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The Gate House :: Demille Nelson
Страница: 48 из 490” I was about to explain that Elizabeth needed to do an inventory of personal property and look over the paperwork, but that might confirm to Ethel that she had one foot in the grave and theother on a banana peel, so I recovered nicely and said, “I need to arrange with her for your home health care.”
She was getting annoyed with my pretense that she was going home, and quite frankly, so was I. She said, “I am dying , Mr. Sutter. Didn’t they tell you?”
“Well, I’m-”
“That’s why I’m in hospice, and not the hospital.”
“Right.”
“What I need you to do is to take care of my affairs after I’m gone.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Thank you.” She added, “I won’t keep you here very long.”
I wanted to say, “Take your time,” but instead I said, “I’ll be here as long as necessary.” I added, “And thank you for your hospitality.”
She reminded me, “You were, and I assume still are, a paying guest. A boarder.”
“Right.” Check’s in the mail, Ethel. I mean, talk about the world turning upside down. Upward mobility in America can be fast, but downward mobility is always a free fall.
Anyway, to put her mind at ease, I said, “If you’ll let me know how much the rent is, I’ll deposit the amount in your account.”
She replied, “The same rent as you were paying ten years ago.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“You may deduct that amount from your bill.”
“There’s no charge for any legal work I may need to perform on your behalf.”
“Thank you.” She asked me, “How long are you staying here, Mr. Sutter?”
Even if I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t tell anyone who was in contact with Susan.
“Mr. Sutter? Are you going back to London? Or are you home?”
“I’m not certain.”
“Does that mean you may stay?”
“It means I’m not certain.”
She detected a note of annoyance in my tone, so she changed the subject and asked me, “Is my will in order?”
“I believe it is.” I added, “I’ll need to bring you a few documents to review and update, and perhaps a few papers to sign.”
“Don’t wait a week.”
“I’ll come Saturday or Sunday.”
“Sunday is the Sabbath.”
“Right. Saturday or Monday.”
I never quite understood these old Christian socialists. I mean, it wasn’t a pure contradiction of terms, and socialists could certainly be religious – social justice through Jesus – but Ethel was, in some ways, among the last of a dying breed.
She was getting annoyed with my pretense that she was going home, and quite frankly, so was I. She said, “I am dying , Mr. Sutter. Didn’t they tell you?”
“Well, I’m-”
“That’s why I’m in hospice, and not the hospital.”
“Right.”
“What I need you to do is to take care of my affairs after I’m gone.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Thank you.” She added, “I won’t keep you here very long.”
I wanted to say, “Take your time,” but instead I said, “I’ll be here as long as necessary.” I added, “And thank you for your hospitality.”
She reminded me, “You were, and I assume still are, a paying guest. A boarder.”
“Right.” Check’s in the mail, Ethel. I mean, talk about the world turning upside down. Upward mobility in America can be fast, but downward mobility is always a free fall.
Anyway, to put her mind at ease, I said, “If you’ll let me know how much the rent is, I’ll deposit the amount in your account.”
She replied, “The same rent as you were paying ten years ago.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“You may deduct that amount from your bill.”
“There’s no charge for any legal work I may need to perform on your behalf.”
“Thank you.” She asked me, “How long are you staying here, Mr. Sutter?”
Even if I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t tell anyone who was in contact with Susan.
“Mr. Sutter? Are you going back to London? Or are you home?”
“I’m not certain.”
“Does that mean you may stay?”
“It means I’m not certain.”
She detected a note of annoyance in my tone, so she changed the subject and asked me, “Is my will in order?”
“I believe it is.” I added, “I’ll need to bring you a few documents to review and update, and perhaps a few papers to sign.”
“Don’t wait a week.”
“I’ll come Saturday or Sunday.”
“Sunday is the Sabbath.”
“Right. Saturday or Monday.”
I never quite understood these old Christian socialists. I mean, it wasn’t a pure contradiction of terms, and socialists could certainly be religious – social justice through Jesus – but Ethel was, in some ways, among the last of a dying breed.