Trail of the Spellmans (18 page)

I noticed something was amiss when Mom set the table. I’ve got simple math down and there was one extra place setting that didn’t add up.

“Mom, Sydney still uses a high chair.”

“I know that,” my mother replied.

“Then who is the special guest?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“A good surprise or the kind of surprise you’re keeping secret so no one can make a getaway plan?”

“What on earth are you talking about, Isabel?”

The doorbell rang. I answered it. No surprise: David, Maggie, Sydney. The usual family-like hellos were made.

“Sorry I missed you yesterday morning,” Maggie said. “I hope the couch was to your liking.”

“Sorry about that,” I said. “Next time, I’ll call.”

“Or you could sleep in your own home,” David suggested.

My mother grabbed Sydney from David and started making some very strange noises and asked ridiculous questions, like “Where’s your nose?” “Do you have a toe?” “Who’s my little banana?”

“Don’t say that word!” David said, pulling Sydney away from her grandma.

Speaking of bananas, the doorbell rang again. It was Rae. David gave her a wide berth when she entered the house and refused to make eye contact. Maggie, more forgiving, gave her a kiss and asked her how she was doing.

Rae was about to reply but was interrupted by Sydney shouting her name from across the room, her arms outstretched as she tried to wriggle out of David’s grasp.

“Rae Rae. Rae Rae. Rae Rae.”

David mumbled, “
Mengele
.”

“What did you say?” my mother asked.

“Nothing,” David replied.

“Hi, Sydney,” Rae said in an extremely high-pitched voice.

Sydney continued her escape attempts only to have David spin her around to keep Rae out of her line of sight.

“David, let her walk or she’ll forget how,” Maggie said, not for the first time.

The moment David put Sydney on her feet, she rushed to her younger and apparently far more appealing aunt and gave her leg a warm embrace. Rae bent down and kissed Sydney on the cheek.

“Did you miss me?”

Sydney repeated Rae’s name several more times.

“Why don’t you say hello to your aunt Izzy?” David said, trying to maneuver his daughter in my direction.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I said.

David scowled.

Sydney clocked me and turned back to Rae.

“Why do you talk to her like that?” David asked.

“Like what?”

“Like she’s your mechanic or something.”

“We could use a mechanic in the family.”

“Leave her alone,” Maggie said. “If you’re always snapping at her, Sydney will pick up on it.”

“You need to babysit,” David said, “and bond with your niece.”

Before a date could be set, my dad arrived home with our “surprise” guest. Silence washed over the crowd the moment she passed the threshold. It was as if we were all frozen in place. No one could summon the appropriate words. Of course it was David, the one Spellman who aspires to normalcy, who spoke first. He even tried to toss some enthusiasm into his voice, but it merely added volume.

“Grammy Spellman, so good to see you.”

I learned at an early age to avoid eye contact with Grammy, so I spent an awful lot of time staring at her feet. What I first noticed is that she was wearing the same black orthotic shoes as always, paired with opaque pantyhose in a flesh tone that made her legs appear like those of a mannequin. Since she’s always wearing polyester pants, the pantyhose seem unnecessary. When I was twelve I made the mistake of asking her if she knew about these new things called
socks.
She insisted that I go to bed without supper. My mother, not in the mood to get tangled into another disagreement with her mother-in-law, simply sent me to my room and, when Grammy was out of sight, snuck up half the contents
of the pantry into my bedroom, since she had a feeling I would be there for a while. Even when you slice away the emotional debris and just take in her physical appearance, Grammy still cuts a severe impression. Her short gray hair sits on her head like a helmet, and her frown lines have burrowed so deeply into her flesh that you can’t imagine her muscles can fight the gravity to form a smile. And yet she still possesses an odd streak of vanity, which manifests itself primarily in her physique. I’ve heard at least one hundred and ten times that Grammy still weighs one hundred and ten pounds. When I was fifteen, Grammy repeated her announcement, after becoming alarmed to learn that I weighed one hundred and twenty-five pounds; I responded with “Who gives a fuck?” That was another night I was sent to bed without dinner—at least not that Grammy knew about.

When Rae was a little girl and I was reading her the Brothers Grimm, she once told me that every time there was a mean old woman in the story, she pictured Grammy. David was more diplomatic and said, “Not everyone can be like Nana Montgomery” (my mom’s mom who died when I was six, a loopy old lady who always had candy and comic books stuffed in her massive handbag). My dad offered no excuses for his mother and simply apologized whenever she arrived and thanked us for our patience when she departed. Mom always acted as the guard, doing her best to shield her children from a very mean, bitter old woman. And while it is clear that no one in my family liked Grammy Spellman, I was her enemy number one.

David approached the Spellman matriarch and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Other reserved greetings were made. Grammy looked Maggie up and down with generalized disappointment and said, unconvincingly, “Welcome to the family.” One can assume that Grammy was still holding a grudge for not being invited to the wedding. In fact, I think David and Maggie kept the group under thirty for that very reason. Grammy turned to Sydney and asked if she had been a good girl. Sydney did not reply. My mother managed a Stepford-wife smile and gave
Grammy a stiff embrace, which was not returned. Then Grammy was introduced to D. I think she thought he was the butler or something, because she handed him her coat.

