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Then I heard my father's miniature grandfather clock bong, its sound traveling freely through the empty house, informing me that time was now the magic carpet taking me along, bringing me closer and closer to the answers for the questions.
Who am I?
What will become of me?
Epilogue
.
The couple who came to look at the property
made an offer the day afterward. We began a negotiation, and for that and what followed. I relied heavily on Mr. Bassinger's advice. Two days later, the couple agreed to our counteroffer, and the property was sold. It was to be a fast escrow. It would close in thirty days, and so I had to use that time to decide what I would keep and what I would put in storage. The couple came back to look over the furnishings and decided in the end to take almost everything except Daddy's office furnishings. The wife wanted to brighten it up with much lighter woods. That was fine to me. I envisioned putting it all in my own home someday.
I spent my time going through the attic, marking things I would consign to thrift shops and things I wanted to be placed in storage. I packed Daddy's books and many of my own things in cartons.
I called my mother every day over the next ten days. Linden was finally well enough to be taken home, but he was still in a dysfunctional state of mind, suffering continuous memory loss, especially about what had happened to him. He had no memory of going out in his sailboat and could tell no one what had been the cause of his accident. The doctors told my mother it was not unusual for someone who experienced terrifying trauma to persist in avoiding thinking about it.
"He's very irritable and seems incapable of concentrating on anything. I tried to get him to return to his painting, but all he does is stare at his easel and his paints and pencils. Most of the day is spent sitting and staring at the ocean. He's lost weight. Of course."
"Does he remember me or mention me at all?" I asked.
"No," she said. "I'm sorry."
"He's not the only one who's apparently forgotten me," I complained.
She was silent a moment. "I think Bunny Eaton is working hard on Thatcher, trying to get him involved with this woman or that. I've seen three dinner parties and one afternoon event since you've left, and at each. I've seen young women," she told me.
"Yes, well, good luck to them all."
"I did see Thatcher one day. He came over and asked about Linden, but he was there to talk about something else. really."
"Oh?"
'The Eatons have decided to make an offer on the property and exercise their option. I guess they want to get rid of us enough to buy us out," she said.
"What are you going to do?"
"It's a lot of money. Linden and I could live well someplace else. I am a little worried about how he'll react to that, however, and asked Thatcher to hold off until Linden is stronger and less likely to be negatively affected. The doctors ate," she said.
"What did Thatcher say?"
"He said fine, but I don't think the Eatons will be very patient. Their lease is up in three months, and they either have to buy or extend it."
"You don't have to sell, do you?"
"If I sell, it has to be at the price agreed to. but I don't have to sell. Only I can't keep up the mortgage and the upkeep of the property without their rent or someone's renting it. I'll lose it all in a foreclosure, and they'll get it. anyway. I feel I haven't much choice."
I thought for a moment. Is Thatcher the only attorney you have had?"
"No. There's an older man. Mr, Kasten. He's practically retired. though."
"Do you have any idea about the cost of upkeep?"
"You mean for the whole estate?"
"Yes."
"No, not really. I have an accountant. Leo Ross. I usually just sign what he tells me to sign."
