Don’t Be Smart.
Gram would like that.
46
We need to talk.” John is on the phone. David, Louise, Elaine, John, and Mike call me each week. They ask about a check, about signing papers, about my Power, about selling the lottery payments, about investing. When I think it might be them, I sometimes let the answering machine get it. CeCe is the only one who does not call.
“She’s too busy buying shit for that pissy little dog of hers, that’s why,” Keith tells me.
Today I was expecting a call from Sandy so I picked up the receiver as the machine clicked on. Cherry recorded a greeting on my phone machine. It was in her voice, which sounded like I had my own secretary. That was so cool.
“Perry L. Crandall is not available to take your call. Please leave a message and he will get right back to you.
Beeeep!
” I liked it because it sounded very businesslike, but Keith told me I needed a much cooler one.
He recorded, “Perry L. Crandall is out smoking dope and spending all his money and has no intention of returning any of his calls.
Beeeep!
”
John got upset when he heard it and called Keith rude and irresponsible. David laughed and said it was funny. Louise hung up because she thought she dialed the wrong number and Elaine screamed many bad words that were recorded.
“My family does not like my phone greeting,” I tell Keith, Gary, and Cherry.
“That’s tough!” Keith says.
“Too bad,” says Cherry.
“What greeting?” asks Gary.
Keith and Cherry are now having the answering machine wars and I have nothing to do with it.
Today it says, “Perry L. Crandall is hunting yurts in Mongolia. If he survives he will return your call.” Yurts are tents, Keith told me. You do not hunt them and I am not in Mongolia. That’s okay.
“Perry! Are you there?” John’s words are loud like he thinks I cannot hear. We are being recorded because I picked up the phone too late.
“Yes, I am here.”
I do not know what he wants me to say. It is hard to guess what will make them hang up or what will make them happy. I try to figure it out just to get them off the phone. I wish Keith were here, but he is downstairs.
My family makes me uncomfortable when they call. They ask how I am. They ask what I am doing, but before I can answer, they ask about the money.
“How you doing, Perry?” John does not wait for me to talk and asks, “Have you thought any more about cashing in the lottery payments and investing in—” I hear something that sounds like
trustmutualdividendsandinvestintaxshelterannuities
. It is one long word and does not mean anything to me.
Gram said my cousin-brothers never called after Gramp died because they were afraid she would ask for money. She never did. We had everything we needed, although it would have been nice to have our TV fixed when it broke. Louise is better to deal with because she asks for a check and I can just mail one to her now. I do not have to see her. I do not have to talk with her. I have no idea what color her hair is now. Mailing checks is easier than talking.
“What, John? What do you need?” Even though I ask, I know what it will be about. He wants to talk about the money. He always wants to talk about the money. Before the lottery, he never called. Before the lottery, we had nothing to talk about. Now we do. We talk about the money. We talk about money and checks. David, John, and Elaine all want to help me with the money.
“Things are coming to a head here. We’re running out of time. Mike and I were discussing your situation the other night. Everybody ’s worried about you. Do you have a will, Perry?” John speaks extra slow like he thinks I do not understand American.
“A will? I don’t think so. Why?” I know this has something to do with the money, but I have nothing else to say.
“We think you need one. Mike says you’re a real businessman. He says you need a will to be a businessman.”
“Mike is smart. A will sounds cool.” I like it when people call me a businessman.
“Look, Perry, Mom’s not doing too well with her investments. She needs money. I have some pressing financial obligations. David has money problems of his own. We were all hoping you’d help us out. After all, we’re family. We want you to sell your lottery annuity. Invest in the family trust. Share your winnings. It would be the fair thing to do. I mean, we would if it were us.”
I hear Gram snort in my head.
Likely story.
I am thinking hard. “What do you want me to do?”
He sounds excited now. “Have you talked about what you want to do with the money to Mike Dinelli? About signing a Power of Attorney? ” John asks. “He’s an excellent financial adviser. He works closely with us. Let him know you want to work with him. Want to sign. Take his advice. He wants to help you. Help us. We can set up another meeting. I’ll tell him you’ve agreed to sign the Power of Attorney. We’re friends. He’s a great guy.” John’s voice sounds like he is sucking one of those balloons that make you talk funny.
