Aquarium

~ ~ ~

The wind had come up while we were inside, and the snow was blown now in gusts, clouds of it blocking all view and then clearing again. It swirled around the posts of streetlamps and signs, dust devils in white. My grandfather kept the papers safe in his coat, and he walked hunched over with his chin ducked.

My mother opened the passenger door of the pickup and looked down at us. The engine on and heat blasting.

Thank you, Sheri, my grandfather said. I’m happy to sign the papers. Thank you for this chance.

You have to sign with a notary today. And we’ll have a new contract from a lawyer, and you have to sign that, too.

I’m happy to sign.

You fuck. I bet you are happy. Getting everything you want.

Sheri, Steve said.

Fine. But I’ll never forget what you did. I’ll never forget who you are.

I won’t either, my grandfather said. Believe me. I know how worthless I am. Nobody knows it better.

I know it better.

I know I can’t make it up to you, Sheri, but I’m going to try anyway. The house will go in your name now, and all the money I have will go to you and Caitlin. You’ll have everything from me now, all that I am and all that I have. I can’t offer more than that.

My grandfather in the snow and wind, his arms wide, offering up to a god.

Well it’s not enough, she said. It will never be enough. Then she stepped down and he backed away. Get in, Caitlin, she said, folding her seat forward.

I climbed into the back.

Follow us, she told him, and hopped back in and closed the door. The side window was fogged and I couldn’t see him.

That was harsh, Steve said.

Shut the fuck up, my mother said.

I could see Steve’s jaw clenching. He put the truck in gear and drove slowly to the parking lot exit, looking in his rearview. That must be him, he said. A small rental.

Then let’s go, my mother said.

I have limits too, Steve said.

My mother said nothing. Steve drove only a few blocks and parked outside a Mail Boxes Etc. Then we all went inside and my grandfather joined us.

My bank is closed now, he said. But Monday we can go and I’ll transfer the house into your name. You’re already listed on my retirement and life insurance accounts.

And when did this happen? my mother asked.

Years ago.

You’ve been here for years, living right in Seattle. Why now?

Sheri, I can’t explain really.

Have you always been here?

No, I went back to Louisiana and lived there eleven years.

But you’ve been back here for eight?

Yeah. I’m sorry. I meant to be in touch with you right away, but I knew how angry you’d be.

Eight years.

Sorry to interrupt, folks, the notary said. She was clearly getting impatient. I need you to sign now if we’re going to do this. Ten dollars per signature.

My grandfather signed the contract and the notary’s logbook, then my mother signed. Then we waited.

You can come to the house now if you like, my grandfather said. And you can move in anytime.

Did you have another family?

No other children, no. But I did remarry in Louisiana.

And what happened to her? Did she catch a cold and you ran back here?

Sheri, Steve said.

My mother gave Steve a sharp look but held back this time from saying anything.

She left me, my grandfather said.

Was she younger?

Almost twenty years younger.

Jesus.

You don’t have to confess everything, Steve said.

No, it’s all right, my grandfather said. I’m not hiding anymore. I’m willing to tell anything.

You’re such a hero, my mother said.

Twenty dollars, the notary said.

Steve pulled out his wallet.

No, my mother said. Make him pay.

I’m paying, Steve said, and he put down a twenty. Let’s go.

So we followed my grandfather this time in his small white rental car. We drove up East Yesler Way, past my school, and kept going, turned north on 23rd Avenue past the high school, residential areas, a strip mall, a power substation, then he turned right on East Pine. Big houses, individual, better than where we lived. This is nice, I said. He turned left after one block, on 24th.

He’d better not live in a big house, my mother said. I’ll kill him.

But the house is yours, whatever it is, Steve said.

I’ll still kill him. Eight years, and where have I lived those eight years? Or the last nineteen years?

My grandfather turned left onto an unpaved drive. A small, beautiful house with space all around, on a big lot. Much bigger houses to both sides, but this small one was so perfect.

Wow, Steve said. A Victorian. Only one story, but a lot of character.

It was dark blue, with cream around the windows and steep roof, and a light blue door with a curved awning above, like a fairy-tale house.

Steve followed down the drive and parked beside the front steps. Another roof and bay window jutting out the side. Sheri, he said. This is good.

My mother was quiet.

My grandfather walked past and up the stairs, opened the front door and stood there waiting in the snow.

Sheri? Steve asked.

This is all happening so fast, she said. In just a few days, everything changes? Suddenly I have a house and I don’t work and I’m living with my father who left?

We waited then, sitting in the cab as the air cooled. My grandfather went inside finally and closed the door. He was probably very cold by now. I wanted him to come out to the truck, but I understood why he didn’t. I closed my eyes and wished I could pray, but there was no god I knew, only fish. The mola mola, perhaps, with that smaller white eye looking upward, mouth open in rapture, as my grandfather had said. A shadow form come close for a moment and then vanished again. Still there, but only felt, not seen.

Help us, was all I could think to ask. Crescent moon propelled by those great dark wings.

It’s not fair to my mother, my mother said. If I walk through that door, it’s like everything in the past didn’t happen. All erased. And she could have been better. His leaving made her finish her life as a worse person. If he had been there, she could have been better.

Wouldn’t she want you to have a better life now? Steve asked.

My mother wasn’t able to answer. I put my hand on her shoulder and she reached up and gripped it tight. Then she exhaled. Okay, she said. Okay. Thank you both.