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That was unethical to the extreme and her rejection of him could have explained why he had decided to let her flounder. The new attorney was reporting him to the state bar both for breaching his fiduciary duties and for being a disgusting lech, which was what I had called his behavior. My mother could have sued him, too, and that was something we were still discussing, meaning that the new lawyer and I were discussing it, because Mom refused to talk about this any further. She got into a yoga pose (usually shavasana) and it was like conversing with a dead body.

But even if that guy got in trouble and we managed to recoup some of the money, my mom had her own responsibility for this. Unfortunately, she had never been great at dealing with responsibility—and neither, it seemed, was Maël. It had been several days but that guy still hadn’t spoken. He didn’t seem to worry about his future, like where his next meal might come from. I had been reminding him to bathe, because that was something else that he didn’t care about. And even though they’d shown up with so many bags, it didn’t appear that any of them were filled with his stuff. He’d been wearing the same clothes for the whole time he’d been in my house.

So, he was possession-free, she was money-free, and neither of them had anywhere else to go. For the time being, I was stuck with them.

For now, though, I was heading out. I thanked the new attorney for talking with me on a weekend and then I went to do some Christmas shopping. I wanted to get a few gifts for the people in the building, for my mom and Maël (I supposed), and for Oliver. But I wasn’t sure about what I should give him. The only thing I had definitely decided was that I wouldn’t buy anything to do with music.

“Why not? He’d love a nice trumpet,” Gramps argued as we set off in the hearse.

“I don’t want to spend that much, for one thing,” I told him. I was feeling very insecure about money, for obvious reasons. “For another thing, I’m not stepping into your argument. He told you not to get him more instruments and that goes for everyone else, too.”

“I don’t understand it,” he complained, but I told him that he didn’t have to understand.

“You just have to stop talking about it.”

He talked about it more in the car, though, which probably detracted from my focus on the road. He talked about it as we were shopping, too, and he also disagreed with all my purchases.

“Why are you buying anything for those people?” he asked as I selected my gifts.

“Well, I’m getting this for my mom, because she’s my mom and she’s going through a hard time,” I said, examining the crystal pendant on the necklace I had picked out. “I’m getting a new shirt for Maël because he wears the same one every day so frankly, this purchase is for my benefit and for everyone else in the world.”

Gramps shrugged and nodded. “I can see that.”

“I’m giving candles to Vera and Mrs. McGlothen—”

“Put that one back, unless it smells like burning garbage when you light it.”

It smelled like lily of the valley and I did not put it back. “Why do you hate her so much? Don’t give me a story about arguing over nicknames.”

“She’s the only one besides my mother who calls me ‘Oliver,’ and my mother only used it when I was in trouble. I still can hear her yelling it from our front porch on Canfield Street.”

“Why does Mrs. McGlothen want to annoy you? She obviously does that because it bothers you so much,” I explained when he acted as if he didn’t understand my question. “Why?”

It did take longer to get to more of the truth—I didn’t feel like it was the full story, but it explained things further. It turned out that, a long time ago and not too long after Gramps’s wife had passed away, Mrs. McGlothen had made a play for him.

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised!” he snapped. “I’m a catch.”

It was true, I decided, if you overlooked some difficult personality traits. He had a business that was (somehow) successful, he owned his own home, and he was a lot like his grandson in terms of looks.

“You’re a cutie-patootie,” I agreed.

“Holy Moses. Don’t ever say that, not ever.”

“And that’s why she’s rude? Due to hurt feelings over your rejection?” I wondered.

He hesitated. “I may not have been the nicest about it,” he admitted.

“What did you say?”

“You have to remember, I had lost my wife. I just lost the woman I loved more than…” He stopped talking and turned his head. I saw him swipe across his eyes with his knuckles.

“It’s ok. You don’t have to explain it to me,” I told him. “She was coming on strong, much too soon. She should have left you alone, but she didn’t and you were unpleasant. She hasn’t forgotten it.”

“The woman has the brain of an elephant,” Gramps snorted, but then he frowned. “I was rude to her. Very.”

“Did you ever apologize?”