“This is Demetrius. He works for us, but not as a valet,” my mother said as she took the coat from D and hung it up.

People started grabbing drinks immediately. Not Grammy Spellman, a teetotaler who doesn’t even drink tea. When I was seventeen, I slipped some brandy in her apple cider, hoping she wouldn’t notice, but she smelled it immediately and demanded that I be grounded for a week. My parents thoroughly embraced grounding during my teenage years, but this was one act of defiance that I got away with. In fact, my mom slipped me a twenty just for trying.

Once all the guests were seated at the dinner table, I turned on my tape recorder. A visit from Grammy Spellman is a rare enough event, but this visit, which started off as, say, a Category One hurricane, turned into a Category Four once the news was broken.

But first the silence at the dinner table needed breaking:

DAVID:
The food looks amazing, Demetrius.

D:
I’m testing a new recipe, so feel free to be honest.

[
MAGGIE
takes a bite of the coq au vin.]

MAGGIE:
Incredible, D. You’ve outdone yourself.

DAVID:
I feel like all I ever eat these days are fish sticks and grilled cheese sandwiches.

GRAMMY:
You
have
put on weight, haven’t you?

DAD:
Mom, that’s a little rude, don’t you think?

GRAMMY:
One side of our family tends to get heavy, so you have to be extra careful. You might have caught some of that gene, David.

DAVID:
Or, I’m busy raising a child and don’t have as much time to go to the gym.

ME:
Maggie, will you pass the wine?

GRAMMY:
Empty calories, Isabel.

ME:
“Empty” is an appropriate word, since that’s how I feel inside.

DAD:
[warning] Isabel.

GRAMMY:
I never understood this one.

RAE:
You and me both.

ME:
Shut up,
Mengele
.

GRAMMY:
Watch your language,
¹
Isabel.

RAE:
I’m shocked you even know who that is.

ME:
I know a lot more than you think. And a lot of it you’re going to want me to keep to myself.

RAE:
Do you have anything besides idle threats up your sleeve?

DAVID:
[glaring viciously] I do.

GRAMMY:
[to my mother] You should have sent this one
²
to finishing school, like I asked.

MOM
: [ignoring her] Would somebody please tell me what is going on with you three? David, I’ve never seen you hold a grudge this long.

DAVID:
I don’t want to talk about it.

MOM:
This can’t go on forever.

SYDNEY:
Banana.

DAVID:
[to Maggie] She wants potatoes.

GRAMMY:
Then why did she say “banana”?

ME:
Don’t go there.

GRAMMY:
Don’t go where?

D: [trying to cut the tension] Coq au vin is such a rich meal, I had to complement it with salad and sunchokes. However, I had an incredible recipe for fingerling potatoes; I couldn’t resist.

GRAMMY:
Does the cook usually eat with the family?

MOM:
Ruth,
³
I thought Albert explained this to you. Demetrius is our employee at Spellman Investigations and he lives in the attic apartment.
He enjoys cooking and so he was kind enough to make this meal for us, but he is
not
our personal chef.

[I pour some wine, scan the table for takers, until the bottle is empty.]

GRAMMY:
I see. I apologize for the misunderstanding, Mr. Demetrius.

D: No apology necessary.

DAD:
The fingerling potatoes are amazing.

MOM:
So is the salad. Hint, hint.

DAD:
This is a French meal, so the salad comes last.

GRAMMY:
I think Morgan Freeman is an excellent actor.

[Complete silence.]

ME:
Pass the potatoes.

D: Why don’t you finish the ones on your plate first?

ME:
Pass the salad then.

MOM:
Save some for your father.

ME:
Okay, I’ll have more wine.

[While the conversation continues, I get up and search for another bottle in the kitchen. It’s white and room temperature, but that’s what ice cubes are for.]

GRAMMY:
I really liked that movie
Driving Miss Daisy.

RAE:
Oh my God.

MAGGIE:
Really, the food is simply amazing.

SYDNEY:
Banana.

DAVID:
Potatoes, Sydney. They’re called po-ta-toes.

MOM:
This banana obsession is a complete mystery.

ME:
Not really.

GRAMMY:
I also like Sidney Poitier.

DAD:
More wine, please.

ME:
Grammy, everyone likes Sidney Poitier. It’s kind of like saying you like Mother Teresa or something.

GRAMMY:
That doesn’t make any sense. They’re nothing alike.

ME:
My point was that you don’t need to mention that you like someone that everyone likes.

GRAMMY:
I’m just making polite conversation.

DAVID:
Maybe Grammy thinks we named Sydney after him.

GRAMMY:
No. That thought never occurred to me. He really is a wonderful actor.

RAE:
Oh my God. This is torturous.

DAVID:
[mumbling] Sorry, D.

D:
Relax.

ME:
So, Grammy, how long are you planning on staying?

GRAMMY:
[facing Dad] Didn’t you tell them?

ME:
Tell us what?

MOM:
Ruth is moving in.

RAE:
Oh my God.

MOM:
That’s enough, Rae.

ME:
Seriously?

GRAMMY:
It was either that or move into one of those awful homes. They’re filthy and run by criminals.

ME:
This place isn’t so tidy and, well—

DAD:
Isabel—

RAE:
Where will she stay?

MOM:
In David’s old room.