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Jesus Christ.
I can’t reconcile the mere existence of that peephole with all these lovely scenes. When did Lloyd drill that hole? Did his wife, Mabel, ever find out about it? Who lived in Auggie’s grandma’s condo when he first created it? When I purchased the condo, the auction company said the former owner had died without heirs. Did Lloyd’s family find out about his pervy extracurricular activities and ditch his creepy ass? Are they out there somewhere, unaware of his death—and if they found out about it, they’d come back and try to claim an ownership right in my condo?
I grab my computer and search “Lloyd Graham, Seattle,” along with the address of my condo, and a report on a people-finder website immediately pops up. The fee to purchase the information is cheap, so I pay it and download the report . . . and immediately stop breathing when I scan the document. At the bottom, the list of “known relations” of Lloyd Graham states the following:
Mabel Graham, wife, deceased.
Clara Graham Rodgers, daughter, deceased.
Gary Rodgers, son-in-law, deceased.
Jeannie Rodgers, granddaughter, deceased.
“No,” I whisper. I look down at Lucky in my lap through tears. “What happened to all of them?” I open a new tab on my computer and search for several minutes; and soon, I’ve gotmy answer:they all died together in a head-on collision.The accident happened while the family was headed to the airport—on their way to catch a weeklong Caribbean cruise in celebration of Lloyd Graham and Mabel’s golden anniversary.
Lloyd, who was sitting in the far back row of the minivan, was the sole survivor of the crash. His son-in-law, Gary, Clara’s husband, drove the van with his mother-in-law, Mabel, in the front passenger seat, and his wife and daughter in the middle row. Both Gary and Mabel died instantly. Clara and Jeannie died soon after arriving at the hospital. And at the time of the article, Lloyd was at the hospital in a medically induced coma in critical condition.
Tears flow down my cheeks as I try to imagine what poor Lloyd was told when he woke up from that coma and asked about his family members. He lived another fourteen years after that. Surely, he spent every minute of those years wishing he could rewind the clock to that fateful day and somehow keep his family safe. No wonder the happy, bright home he shared with Mabel devolved into utter chaos after the accident. Surely, the poor old man felt he had nothing to live for after waking up from that coma, and his physical surroundings reflected that fact.
It also makes sense to me now there’s a ten-year time gap in the cassettes after the accident. Once his entire family perished, who did Lloyd have left to record?
I pick up the first of three “Althea” cassettes. It’s dated with a year from four years ago, and it’s the first cassette since the car accident. What’s on it? It’s labeled with “Althea,” so Auggie’s grandma must appear on it.But doing what? Whatever Lloyd shot of Althea, did she know about it—or am I about to see the very thing Auggie dreads the most?
I eject the current cassette with Jeannie’s fifth birthday party on it and pop in the first “Althea” cassette. I don’t currently knowthe answers to any of the questions barraging my brain, but, hopefully, I’m about to get some much-needed answers.
18
AUGGIE
Iknock on Charlotte’s front door, and when she opens it, she practically rips the thing off its hinges. “The peephole was your grandma’s idea!” she shouts, as Lucky greets me at my feet. “Althea was Lloyd’sfriend. His guardian angel.Not hisvictim. Althea adored Lloyd, and he adored her!”
I’m too flabbergasted and confused to reply with anything except, “What?”
Charlotte grabs my arm and yanks me inside, shouting, “I can’t wait to show youeverything.”
A few seconds later, I’m sitting at the card table in Charlotte’s living room with Lucky on my lap and the video camera and cassettes in front of me, while Charlotte bounces and bops around in front of me, too amped, apparently, to sit down next to me while explaining the situation to me.
“Remember those names on the cassettes?” she says. “The names besides your grandma’s—Mabel, Clara, and Jeannie?Those weren’t the victims of a gross peeping Tom. They were Lloyd’s beloved family members—his wife, daughter, and granddaughter! They all died in a horrible, terrible head-on car crash. Lloyd’s son-in-law, too. Everyone died that day, except for poor Lloyd.” With tears welling in her eyes, Charlotte launchesinto a detailed explanation about everything she discovered today about Lloyd Graham and his family. She tells me about some internet research that confirmed the crash and all its tragic details. And about Lloyd’s wife playing the piano, and the way they loved to waltz around. A baby’s christening. A fifth birthday party. But as sweet and tragic as it all is, after ten minutes, I can’t take it anymore. Charlotte still hasn’t gotten to the part about my grandmother.
“What aboutAlthea,” I interject. “What did you see on the cassettes about—"
“I’m getting there, honey. Please, be patient. Trust me, you need to understand what happened before Althea came along to understand her friendship with Lloyd and, therefore, whyshesuggested the peephole.”
That last part blows my mind. I can’t fathom it. “Why do you thinkshesuggested the peephole?” I ask, despite her request for patience. Surely, Charlotte’s made some bizarre leaps in logic to arrive at a conclusion that insane and far-fetched.
“Because Althea herself said the peephole washeridea in a video!”
My jaw drops. “What?”
Charlotte pats my head like I’m her doggie. “Never fear, I’ll show you everything. But before we get to the peephole, I want you to watch all the Althea cassettes in order, just like I did, so you can watch Lloyd and Althea’s friendship form and grow. The first time Lloyd took a video of Althea was four years ago—a full ten years after the cassette before that one.”
Charlotte drags a chair right next to mine at the card table, sits down, and grabs the video camera. While she’s busy inserting the first Althea cassette into it, I say, “Four years ago is when my grandma moved into the building. She wanted a change of scenery after my grandpa died.”
“Press play.” She hands me the video camera. “Keep in mind these are the first videos Lloyd felt inspired to record after the accident—after a ten-year hiatus, during which he probably struggled with intense grief and the deterioration of his mental health.”
Charlotte’s warning is ominous. But I admit I’m damned curious by now, so I press play, as instructed.
My grandmother appears on the camera’s tiny screen. The video is clearly being shot from above—through a window, since I can see a faint, telltale reflection in the video. As the clip begins, Grandma is standing in front of the building, chatting with none other than my mother on the sidewalk, while a few yards away, my brother, Max, and I carry a green couch out the back of a U-Haul truck.
