Page 55 of I Will Ruin You
We sat in her very small and crowded living room. I had the sense that when she downsized from a house to this place, she hadn’t wanted to part with much, so the space had enough furniture for two living rooms.
We engaged in some general small talk as we drank our coffee. The weather we’d been having, how the traffic seemed worse every year.
“I didn’t have a chance to pull anything out for you,” she said. “But I did save some of Anson’s school stuff.”
Considering my cover story, I should have been delighted, but I was also a little worried. I wondered how many boxes of material I’d have to lug out of here to maintain appearances.
“I’ll show you,” she said, putting aside her coffee and leading me down a short hallway. The unit had two small bedrooms. The first one we passed was clearly where she slept. A pink chenille bedspread, a dozen throw pillows, a painting of the ocean you might find in any hotel room in America.
The door to the second bedroom was closed.
“I have to put my shoulder into it,” she said, turning the knob and pushing. Something on the other side kept her from opening it wide. Once there was a two-foot gap she stepped aside and let me look in.
Sweet mother of God.
The room was filled, almost to the ceiling, with dozens—more likely hundreds—of boxes. Banker boxes, liquor boxes, shoeboxes even. And other items randomly scattered about, like a small fake Christmas tree, a pair of ice skates, drapes rolled up in a heap, more throw pillows without covers. Somewhere in the back, I could see handlebars that I was guessing were attached to an exercise bike.
“His lessons would be in one of these boxes somewhere,” she said. “I labeled some of them, but not all. But you’re welcome to have a browse.”
“Well,” I said. “Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me. Could take a while.”
“I thought you might say that. I should have told you over the phone, but I guess I was just happy to have someone come see me.”
I smiled. “Why don’t we go back and finish our coffee before I get started.”
When we were back in the living room, Grace said, “You might be the first person from Lodge I’ve seen since Anson passed.”
I said, honestly, “I feel badly I never came by to see you. I don’t even think I went to the funeral, and for that I apologize.”
“Oh, don’t feel bad about that. There was no funeral.”
My eyebrows went up. “No?”
“Considering everything, I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t handle the questions.”
I wondered what she meant by that. “I wasn’t even aware that Anson had been sick. It seemed like one day he was there, and one day he wasn’t.”
She nodded slowly. “Everyone was pretty good about keeping their promise.”
“I’m sorry. What do you mean?”
“About how Anson passed. It’s been long enough that it’s easier to talk about now.” She sighed, got up, and as she headed for the kitchen asked, “Can I get you something stronger than coffee?”
“I’m okay.”
I heard a refrigerator open, the sound of some ice cubes being scooped up and dropped into a glass, and when Grace returned she had a small tumbler filled to the top with something clear. She took a sip and sat back down.
“Anson killed himself,” she said.
Twenty-Five
It had been one of those days that, when it was over, Bonnie couldn’t remember what she’d actually done. She’d found it hard to focus. There were so many different things on her mind that she couldn’t zero in on one.
She felt sad for Allison Fowler. She was not present at school today, nor would she be again. This morning her absence was explained to Allison’s fourth-grade classmates, and her teacher had accepted Bonnie’s offer to be present.
“We have sad news today,” the teacher began, doing her best not to be too maudlin. “Allison has moved to a new school. She has gone to live with her aunt, who doesn’t live near here.” She paused. “Allison’s mother died last week. I’m sure Allison would have liked a chance to say goodbye to all of you, but this all happened late on Friday.”
“Her mom was a druggie,” said a boy sitting near the back of the class.