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s my friend too.” There is that word Power again. I feel like the Hulk.
I hear Gram in my head again.
Careful.
“You should listen to what he has to say. Tell him you’ll listen. Tell him you’ll sign. Please, Perry, this is important.” John will not stop talking.
I want to ask why but I do not. The word
why
makes John the maddest even though he does not shout when he hears it. I can tell he is angry whenever I use it. It is scary to annoy him. Right now, he acts like he is happy. He sounds even more excited.
“Perry, it will be so much better when you finally let all of us help you. There are legal ways of decreasing the tax bite. It’s ludicrous that you haven’t taken advantage of our expertise before. It’s a real waste. For instance, when we create the trust, we can manage it for you. You wouldn’t have to do a thing. Just spend your money. We will do all the work. You’ll see. I’m setting up a meeting. You won’t regret it. You hear me?”
I do not say a word. I do not have to. John does all the talking. He always does. One minute he and David want to help me invest my lottery money, and the next, they want to split it between us. It is very confusing.
When I hang up, it is pouring. I can see wet drops on my window. I used to call rainy days sad days.
“The sky is crying,” I would tell Gram. “The sky is crying for Gramp.”
It is crying now for both of them. I look down. Keith is in his boat. I see him pulling a plastic tarp. His hatches must leak. Maybe we should order new gaskets from the store. I watch him work. He tucks in the edges carefully and clips them with bungee cords.
I go into the bedroom for Gramp’s music.
Ride of the Valkyries
the cover says. There are horses and someone with a beard on the cover. He reminds me of the man at Marina Handy Mart who grabbed me by the arm. He was scary but he is in jail now. I remove the disk, place it on the turntable, click the on switch, and set the needle on the record. I pretend I am in a movie and shut my eyes.
I am in a boat. I hear trumpets and they sound like waves. Like wind. I am sailing. Standing at the bow of
Diamond Girl.
I taste pretend salt on my lips. I feel the lurch and crash of the hull against the water.
I was sixteen when Gramp died. We had taken
El Toro
out for a sail.
El Toro
means the bull in Spanish and was an eight-foot sailboat. A bull is a boy cow. When we picked her up from the dealer, Gramp told me to name her.
“She has a name,” I said. “There.” And I pointed to the plastic letters on her side.
“That’s just the class, Perry. It means the bull. It’s a brand name. Like Coke or Pepsi.”
“The bull. I like that. I like
El Toro
,” I insisted.
We named our boat
El Toro
even though it was a she.
We sailed her every weekend and sometimes during the week.
The last time when we left the dock Gramp looked worried. I could tell because he was sweating. I knew he gave money to someone and had to go to the bank later that day. I knew he always had business stuff to do, but out on the water all his worry lines would go away. We took turns on the tiller—first me, then him. The wind would quit, then come up fast and catch us by surprise. We both laughed as
El Toro
lulled, then jerked forward.
“I love you, Gramp!” I said.
“You’re a good boy, Perry. The best.” Then he reached across and lifted my hair out of my eyes. When we got to the marina, he stepped off
El Toro
, and sank to his knees onto the dock like he was doing a prayer. Like in church. I wound the line on the cleat, then grabbed for his hand. He always helped me up before. Not this time.
He said my name. “
Perry
.” It turned into a whisper. His eyes rolled back.
And he was gone.
Marty was there when it happened. I did not know what to do. Gramp was lying on the dock. People ran to help. Someone, I think it was Gary, called Gram. The ambulance guys came, but there was no siren when they left. Gram heard it from Marty.
“Dropped like a stone,” he said. “Dropped like a stone.” He held her hand tight.
We lost the boatyard after that. The bank took over.
El Toro
had to be sold. We could not afford to keep her. That is what Gram told me. The boatyard was bought by someone else and Gary Holsted gave me a job. He said it was the best investment he ever made. I am glad. I like working at Holsted’s.
