The house was an old Victorian in midtown Memphis, a hand-me-down from Ellie's father, who'd once been prosperous. Not much else was inherited. Forrest had been attracted to the notion of trust funds and real family money, but after fifteen years he'd given up hope. In the early days of the arrangement he had lived in the main bedroom. Now his quarters were in the basement. Others lived in the house too, all rumored to be struggling artists in need of refuge.
Ray parked by the curb in the street. The shrubs needed trimming and the roof was old, but the house was aging nicely. Forrest painted it every October, always in a dazzling color scheme he and Ellie would argue over for a year. Now it was a pale blue trimmed with reds and oranges. Forrest said he'd painted it teal one year.
A young woman with snow-white skin and black hair greeted him at the door with a rude, "Yes?"
Ray was looking at her through a screen. Behind her the house was dark and eerie, same as last time. "Is Ellie in?" Ray asked, as rudely as possible.
"She's busy. Who's calling?"
"I'm Ray Atlee, Forrest's brother."
"Who?"
"Forrest, he lives in the basement."
"Oh, that Forrest." She disappeared and Ray heard voices somewhere in the back of the house.
Ellie was wearing a bedsheet, white with streaks and spots of clay and water and slits for her head and arms. She was drying her hands on a dirty dish towel and looked frustrated that her work had been interrupted. "Hello, Ray," she said like an old friend and opened the door.
"Hello, Ellie." He followed her through the foyer and into the living room.
"Trudy, bring us some tea, will you?" she called out. Wherever Trudy was, she didn't answer. The walls of the room were covered with a collection of the wackiest pots and vases Ray had ever seen. Forrest said she sculpted ten hours a day and couldn't give the stuff away. "I'm sorry about your father," she said. They sat across a small glass table from each other. The table was unevenly mounted on three phallic cylinders, each a different shade of blue. Ray was afraid to touch it.
"Thank you," he said stiffly. No calls, no cards, no letters, no flowers, not one word of sympathy uttered until now, in this happenstance meeting. An opera could barely be heard in the background.
"I guess you're looking for Forrest," she said.
"Yes."
"I haven't seen him lately. He lives in the basement, you know, comes and goes like an old tomcat. I sent a girl down this morning to have a look - she said she thinks he's been gone for a week or so. The bed hasn't been made in five years."
"That's more than I wanted to know."
"And he hasn't called."
Trudy arrived with the tea tray, another of Ellie's hideous creations. And the cups were mismatched little pots with large handles. "Cream and sugar?" she asked, pouring and stirring.
'Just sugar."
She handed him his brew and he took it with both hands. Dropping it would've crushed a foot.
"How is he?" Ray asked when Trudy was gone.
"He's drunk, he's sober, he's Forrest."
"Drugs?"
"Don't go there. You don't want to know."
"You're right," Ray said and tried to sip his tea. It was peach-flavored something and one drop was enough. "He was in a fight the other night, did you know about it? I think he broke his nose."
"It's been broken before. Why do men get drunk and beat up each other?" It was an excellent question and Ray had no answer. She gulped her tea and closed her eyes to savor it. Many years ago, Ellie Crum had been a lovely woman. But now, in her late forties, she had stopped trying.
"You don't care for him, do you?" Ray asked.
"Of course I do."
"No, really?"
"Is it important?"
"He's my brother. No one else cares about him."
"We had great sex in the early years, then we just lost interest. I got fat, now I'm too involved with my work."
Ray glanced around the room.
"And besides, there's always sex," she said, nodding to the door from which Trudy had come and gone.
"Forrest is a friend, Ray. I suppose I love him, at some level. But he's also an addict who seems determined to always be an addict. After a point, you get frustrated."
"I know. Believe me, I know."
"And I think he's one of the rare ones. He's strong enough to pick himself up at the last possible moment."
"But not strong enough to kick it."
"Exactly. I kicked it, Ray, fifteen years ago. Addicts are tough on each other. That's why he's in the basement."
He's probably happier down there, Ray thought. He thanked her for the tea and the time, and she walked him to the door. She was still standing there, behind the screen, when he raced away.
Chapter 22
The estate of Reuben Vincent Atlee was opened for probate in the courtroom where he had presided for thirty-two years. High on the oak-paneled wall behind the bench, a grim-faced Judge Atlee looked down upon the proceedings from between the Stars and Stripes and the state flag of Mississippi. It was the same portrait they had placed near his coffin during the courthouse wake three weeks earlier. Now it was back where it belonged, in a place where it would undoubtedly hang forever.
The man who had ended his career, and sent him into exile and seclusion at Maple Run, was Mike Farr from Holly Springs. He'd been reelected once and according to Harry Rex was doing a credible job. Chancellor Farr reviewed the petition for letters of administration, and he studied the one-page will attached to the filings.
The courtroom was busy with lawyers and clerks milling about, filing papers and chatting with clients. It was a day set aside for uncontested matters and quick motions. Ray sat in the front row while Harry Rex was at the bench, Whispering back and forth with Chancellor Farr. Next to Ray was Forrest, who, other than the faded bruises under his eyes, looked as normal as possible. He had insisted that he would not be present when probate was opened, but a tongue-lashing from Harry Rex had persuaded him otherwise. - He'd finally come home to Ellie's, the usual return from the streets without a word to anyone about where he'd been or what he'd been up to. No one wanted to know. There was no mention of a job, so Ray was assuming his brief career as a medical screener for the Skinny Ben lawyers was over.
Every five minutes, a lawyer would crouch in the aisle, stick out a hand, and tell Ray what a fine man his father had been. Of course Ray was supposed to know all of them because they knew him. No one spoke to Forrest.
Harry Rex motioned for Ray to join them at the bench. Chancellor Farr greeted him warmly. "Your father was a fine man and a great judge," he said, leaning down.
"Thank you," Ray replied. Then why, during the campaign, did you say he was too old and out of touch? Ray wanted to ask. It had been nine years earlier and seemed like fifty. With the passing of his father, everything in Ford County was now decades older.
"You teach law?" Chancellor Farr asked. :
"Yes, at the University of Virginia."
He nodded his approval and asked, "All the heirs are present?"
"Yes sir," answered Ray. "It's just my brother, Forrest, and myself"
"And both of you have read this one-page document that purports to be the last will and testament of Reuben Atlee?"
"Yes sir."
"And there is no objection to this will being probated?"
"No sir"
"Very well. Pursuant to this will, I will appoint you as the executor of your late father's estate. Notice to creditors will be filed today and published in a local paper. I'll waive the bond. Inventory and accounting will be due pursuant to the statute."