9.

The next weekend, we went up to see Cynthia's aunt, Tess, who lived in a small, modest house about halfway up to Derby, just off the heavily wooded Derby Milford Road. She lived less than twenty minutes away, but we didn't get up to see her nearly as often as we should. So when there was a special occasion, like Thanksgiving or Christmas or, as was the case this particular weekend, her birthday, we made a point of getting together.

That was fine with me. I loved Tess nearly as much as I did Cynthia. Not just for being such a great old gal-when I called her that I ran the risk of a dirty yet playful look-but for what she had done for Cynthia in the wake of her family's disappearance. She'd taken in a young teenage girl who was, Cynthia would be the first to admit, a handful at times.

"There was never any choice," Tess told me once. "She was my sister's daughter. And my sister was gone, along with her husband, and my nephew. What the h.e.l.l else could I have done?"

Tess had a way of being cantankerous, slightly abrasive, but it was an act she'd developed to protect herself. She was all marshmallow below the surface. Not that she hadn't earned the right, over the years, to be a bit cranky. Her own husband had left her before Cynthia had come to live with her for a barmaid from Stamford, and, as Tess told it, they'd f.u.c.ked off to someplace out west never to be heard from again, and thank Christ for that. Tess, who had left her job with the radio factory years earlier, found a job with the county, clerical work in the roads department, and made just enough to support herself and pay the utilities. There wasn't much left to raise a teenage girl, but you did what you had to do. Tess had never had children of her own, and with her no-good husband gone, it was nice to have someone to share her home with, even if the circ.u.mstances that brought Cynthia to her were shrouded in mystery, and undoubtedly tragic.

Tess was in her late sixties now, retired, getting by on Social Security and her county pension. She gardened and puttered about, took the occasional bus trip like the one she took last fall up through Vermont and New Hampshire to look at the changing leaves-"Jesus, a bus full of old people, I thought I'd kill myself"-but she didn't have much of a social life. Not a joiner, not inclined to attend AARP meetings. But she kept up with the news, maintained her subscriptions to Harper's Harper's and and The New Yorker The New Yorker and and The Atlantic Monthly The Atlantic Monthly and was not bashful about offering her left-of-center political opinions. "That president," she said to me on the phone one day, "he makes a bag of hammers look like a n.o.bel Prize winner." Spending most of her teenage years with Tess had helped shape Cynthia's att.i.tude and perspective as well, and no doubt contributed to her decision to pursue, in the early years of our marriage, a career in social work. and was not bashful about offering her left-of-center political opinions. "That president," she said to me on the phone one day, "he makes a bag of hammers look like a n.o.bel Prize winner." Spending most of her teenage years with Tess had helped shape Cynthia's att.i.tude and perspective as well, and no doubt contributed to her decision to pursue, in the early years of our marriage, a career in social work.

And how Tess did love to see us. Especially Grace.

"I was going through some boxes of old books in the bas.e.m.e.nt," Tess said, flopping into her La-Z-Boy after we'd done the hug thing, "and look what I came across."

She leaned forward in her chair, moved aside a copy of The New Yorker The New Yorker that had been hiding something else, and handed Grace an oversized hardcover book, that had been hiding something else, and handed Grace an oversized hardcover book, Cosmo Cosmo s s , , by Carl Sagan. Grace's eyes went wide, looking at the kaleidoscope of stars on the cover. by Carl Sagan. Grace's eyes went wide, looking at the kaleidoscope of stars on the cover.

"It's a pretty old book," Tess said, as if apologizing for her thoughtfulness. "Nearly thirty years, and the guy who wrote it, he's dead now, and there's lots better stuff now on the Internet, but there might be something in there to catch your interest."

"Thank you!" Grace said, taking the book in her hands and nearly dropping it, not expecting it to be quite so heavy. "Is there anything in here on asteroids?"

"Probably," Tess said.

Grace ran down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, where I knew she'd cuddle up on the couch in front of the TV, maybe wrap a blanket around herself while she leafed through the pages of the book.

"That was sweet," Cynthia said, leaning over and giving Tess probably her fourth kiss since we'd arrived.

"Didn't make any sense to throw the d.a.m.n thing out," Tess said. "I could have donated it to the library, but you think they want thirty-year-old books? How are you, sweetheart?" she asked Cynthia. "You look tired."

