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“During my last year of university. I was studying psychology. He was a few years older than me, and studying for his PhD. We dated for a few years, then got married. He got a job teaching at the University of Miami. I stayed home to raise what I assumed was going to be a large family. Coming from a family of women, I was positive I was going to have nothing but girls. ‘What am I going to do with a boy?’ I remember crying to my mother when Norman was born. But she assured me I’d love him just the same, and she was right. And then it turned out I couldn’t have any more children, which suited Norman just fine. He always liked being the center of attention.”
Mark chuckles. “Not much changed there.”
Julia smiles her agreement. “And that’s about it. My parents died before you were born, and my two sisters are both gone now, too. I’m the last one standing.”
“You have me,” Mark says.
Julia smiles. “Yes, I do.”
“What’s this?” Mark asks, reaching into another box and pulling out a small brass trophy in the shape of a hand holding a bunch of playing cards.
“Oh my God!” Julia exclaims. “I’d forgotten all about that.”
“What’s it for?”
“I came first in a bridge tournament, God, it must be thirty years ago.”
“I didn’t know you played bridge.”
“Well, I haven’t in years. Your grandfather was never terribly good at it, which was surprising, because he was so good at most things. But he never quite got the hang of the bidding, and eventually he lost interest, so we stopped playing. It’s too bad. I loved the game.”
“You should take it up again.”
“No, it’s too late now.” Julia conjures up the multiple card rooms at Manor Born.“There’s also a bridge club, a mahjong club, a book club, and a choir,”she hears Carole Reid say.
“Well, a trophy is a trophy! You shouldn’t throw it away,” Mark says, returning it to the box and exchanging it for a mahogany case that he lays across his lap. The name Smith & Wesson is etched into the dark wood of its lid.
“What’s that?”
“Looks like we found Grandpa’s gun.”
“Careful,” Julia warns as Mark opens the case.
Slowly, gingerly, he withdraws the old revolver, holding it by its black textured wood handle. “Oh, wow. It’s heavy. Is it loaded?”
“I have no idea. It’s been sitting out here for years, and with all this heat and humidity, even if itisloaded, I doubt it would work. Plus, I think you’re supposed to clean them regularly. But be careful,” she warns again. “You never know with guns.”
Mark studies the weapon for several seconds before returning it to its wooden case, then depositing the case back inside its cardboard box. “What do you say we go inside and I’ll bake you something fabulous?”
“I say, lead the way.” Julia is extending her arms for Mark to help her up when they hear a car pull into the driveway.
“Are you expecting company?” Mark asks.
Julia shakes her head.
“Mark!” a man calls loudly from outside.
“Shit,” Mark says, recognizing the voice.
“Who is it?”
“Just this guy I know.”
“What guy?”
“A friend.”
“A friend?”
