“Did you? How interesting. Let me give you a little advice, Paul. Do not presume to tell me how to invest my money. I will take care of my daughter and her children. But don’t expect anything from me, Paul. Not a dime. I see you for what you are.” His words sounded like gravel. Too bad he wasn’t warming up to his only son-in-law. His loss. We could have gone fishing together, or perhaps, joined an investment club together. I know from my research that he likes to take expensive trips. Golfing in Scotland with his only son-in-law would have been swell.
“Listen, Donald. Can I speak freely here? I take good care of your daughter, and I will take good care of your only grandchildren. I’m not sure why you don’t like me, but I wish you and I could build a relationship. It could benefit both of us, you see. I help you keep your relationship with Mia and your grandchildren—a relationship you know won’t end well if you make her choose between us—and you get to take on the son you never had. Let’s take a trip together, to Scotland or somewhere. How about it? You might just change your mind about me.” I prowled to the corner of my office, wiped some dust off the ficus tree leaf. The cleaning service clearly needed to be changed again.
“We will not be friends, young man, and you are certainly not my son. You are my daughter’s husband. That’s it. Nothing more.” This time his voice was quiet.
I dropped mine to match. “Well, your loss. But like you, I’m king of my castle and if you ever want to see your grandkids, you better make sure the king is happy. Talk soon.” After I hung up, I called my secretary. My plant was drowning in dust. It was embarrassing, really. What if a client noticed? “Change cleaning companies, immediately.”
“Mr. Strom, we just changed services two months ago. Give them a chance.” I know my secretary didn’t want to go through the work of finding another cleaning service but too bad. I didn’t like the way my secretary was looking at me lately, like she was sizing me up. Disrespect from the help isn’t ever tolerated. I would need to make two changes, it appeared.
“This is not up for discussion. Just do it,” I said. “And go ahead and take an extra half hour for lunch. You deserve it.” I was a demanding boss, but I could be kind, too. Just ask anybody. Up to a point. This one had reached it. When my patience ran out, it was over. She’d find that out when she came back from her extra long lunch break.
But with Mia’s parents, I must be subtle in my control. I allow the Pilmers to see the boys, of course, ever since Mia told me they’d set up large trust funds for them. So nice, and she gave me access to the accounts so I could monitor them. I was sure old Donald wouldn’t like that, but too bad. Mia was in love and what was hers was mine.
And when they are granted a visit, my in-laws dote on Mikey and Sam just like grandparents are supposed to, bringing them age-appropriate presents as they should. I make sure that chance doesn’t happen too often, stretching out time between visits—theirs to Ohio and ours to New York—to be certain absence makes their hearts grow fonder, or at least kinder, when it comes to their only son-in-law. I know Mia and her mom do video chats often, and the boys get to see their only living grandma then. Now that I’ve made Phyllis a grandmother she’s gotten over any lingering reservations about our hasty marriage, so I keep sending the pillboxes. Easy trade.
It’s nice that Mia came from a family of means, especially at year-end when they gift us serious cash. We often don’t make it to New York for Christmas; usually I have a work commitment conveniently pop up. But the money still arrives, checks tucked inside crisp linen envelopes. Four checks, one made out to each of us. Arguably, this could have been a reason to have a third child. Had I known about these checks rolling in every year, or calculated the payment over the life of a third child, I probably would have said yes to another.
Helps out a lot, those gifts, but they won’t arrive for another seven months. That is not in time. Mia’s quarterly stock dividends don’t hurt either, although that money already has been spent. I can’t even imagine how many shares we will end up with in all of those blue chip companies, once Phyllis and Donald pass. They’re younger than my parents were, but they live in a big, crazy city, so who knows what could happen to them. Her inheritance could appear any day, anytime now. Just like the letter that appeared from Mia’s Texas uncle, Donald’s brother Derrick, the family’s black sheep. Wasn’t expecting that at all. That’s why there is no need to worry about money. Opportunities arise all the time. I’ve been waiting to share the Texas news with Mia and I will, when the time is right.
Of course, I knew Mia Pilmer was rich, was told that before I even met her. But I didn’t even think about her money when I was courting her. I was an established advertising executive and she was a young beauty just out of college. Why would I ever have thought of such a thing as her future inheritance from her parents, or an uncle or otherwise? That would have been shallow.