I play Gramp’s music and walk into the living room to look out my window. The water is a color I do not know. Maybe gray or green. Keith’s blue tarp is over his cockpit. I see lights through the ports. They shine like candles inside of a pumpkin. I know Cherry is in there with him and wish they would ask me down for a visit tonight.
Cherry is Keith’s girlfriend and Keith is my friend. I know this now.
I miss Gram. I miss Gramp. I want Cherry. My throat is full of sadness. My heart hurts. I listen for Gram’s voice, but she is somewhere else. Maybe with Gramp. I wish she were here too. I lean my forehead against my hands onto the cold, cold window and think about what I should do.
47
As spring gets closer, we have more days that Gramp would call sail days. Mild, but breezy. Cherry has never sailed, and now that
Diamond Girl
’s engine has been fixed, Keith says maybe we should all go to Whidbey Island for the weekend.
“Oh yeah!” I am excited. “Yeah, Keith, let’s go.”
“What do we need to bring?” Cherry is practical. “Let’s go to the store.”
Keith took us to QFC with a cooler.
“If it doesn’t fit in here it doesn’t go.” Keith knows what we need.
Diamond Girl
has only one small propane stove with a single burner.
“Bread, cheese, mayonnaise, cereal bars, cookies, crackers, juice . . . ,” she says.
“Hey, Cherry, you’re great at provisioning,” I tell her. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“You’re kidding, right? That just means buying food for people to eat on a boat. How hard is that?” She grabs more cans off a shelf. “I can make chili. What else do you guys want?”
I look at Keith and he grins. Beans make him fart. I do not think chili is a good idea but I do not tell Cherry this.
Instead, I ask, “Is your anchor line okay, Keith?” I remember Keith said the chain and rope on his anchor needed replacing.
“All taken care of,” he says. He has done more work on
Diamond Girl
in the last three months than he has the last three years.
“When do you plan to be back?” Gary asks. “I can watch out for you.” He hands Keith a brand-new VHF handheld radio and adds a package of batteries.
After we used a screwdriver to put in the batteries, Keith let me try it out. I have not used a radio since Gramp. It was so cool.
“Everett Marina. Everett Marina. This is
Diamond Girl
requesting outbound clearance. Over.” The radio crackles and pops.
Roger that, Diamond Girl! You’re clear outbound. Over and out.
We wanted to leave the slip by eleven, but it is now nearly two in the afternoon. The sun sparkles on the water.
Diamond Girl
’s motor goes PUTT. PUTT. PUTT. Keith steers out toward Whidbey and I wrap and stow the lines.
“How’d you know how to do that, Per?” Cherry watches me from the cockpit. “I’m a tiny bit afraid of being out in the water in a boat. They sink, don’t they? Boats do? You guys know I can’t swim, right?” she asks.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I can’t swim either, Cherry. Keith tried to teach me in Hawaii, but we didn’t have enough time.” This does not seem to make her feel any better.
I pull Keith’s life jackets out.
“See, we have these. This will keep you from drowning. You can wear one if you want.”
“Yeah, I think I will. What if I fall in? What do I do?” She takes one from me and I help her put it on. I have to lengthen the strap that goes around her waist. I accidentally touch her boob, but she does not seem to notice. Touching is okay if it is an accident. I get hard anyway.
“The water is so cold here you’d freeze to death before you’d ever drown,” Keith says. He is just trying to be helpful.
“Get her up, Per. Raise the mains’l.” Keith sings this to me in his pirate voice, and then to Cherry, “That there’s sailor talk. ARHHH!” Then he grabs her boob.
Keith points
Diamond Girl
straight into the brisk breeze and shifts into neutral. I pull hard on the sheet. Sailing is something I know how to do. When the sail is raised, I tie off to the cleat on deck and quickly sit down.
“Watch your head, Cherry!” I yell as the boom shifts. The wind is at our beam and
Diamond Girl
heels to one side. Cherry’s eyes get large and she grips the side of the cockpit.