The Catch
“So what did you get?”
“Leave me alone Marjorie.” Reaching past her, I grabbed the milk. Hands on hips, she wasn’t going away that easily.
“But what the hell did you get?” She was near screaming now. “I need to know!”
I sighed, filled the glass halfway and looked at her. Her alcoholic nose, veiny and bulbous, was so red it was practically bursting. Ugh, how he hated her.
“He left me money.” I wasn’t going to tell her how much. Not yet anyway.
“Of course he did! That jackass!” She threw her purse down on the counter (my counter) and grabbed a wine glass. “Of course! He gave you the money! You! He hated you! I got books. Stinky, old, decrepit books! Jesus!” Without asking, she grabbed a bottle of red, fished thru the right drawer and found the corkscrew. I rolled my eyes at her.
“Marjorie,” I had already told her this, but why not waste more of my breath, “you can sell those books if you want. You have a first editions of Dickens and Tolkein.”
“Horse shit!” She had thrown back the first glass in two long swallows and was mounting an attack on the second. “I want to know! Why did you have to go into another room with that dirtbag lawyer? What are you hiding from me? I’m supposed…”
Fine. Fuck it. I cut her off. “Millions Marjorie. He left me millions.”
The glass smacked him on the side of his face. It was out of her hand so quick, he never saw it coming. Jesus. He looked at her, calculating how long it would take to get over there and grab her fat neck.
She stared him down. Seconds ticked by, recorded in wine drips from his chin to the tile. And maybe blood? Damn!
He pulled in a big, steadying breath. She watched him, eyes narrowed.
“There’s a catch.” She was already pulling down another glass and tipping the bottle.
“Oh yeah? What? You have to give it away to poor people or something?” She snorted in that disgusting way she had. Her nostrils suddenly swallowing her face.
“No.” He couldn’t stand to look at her. He looked down at the wine-blood puddle instead. “We have to get remarried and live together. Otherwise, it all goes to Toothy Ted.”
She laughed. It was a full on, head thrown back, hollering laugh. Her large frame shook with it. But when her eyes came back level with mine, they were flat and her smile was gone. As if it had never been there at all.
“Fantastic,” she said, her voice razor sharp. “I always loved your uncle Bert.”