Ryan froze, then burst out laughing. “That’s a good one, Dad. Two million in the attic. And hell, all this time I thought you had it hidden in the mattress.” He was smiling, shaking his head. Then he stopped.
His father wasn’t smiling.
Ryan swallowed hard, a little nervous. “Come on. You’re joking, right?”
“There’s two million dollars in the attic, Ryan. I put it there myself.”
“Where the hell would you get two million dollars?”
“That’s what I’m trying to explain. You’re not making this easy.”
Ryan took the bottle from the tray. “Yup, I’d say that’s about enough horsing around. Whiskey on top of painkillers has you hallucinating.”
“I blackmailed a man. Someone who deserved it.”
“Dad, cut it out. You were in no position to blackmail anybody.”
“ Yes, I was, damn it!” He spoke with such force, he started a coughing fit.
Ryan came to him and adjusted the pillows behind his back. His father was wheezing, gasping between coughs. The phlegm in his mouth was coming up bloody. Ryan pushed the emergency call button for the home care nurse in the next room. She arrived in seconds.
“Help me,” said Ryan. “Sit him up straight so he doesn’t choke.”
She did as instructed. Ryan wheeled the oxygen tank alongside the bed. He opened the valve and placed the respirator in his father’s mouth. Home oxygen supply was a drill the whole family knew well, as he’d suffered from emphysema long before the terminal cancer developed. After a few deep breaths, the wheezing subsided. Breathing slowly returned to normal.
“Dr. Duffy, I don’t mean to question your professional judgment, but I think your father should rest now. He’s had way too much activity for one night.”
He knew she was right, but his father’s eyes gave him pause. Ryan had expected the glazed, delirious look of a sedated man who was making up crazy stories about blackmail. But the dark old eyes were sharp and expressive. They not only spoke without words, they spoke intelligently. They had Ryan thinking, Could he be serious?
“I’ll be back in the morning, Dad. We can talk then.”
His father seemed to appreciate the reprieve, as if he had said enough for one night. Ryan pulled away, forcing a meager smile. He started to say “I love you,” like he always did, fearful as he was that each conversation might be their last. This time he just turned and left the room, his mind racing. It was inconceivable, really — his father a blackmailer to the tune of two million dollars. Never, however, had Ryan seen his father more serious.
If this was a joke, it was frightfully convincing. And not the least bit funny.
Damn it, Dad, he thought as he left the house. Please don’t make me hate you.
3
It was still dark when Amy woke. The drapes were drawn, but lights from the parking lot made them glow around the edges, the room’s only illumination. Her eyes adjusted slowly. The twin bed beside hers was empty, already made. The usual morning noises emerged from the kitchen. Gram was always the first to rise, earlier and earlier with each passing year. Amy checked her alarm clock on the nightstand. Five-sixteen A.M.
She’s probably fixing lunch by now.
Amy lay still, staring at the ceiling. She had done the right thing, she knew, by telling her. Gram would have wormed it out of her eventually. Amy had an incredibly expressive face, one that Gram had learned to read with ease. Truthfully, Amy wanted to tell her. She needed help with this one. Gram was old-fashioned, but few things were more reliable than old-fashioned common sense.
Amy slipped on her flannel robe and shuffled toward the kitchen, following the aroma of fresh strong coffee.
“Morning, dear,” said Gram. She was already dressed. Overdressed, by her own historical standards. For almost half a century, Gram had lived in blue jeans in the winter, Bermuda shorts in the summer. Lately, she’d taken to pressed slacks and silk blouses, even for routine trips to the grocery store. Amy suspected a man was in the picture, though Gram vehemently denied it.
“Morning,” said Amy. She pulled up a chair at the dining room table. Gram brought her a cup, no cream and two sugars, the way she liked it.
“I’ve made a decision,” she said, taking the seat across from Amy. “We’ll keep the money, right here.”
“I thought you said you wanted to sleep on it, and that we’d discuss it in the morning.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, this is hardly a discussion. You just announced a decision.”
“Trust me, darling. Your grandmother knows best on these things.”
The coffee was suddenly bitter. Amy measured her words, but there was resentment in her tone. “That’s exactly what you said when you talked me into quitting astronomy for this computer job.”
“And that has worked out beautifully. The law firm loves you so much they’re willing to help send you to law school.”
“It’s not the law firm that loves me. It’s Marilyn Gaslow. And the only reason she got the firm to cough up this partial scholarship is because she and Mom were old friends.”
“Don’t be cynical, Amy. Be realistic. With a degree in astronomy you would have been lucky to get a job teaching high school. You’ll earn ten times more as a lawyer.”
“Sure. And with spiked heels and a G-string I could make fifty times more than-”
“Stop,” said Gram, covering her ears. “Don’t be talking like that.”
“I’m kidding, okay? Just making a point.”
“There’s no point in sass.” Gram went to the kitchen and refilled her coffee cup.
Amy sighed, backing down, as usual. “I’m sorry, all right? It’s not every day a box full of money comes in an unmarked package. I’d just like to talk it out.”
Gram returned to her chair, then looked across the table, eye to eye. “What do you think we should do with it?”
“I don’t know. Should we call the police?”
“What for? No crime has been committed.”
“None that we know of, you mean.”
“Amy, I’m surprised at you. How did you get so negative? Something good happens, and you immediately figure it has to be connected to something bad.”
“I’m just considering all the possibilities. I’m assuming we don’t have any rich relatives you’ve forgotten to tell me about.”
Gram laughed. “Honey, in our family tree, not even the leaves are green.”
“None of your friends have this kind of money to give away, do they?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“So, if this is a gift, it came from someone we don’t know, someone who’s not even related to us.”
“It could happen. Things like that do happen.”
“When?”
“All the time.”
“Name one.”
“I can’t think of one, but it happens. Somebody you met, somewhere along the line. You’re a sweet person, Amy. Maybe some rich old man had a crush on you and you didn’t even know it.”
Amy shook her head. “This is just too strange. We should call the police.”
“For what? We’ll never see it again.”
“If nobody claims it, I would think the police will give it back to us.”
“That’s not the way it works,” said Gram. “A few years ago, I read in the newspaper about a minister who found over a million dollars in a suitcase on the side of the road. He turned it in to the police, thinking that if nobody claimed it, the cops would give it back to him, since he was the guy who found it. Sure enough, nobody claimed it. But you know what? The police said it was drug money, and they confiscated it under these drug laws they have
