“It does,” I say with conviction. “You, too, sis.”
“I hope the money will come in handy for medical bills and things like that. I know it must be expensive.”
“Thanks, but my friends said they will cover any outstanding expenses,” I say. “Barry’s loaded now, Ron is rich and Sid is set. I know how to pick ’em.”
As I say this, I tighten my grip on her hand and give it a shake.
“What will you use the money for, then, if you don’t mind me asking? Travel?”
“I already live in paradise with my best friends,” I say. “I was thinking I just might pass the money on to someone.”
Trudy turns, her face morphing into confusion.
“You?” she asks.
“We’ve taught you the art of sarcasm, I see? Don’t act so surprised! I’m not that selfish and awful.” I wait a beat. “Am I?”
“You wanted me to sit in that wire chair,” my sister says. “I know you.”
“I do love physical humor,” I say. “Actually, I opened a new account. The money is going into a CD. It will make a little interest. I plan to chip in a bit more around here with the house, but if you ever wanted to look at moving out to the desert, or if Ava needed some help with college, let’s just say the money would be available for that.”
“Teddy.” A smile engulfs her face as she shakes her head in amazement at my generous gesture.
“It’s hard being so fabulous.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Martini,” I say. “A Palm Springs classic, as beautiful and dry as those mountains. One is enough, two make me look like Hugh Jackman and three will have you howling naked with the coyotes tonight.”
“Why don’t I start with one?”
I make our drinks at the cocktail bar on the patio, skewering three blue cheese–stuffed olives and settling them into a martini glass.
“This cocktail is like liquid sunshine,” I say, handing it to my sister.
She takes a sip, and her eyes water.
“This cocktail tastes like gasoline!”
“I made it right, then!” I take a seat, grab my martini and hold it out. “Cheers!”
“To a new start!”
We clink glasses.
The edge of the mountain is tinged in light. Candy-color clouds drift among the peaks.
“Remember that oil painting Mama won at a church raffle that hung over the sofa in the living room?” Trudy finally asks. “Light splaying from behind beautiful clouds hugging a mountain, and Mama always said the plume of sun that rose toward the heavens was Jesus lighting our way.”
I see it clearly. That painting hung over Daddy every night as he raged, a comical juxtaposition. Mama stared at that cheap stained rendering in a warped frame every night before she fell asleep in her rented hospice bed. I stared at it as a kid praying I could find a place that looked like that. I finally did.
“I remember.”
“The sky looks like that tonight,” Trudy says.
“It certainly does.” I sip my martini. “Your hair looks good, by the way, Trudy.”
“Keep drinking,” she says with a chuckle. “You’re getting nicer.”