I have heard the rumors that Mia’s father is a corrupt businessman who learned everything from his father, Donald Pilmer senior. I’m sure you’ve heard them, too, so I’m not being a gossip. It’s just that whenever a certain family is that rich for generations, you can be sure they cheated somewhere along the line. Robber barons, investment bankers, bankers in general, you know the type. Especially when they’re from New York. You may think I sound like I’m jealous, but far from it. I appreciate a good con job, and I’m benefiting from the corruption myself, so more power to the Pilmers. It’s just that you have to be careful in families like this one. One day your luck runs out. You just don’t want to be the generation that blows it, the end of the line so to speak. At least my boys will carry the Strom name on their passports, even as they carry the Pilmer cash in their pockets.
I hear the front door open and wonder if Mia is coming or going. I place the photo of her parents back down on the hall table, next to the photo of my family, minus me. I notice I’ve left fingerprints on both of the silver frames. I don’t feel like wiping them off.
5:00 p.m.
9
I hurry down the stairs and discover Mia has gone outside; she’s standing on our front lawn, the phone pressed to her ear. She is probably driving the babysitter crazy with her check-ins every few hours. I know I’d want to smack her. Maybe that’s why Claudia is on drugs, to deal with Mia’s incessant calls.
I walk into the kitchen and note the time on the round clock tacked to the wall above the back door. It’s five o’clock. A perfectly acceptable time to enjoy a cocktail, I realize. I look around the simple kitchen, getting my bearings again after not being here since last summer. Everything is in place, thanks to Mia and the cleaning crew she called. I notice the bill on the counter.
Written in barely legible script are the instructions: “For spring opening and cleaning. Please send payment immediately. Thank you. Betsy.” I pull an image of Betsy from my mind, and see a woman with missing teeth who smells like an ashtray. She and her crew do a good cleaning job, despite her personal toxic scent. I haven’t opened the cottage before, but imagine it must be a messy job. The place has been closed up tight since the end of October. All kinds of bugs and grime and who knows what had accumulated, I’m sure. A distasteful job, far below anything I would ever consider doing for a living. How is it that some of us are housecleaners, and some are executives? There’s the universe again, bestowing brains and looks and charm on a chosen few of us, the lucky ones.
I open the cupboard and pull out a cocktail glass and then another for Mia. I’m going to wave the white flag, so to speak, with a vodka tonic. I open the refrigerator. It’s empty. We haven’t been to the store for limes, or anything else. I realize I should offer to go. I pull open the back door and step onto the driveway, walking around the house to find Mia. Her back is to me, and she’s still on the phone, her head tilted to the side, bending into the phone in her hand.
I quietly walk up behind her. She doesn’t know I’m here.
“I’m so glad. That is perfect...Yes, Mom, I’m fine,” she says, and as I wonder why she’s speaking to Phyllis, she turns and screams, dropping her phone into the grass. “Paul! Why did you sneak up on me?”
I hold up my hands, shocked by her outburst, and the fear in her eyes. I have no idea why she is so jumpy, but attribute it to our earlier tense talks. I need to calm her down, get our best day ever back on track. She needs a drink. I watch as she bends down and picks up her phone.
“Mia—” I begin, but she holds her hand out to stop me.
“Mom, I’m fine. Paul just snuck up on me, that’s all,” my wife says into the phone. A moment passes. I wonder what Phyllis is telling her daughter. “Good. Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow. Thank you again.”
She pushes the End button and then she looks at me. “What were you doing? Why were you sneaking up on me?” she says. I see panic in her eyes.
“Calm down, honey,” I say, taking a step closer to her, wanting to pull her into my arms. She steps back, shoulders at her ears, eyes wide and unblinking.
“You scared me,” she says. She has folded her arms across her chest, like a coat of armor.
“Obviously. I was just coming out to ask if you’d like a cocktail. And, if you’d like lime, I’d be happy to run to the grocery. I’d be glad to get anything you need,” I say. I want to tell her to remember that I am her knight in shining armor, but I don’t.
“Yes, that would be lovely. I have a whole list of things we’re missing. And did you transfer the money? For the boys?” she asks. She seems to be calming down now. Her eyes aren’t as wide or wild.
“Done,” I assure her. This is a lie. But I will handle it as soon as I go back inside. “Where’s the list? I’ll just be gone for a little while. Unless you want to come with me?”
