“Mom! Open up!” she shoved her shoulder against the wood. “Frank let the dogs loose! Julian dumped me! They’re poor, Mom! They’re bankrupt!”
“I know,” I said.
“You knew?” she shrieked. “And you let me marry him?”
“I didn’t ruin your life, Camille. I just stopped paying for your illusions.”
The elevator dinged. Julian and Alberta rushed into the hallway, panting, eyes wild.
“There they are!” Alberta yelled. “The scammers! Open up! We want our money! We want the dowry!”
“Leave,” I said.
“We aren’t leaving!” Camille cried. “Mom, I’m pregnant! You can’t kick out your grandson!”
Earl gasped behind me. “Pregnant?”
“Yes!” Camille nodded frantically. “Julian, tell them!”
“Yes,” Julian slicked back his hair, his greed returning. “The heir. You owe him a future. Open the door.”
I looked at my daughter. The desperation in her eyes was pathetic. She was playing her last card.
“Wait here,” I said.
I went to my desk. I grabbed an envelope from a private clinic that had arrived three days ago—mail Camille had been too busy to collect.
I returned to the door and slid the envelope through the crack.
“Read it,” I said.
Camille tore it open. Alberta snatched it.
“Reminder of follow-up appointment for contraceptive implant. Effective period: 3 years. Installed: One month ago.“
Alberta looked at Camille with pure hatred. “An IUD? You lied?”
“It’s a mistake!” Camille stammered.
“No mistake,” I said. “You just wanted to stall for time. Goodbye.”
I slammed the door. I locked the deadbolt.
“Open up!” Julian kicked the door. “You owe us the fifty thousand dollars! The dowry! We know you have it!”
“We’ll sue!” Alberta screamed. “We’ll take the apartment!”
I opened the door again. I stepped out into the hallway. Earl followed me, holding a cast-iron skillet at his side. He didn’t raise it. He just held it.
The Vances froze.
“You want the money?” I asked softly.
“We want justice!” Alberta hissed.
“Fine. Justice. You want the fifty thousand dollars my husband and I saved for forty years? The money from selling my mother’s condo? The burial money?”
“Yes!” Julian yelled. “Transfer it now!”
“I can’t,” I said. “I transferred it at 4:30 p.m. Half an hour after we left your gate.”
I held up a receipt.
HOSPICE AID CHARITY FUND. AMOUNT: $50,000. STATUS: EXECUTED.
Julian snatched the paper. His face went gray. “You… you gave it to a hospice?”
“Anonymous donation. Non-refundable. It’s gone. We are broke. And so are you.”
“You lunatic!” Julian screamed. “You burned the money?”
“I bought my freedom,” I said. “Now, get out.”
Sirens wailed outside. The neighbors had called the police.
Two officers stepped off the elevator. They took one look at the hysterical Vances and the calm elderly couple.
“Ma’am, these people bothering you?” the sergeant asked.
“They are trespassing and attempting extortion,” I said.
“Arrest them!” Alberta pointed at me. “They stole our future!”
“Let’s go, folks,” the sergeant said, grabbing Julian’s arm. “Disorderly conduct. Move it.”
As the elevator doors closed on Camille’s sobbing face, Alberta hissed, “You’ll die alone!”
“I’d rather die of thirst than drink from hands that hate me,” I replied.
The Coast to Coast Dreamliner
The hallway was quiet. Earl and I went back inside.
“So,” Earl said, sitting heavily at the table. “We have no money. No daughter. No burial fund.”
“We have something else,” I said.
I pulled a glossy brochure from the folder. THE COAST TO COAST DREAMLINER. LUXURY CLASS.
“What is this?” Earl asked.
“I didn’t tell them everything,” I smiled, pouring us two shots of vodka. “Remember the brick garage downtown? The one we rented out for storage?”
“Yeah?”
“I sold it yesterday.”
Earl’s eyes widened. “Viv…”
“It sold for exactly the price of two first-class sleeper tickets to San Francisco. Full board. Departure is tomorrow at 8:00 a.m.”
Earl looked at the brochure. He looked at me. Tears filled his eyes.
“But Camille…”
“Camille is an adult. Let her wait tables. It builds character. We are done, Earl. We are retired.”
We packed in silence. We took only what we needed. I left the chocolate dress hanging in the closet. It belonged to a woman who no longer existed.
At 5:00 a.m., we left the keys with the concierge and took a taxi to Grand Central.
The train was a silver bullet waiting on the tracks. We boarded. The cabin was velvet and mahogany.
As the train pulled out of New York, sliding past the grey tenements and into the green countryside, I took out my phone. I selected the contacts for Camille, Julian, and Alberta.
Block. Block. Block.
Then I threw the SIM card into the trash bin.
Earl sat across from me, watching the Hudson River flash by.
“You know what I regret, Viv?” he asked.
“What?”
“That we didn’t see that sign on the gate ten years ago.”
I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in decades. “Better late than never, old man. Pour the tea. San Francisco is waiting.”
The train sped west, carrying us away from the wreckage, toward the ocean, toward a life where the only sign on the gate read: Welcome.
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