"Oh, I'm fine," Cynthia said. "You? You look kind of beat today."

"Oh, I'm okay I guess," Tess said, peering at us over her reading gla.s.ses.

I held up a loaded shopping bag with twine handles. "We have some things."

"Oh, you shouldn't have," Tess said. "Hand me my loot."

We called Grace back up so she could see Tess receive some new gardening gloves, a red and green silk scarf, a package of fancy cookies. Tess oohed and aahed over each thing as it came out of the bag. "The cookies are from me," Grace announced. "Aunt Tess?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Why do you have so much toilet paper?"

"Grace!" Cynthia scolded.

"That," I said to Grace, "is a fox pa.s.s." I said to Grace, "is a fox pa.s.s."

Tess waved dismissively, suggesting it would take more than that to embarra.s.s her. Like a lot of older people, Tess tended to stockpile certain staples. Her bas.e.m.e.nt storage cupboards were loaded with two-ply. "When it's on sale," Tess said, "I pick up extra."

As Grace retreated again to the bas.e.m.e.nt, Tess quipped, "When the apocalypse comes, I'll be the only one left who can wipe her a.s.s." The gift presentations seemed to have exhausted her, and she leaned back into her chair with a deep sigh.

"You all right?" Cynthia asked.

"I'm peachy," she said, then, as if she'd just remembered something, "Oh, I can't believe it. I meant to buy some ice cream for Grace."

"That's okay," Cynthia said. "We thought we'd take you out for dinner, anyway. How about Knickerbocker's? You love the potato skins."

"I don't know," Tess said. "I suppose I am a bit off today, tired. Why don't we have dinner here? I have some things. But I really wanted some ice cream."

"I can go," I said. Tess lived closer to Derby than Milford, and I could drive up there and find a grocery store or a 7-Eleven.

"I could use a couple of other things," Tess said. "Cynthia, maybe you should go, you know if we send him he'll just get it all wrong."

"I suppose," Cynthia said.

"And there's some things I'd like Terry to carry down to the bas.e.m.e.nt from the garage while he's here, if you don't mind, Terry."

I said sure. Tess made up a short list, handed it to Cynthia, who said she probably wouldn't be gone more than thirty minutes. I wandered into the kitchen as Cynthia went out the door, glanced at the bulletin board next to the wall-mounted phone where Tess had pinned a picture of Grace taken at Disney World. I opened the freezer compartment of the refrigerator, looking for some ice to put in a gla.s.s of water.

In the front of the freezer was a container of chocolate ice cream. I took it out, pried off the lid. It had one scoop out of it. Getting a bit absentminded in her old age, I figured.

"Hey, Tess," I said, "you've already got ice cream here."

"Is that a fact," she said from the living room.

I put the ice cream back, closed the freezer, and took a seat on the couch by Tess. "What's going on?" I asked.

"I've been to the doctor," Tess said.

"What? What's wrong?"

"I'm dying, Terry."

"What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"Don't worry, it's not going to happen overnight. I might have six months, I might have a year. You never really know. Some people, they can hang on quite a while, but I'm not looking forward to some long, drawn-out kind of thing. That's no way to go. Tell you the truth, I'd like to go fast, just like that, you know? Lot simpler that way."

"Tess, tell me what's wrong."

She shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. They've done some tests, they've got a couple more they have to do to be sure, but they'll probably just tell me the same thing. The upshot is, I can see the finish line. And I wanted to tell you first, because Cynthia, she's been going through a lot lately. Twenty-five years, the TV show."

"There was an anonymous call the other day," I said. "That shook her up pretty bad."

Tess closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "Nuts. They see something on TV, they get out the phone book."

"That's the way I figure it."

"But Cynthia's going to have to know eventually, that I'm not well. I guess it's a matter of finding the right time."

We heard noises on the stairs. Grace emerged from the bas.e.m.e.nt, lugging her new book with both hands. "Did you know," she said, "that even though the moon looks like it's been hit with way more asteroids than the Earth, the Earth has probably been hit with just as many, but because the Earth has atmosphere, the atmosphere smoothes the land so you don't see all the craters, but there's not any air or anything on the moon, so when it gets. .h.i.t by an asteroid, it just looks that way forever?"

"Good book, huh?" said Tess.

