia. Call up some limousine outfits over there and find out their rates. Though we'd expect a break on price if we made it a regular deal.”

Shrewd as well as nosy.

“I guess I could think about it.”

“Except that we need to know right now. We won't be getting back into the marina until midday Monday, so I need to call now for a reservation with someone else if you aren't available.”

“Tuesday morning, you said?”

“Right. Their flight comes in around eleven.”

Three hundred dollars sounded pretty good. And by Tuesday, I'd be sixty. Maybe it was time to try something a bit adventurous. I could get the title change taken care of on Monday.

Insurance too, if I had time, though my policy allowed thirty days to add an additional vehicle. But that would be on liability only, of course, since that was all I carried on my old Toyota. But, feeling oddly exhilarated, I made the leap. “Okay, I'll do it.”

“Good. I'll talk to you about details when we get back from this trip. And I still want to buy you that peach smoothie.”

With no more phone calls, I finally got to my meatloaf and spinach. I read through the hieroglyphics of Uncle Ned's will while I ate. No surprise to see that he'd mangled the spelling of Sarah's pistachios. But he had gotten
lava lamp
spelled right. That went to someone named Candace.

IT WASN'T UNTIL the following day after work, Friday, when I officially became unemployed, that I remembered the chauffeur's uniforms Larry had said he'd left in the trunk. I got the limo keys from the spot I'd assigned them, a hook by the door that opened from the kitchen into the garage.

The trunk compartment was deep and roomy. It was on two levels, the second making a kind of platform at the back of the main compartment. The spare tire was fastened to the upper level, where it was easily accessible.

Inside the roomy compartment were cartons and sacks from some of Larry's on-the-road meals—grease seemed to be his main food group—and a cardboard box. A maintenance book lay on top of the box. I set it aside to take into the house. I unfolded a black jacket from the box, and at the same time something fell to the ground with a glass-shattering crash.

Uncle Ned's photo. He stared up at me from the gravel driveway, a sour-looking face topped with a shiny, coal-black toupee, as if he'd just had a midair collision with a disoriented crow. And mean little eyes that said
I know what you did—you
dropped
me—and I'm gonna get you for it.