Read London Calling for Free Online Page B

answered warily, “Maybe.”
    “Or maybe she was listening for something that was floating in the ether. You know? Nana always had a mystical side to her.”
    Mom and Aunt Elizabeth exchanged a look. It was Aunt Elizabeth who answered me. “That’s a nice way to put it, Martin, but I think there’s a more down-to-earth explanation. Mother started doing and saying some crazy things near the end. She did not go out like Father. He was alert and intelligent until the very end.”
    I looked past Aunt Elizabeth at the wild-eyed old man holding the eightieth-birthday telegram. I thought,
You couldn’t tell by that photo.
But I didn’t say anything.
    On that note, everyone dispersed for their sleeping rooms. It had been an exhausting day for me. I had left the security of my basement, encountered Hank Lowery at mass, traveled for over six hours, and missed my naps. I was soon asleep and dreaming.
    It turned out to be a real-place dream. Here is what I remember: I was asleep in the study. I thought I was there alone, but then I heard a noise at the desk. I looked over and saw my grandfather. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes looked weird and blazing. His hands were pawing at the top of the desk, like a blind man’s, until he found what he was looking for. It was a silver letter opener, with a curved blade and an ornate handle. He clutched the handle in his right fist and held the weapon high, its blade flashing a beam of light toward my eyes. He turned his head and looked just to my right, at the dull glow of the radio dial. Just then, I heard a voice. I don’t think it came from the radio, but it might have. It was a faraway version of Nana’s voice, sounding remarkably calm under the circumstances. “Don’t worry about him,” she assured me. “He’s not after you, Martin. He’s after Jimmy.”
    “Why Jimmy?” I asked her.
    “Because he’s worried.”
    “Why?”
    “You’ll find out.”
    “Tell me who Jimmy is.”
    She didn’t answer, and the dream ended there.
    I woke up to the sound of Dad’s loud snoring. The sun was already up. I got dressed and started down the hall, but I stopped when I spotted Margaret sitting on her bed, working on her laptop. She looked up and asked, “Did you sleep well in there, Martin?”
    I nodded as if I had, but that real-place dream was still on my mind. I just told her, “I’m going down to breakfast.”
    “Hold on. I’ll join you.” Margaret logged off. “I’ve been waiting. I didn’t want to sit between Mom and Aunt Elizabeth while they were arguing about silverware and vases and all.”
    “Is that what they’re doing?”
    “Yeah. It’s stupid. They should let one divide and the other choose. That way, the divider will act fairly. Am I right?”
    “Of course you’re right.”
    We entered the kitchen just as Aunt Elizabeth was saying, “So we’ll have three categories: things to keep; things to donate to charity; things to throw out. And then we’ll divide the things to keep.”
    Mom agreed quietly. “That sounds fair.”
    Margaret and I found some small bran muffins. We each took two of them and a glass of orange juice. Aunt Elizabeth and Mom had stopped speaking, so Margaret asked, “How are you going to decide about the things to keep?”
    Aunt Elizabeth answered, “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
    Margaret directed a nearly imperceptible wink at me. “But isn’t that always a problem?”
    “It may be a problem if we both want the same thing,” Mom said. “Like the Belleek china.”
    Aunt Elizabeth squirmed. “I shall be staying here in the house; keeping it in the family, so to speak. So it makes sense that I keep anything that is part of the house.” She explained, “Like the china collection. It was really chosen to go with this particular dining room. As I recall, you don’t even have a dining room.”
    “Would you say the same thing about the silverware?” Mom asked.
    “Yes. I would. These things are part of our lives