Grace nodded. "I'm hungry," she said.

"Your mother has gone to pick up a few things," I said.

"She's not here?"

I shook my head. "She'll be back soon. But there's some ice cream in the freezer. Chocolate."

"Why don't you take the whole container downstairs," Tess said. "And a spoon."

"For real?" Grace asked. This violated every rule of etiquette she knew.

"Go for it," I said.

She ran into the kitchen, dragged a chair over to reach the freezer compartment, grabbed the ice cream and a spoon from the drawer, and ran back downstairs.

Tess's eyes were moist when I looked back at her.

I said, "I think you should be the one to tell Cynthia."

She reached out and held my hand. "Oh, of course, I wouldn't make you do that. I just needed to tell you first, so when I tell Cynthia, you'll be ready to help her through it."

I said, "She'll have to help me through it, too."

Tess grinned at that. "You turned out to be a pretty good catch for her. I wasn't so sure at first, you know."

"So you've said." I smiled.

"You seemed a bit serious to me. Very earnest. But you turned out to be perfect. I'm so glad she found you, all the heartache she's had."

Then Tess looked away, but squeezed my hand a little harder. "There's something else," she said.

The way she said it, it was like what she still had to tell me was bigger than the fact that she was dying.

"There are some things I need to tell, while I'm still able to, to get it off my chest. You understand what I mean?"

"I suppose so."

"And I've only got so much time left to tell it. What if something happens and I go tomorrow? What if I never get a chance to tell you what I know? Thing is, I don't know whether Cynthia's ready to hear all this, I don't even know if it does her any service to know, because what I have to say only raises more questions than it answers. It may torment her more than help her."

"Tess, what is it?"

"Just hold your horses and hear me out. You need to know this, because it might be an important piece of the puzzle someday. On its own, I don't know what to make of it, but maybe, in the future, you'll find out a bit more about what happened to my sister and her husband, to Todd. And if you do, this might be useful."

I was breathing, but it felt as though I was holding my breath, waiting for Tess to say what she had to say.

"What?" Tess said, looking at me like I was stupid. "You don't want to know?"

"Jesus Christ, Tess, I'm waiting."

"It's about the money," she said.

"Money?"

Tess nodded tiredly. "There was money. It would just show up."

"Money from where?"

Her eyebrows went up. "Well, that's the question, isn't it? Where was it coming from? Who was it coming from?"

I ran my hand over the top of my head, starting to feel exasperated. "Just start at the beginning."

Tess breathed in slowly through her nose. "It wasn't going to be easy, raising Cynthia. But like I said, I didn't have any choice. There wasn't any other choice I'd have wanted to make. She was my niece, my sister's flesh and blood. I loved her like she was my own child, so when it happened, I took her in.

"She'd been a bit of a wild kid there, up until her folks up and vanished, and in some ways, that calmed her down. She started to get a little more serious about things, started paying attention at school. She had her moments, of course. The cops brought her home one night, found her with marijuana."

"Really?" I said.

Tess smiled. "Let her off with a warning." She put a finger to her lips. "Not a word."

"Sure."

"Anyway, a thing like that happens to you, losing your family, you think you've got license to do whatever the h.e.l.l you want, to cut loose, stay out late, that you're owed. You know?"

"I think so."

"But there was a part of her wanted to get herself together. In case her parents came back, she'd see that she made something of herself, that she didn't turn out to be useless. Even though they were gone, she wanted them to be proud of her. So she decided to go to school, to college."

"The University of Connecticut," I said.

"That's right. Good school. Not cheap. I wondered how I was going to be able to afford it. Her marks, they weren't bad, but they weren't scholarship material, if you get my meaning. I was going to have to look into loans for her, that kind of thing."

"Okay."

"I found the first envelope in the car, on the pa.s.senger seat," Tess said. "It was just sitting there. I'd come out from work, got in, there was this white envelope on the seat next to me. Thing is, I'd locked the car, but I'd left the windows open half an inch, it was pretty hot out and I wanted to let a little air in. There was enough room to fit in the envelope, but only just. It was pretty thick."

I c.o.c.ked my head to one side. "Cash?"

"Just under five thousand dollars of it," Tess said. "All sorts of bills. Twenties, fives, some hundreds."

"An envelope full of cash? No explanation, no note, nothing?"

"Oh, there was a note."