“With what you have now?”
“Poland Spring, I believe. Or possibly Mount Monadnock.”
What the fuck was she- Then he got it. “This is swimming pools,” Freedy said. “I was just checking out your space for possible swimming pool installation.”
“Were you?” she said, making a big thing out of that were, like she was pleasantly surprised.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But it’s the middle of winter.”
“The early bird,” Freedy said.
The old lady smiled. “How right you are.” She gazed beyond him, scanning the trees in the backyard, the smile slowly fading, but not completely. “Perhaps you can help me,” she said, indicating the birdseed. “Before we get to the actual spiel.”
Freedy took the bag from her, spread seed in the feeder.
“Richie,” she called, in a yoo-hoo kind of voice, although she didn’t say yoo-hoo. “Richie.”
“Richie?” said Freedy, glancing around, seeing no one.
“My cardinal,” said the old lady. “Short for Richelieu, of course, but I don’t have to tell you that.”
“None of my business anyway,” said Freedy.
The old lady laughed. “I love a sense of humor. Swimming pools, you say?”
“The best.”
“But now? In the middle of winter?”
“The early bird,” Freedy said again, since it had worked so well the first time.
The old lady nodded. The sky had brightened slightly and he got a good look at her face. Did he resemble her, at all? “Those folk sayings,” she began; but a crow swooped down at the feeder and she threw up her hands in horror. “Oh, no.”
Freedy took a swat at it. He was quick, yes, and a fuckin’ leg breaker, yes, but not bird-quick, so some luck must have been involved. Good luck-a nice change. Supposing, on top of all his other qualities, he was starting to get lucky too? Shudder to think, whatever that meant.
Some luck must have been involved. Why? Because he caught that crow a pretty good one, not on the button, but close enough. It went down and stayed down, a black feather or two drifting in the air.
“My goodness,” said the old lady, gazing down at the crow, then up at Freedy. “What a competent fellow!”
Freedy tried to think of some aw-shucks folk saying that fit; he knew there must be some, even felt one on the tip of his tongue, but it didn’t come.
“And modest as well,” she said. Yes, even things he didn’t do were paying off. This was the start of a lucky day, had to be. He should buy a lottery ticket, maybe go on Jeopardy.
Something caught her eye, something red. “Good morning, Richie.” The cardinal settled on the rim of the feeder. “Isn’t he the most elegant little man you’ve ever seen?” the old lady said, lowering her voice.
Quicker than a crow, Freedy wondered, or slower? Not the time to experiment. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She turned to him. “I’m glad you agree. Now get on with it.”
“Get on with what?”
“Why, swimming pools. I was a champion swimmer.”
“You were?”
“At Camp Glenwhinnie. Many, many ribbons, red and blue. Do you know Camp Glenwhinnie, Mr…?”
“Just call me Freedy.”
“Freedy. What an interesting name. I don’t believe I’ve met a Freedy before. Camp Glenwhinnie, on Lake-is it a diminutive?”
“Huh?”
“Freedy. Is it short for anything?”
“Friedrich, I guess.”
“Friedrich? Is that true?”
“Sure.” How dense could she be? “Like the Freed part’s in both of them,” he explained patiently, reminding himself that she was old.
“I meant is that really your name-Friedrich?”
“Want to see my birth certificate?” he said. Amazing. He actually had the goddamn thing in his pocket, almost pulled it out.
Her laughter, abrupt and unexpected, stopped him. “Aren’t you the funny bunny,” she said. “How about coffee?”
“Sounds good,” said Freedy.
“Excuse the mess,” she said, leading him inside. “It’s everybody’s day off.”
Freedy sat at the kitchen table, in a little nook with a good view of the feeder. There was no mess that he could see. Why would there be in a house on the Hill? It was all very nice. He stretched out his legs, trying to get comfortable. And he did, right away; comfortable, up on the Hill.
“Richie,” called the old lady, although the bird couldn’t possibly hear her, “eat up, there’s a good boy.” The fat red fuck stood on the rim of the feeder, doing nothing.
She gave Freedy coffee, poached eggs on toast, bacon-a gran breakfast. They talked about swimming at Camp Whatever-it-was on some lake whose name he didn’t catch, up in Vermont or maybe New Hampshire.
“What kind of pools do you install?” she said.
“All kinds.”
“Like what, for example?”
“There’s the Malibu. One of our biggest sellers. If that’s a little too pricey, we’ve got the Miami. The Mediterranean’s pretty popular too.”
“This is so exciting-and they all start with M. More bacon?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t I think of this before?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“I’ll have to check with Leo.”
“Leo?”
“Not because of the purse strings-don’t think that for a minute. But he’s sensitive to noise.”
“Leo?”
The old lady nodded toward a framed photograph on the wall. Freedy went over for a look. He saw a guy with wild gray hair, wearing a tuxedo and standing at a podium; behind him sat some famous person whose name escaped Freedy. He peered at the man in the tuxedo. Laid his eyes on him but felt no chill, nothing. Did he resemble this man, at all?
“That was last year, in Vienna,” said the old lady.
“Your son, right?”
No answer.
He turned to her. She was glaring at him.
“What’s up?” Freedy said.
“I hate when people say that,” she said. “Have always hated, hate now, will hate. Leo is my husband.”
Freedy tried to remember what he’d heard in the dollhouse, all so complicated. “You’re not my gran, then,” he said; said without thinking, the words just popping out.
“Your gran?” said the old lady.
The way she said it pissed Freedy off, all that Hill-and-flats shit, just in her tone of voice. He’d been so nice, so polite, even making sure to eat with his mouth closed. And now this. He whipped out his birth certificate, slapped it on the table in front of her, stabbed his finger at the space marked FATHER. Full name: Unknown.
The old lady-old lady, but Leo Uzig’s wife, and therefore the other woman, the one who’d broken up the family he’d never had-gazed at the sheet of paper with her watery eyes. “Is this the contract?” she said.
“Contract?” The voice-male-came from the kitchen door. Freedy turned quickly, saw Leo Uzig. Not a picture on the wall, but the man. Leo Uzig wore a crimson robe and under it a white shirt and knotted tie, but his feet were
