Page 80 of The Bad Weather Friend

With the stern expression of a Scandinavian adolescent activist predicting planetary destruction on TV, Spoils said, “You must agree never to speak negatively about your mother in public and never to write negatively about her for publication.”

“Why would I?” Benny asked.

The attorney’s face pleated in an expression of manifold suspicions. “You will also be agreeing never to seek her out or to make any attempt to contact her. Should you do so, you will then be required to return this gift in full, with interest at whatever rate has prevailed in the time you have had its use.”

“All right.”

After a silence, Spoils said, “Mr. Catspaw, it is important that I can swear under oath, if it comes to such an occasion, that you signed these documents with full awareness that your mother’s fortune is now worth in excess of ninety-five million dollars.”

“Oh, good,” Benny said. “She’s made some great investments with the seventy million from Jubal’s estate. I’ve always known she was smarter than people gave her credit for.”

Spoils and Mott exchanged a puzzled look, and then the lawyer said, “And you understand that everything you will ever realize from that estate is two hundred and six thousand four hundred and fifty-five dollars. Does that seem adequate to you?”

“Wow, yeah. It’s a lot more than I expected. I didn’t expect anything. One thing worries me.”

“Ah,” said Spoils, as Mott said, “Here we go.”

“Is Mother’s health all right? Is she well?” Benny asked.

“Well? Yes. She’s perfectly well.” The attorney’s eyes narrowed as though Benny had begun to emit a dangerously bright light. “Why would you ask? What do you mean to imply?”

“It’s just, you said I have no claim while she’s living or after she’s dead. I thought maybe she’s ill.”

“No, no. That was just a statement of terms. She is not ill. She’s in excellent health.”

Benny sighed with relief. “That’s great. You had me worried there, the way you phrased it.”

After making coffee for Spoils and Mott, serving it with a plate of St. Michel French butter cookies with sea salt, Benny read the documents while his guests sipped and nibbled.

He signed the various papers. He inked his thumbprint in Imogene Mott’s record book. He accepted the cashier’s check.

Subsequent to the attorney and the notary’s departure, Benny spent an hour writing a thank-you-and-goodbye note to Dr. Liebhaber. He placed it on the kitchen table with five hundred dollars of his unspent birthday and Christmas money, so she could buy something special that she enjoyed eating.

One day ahead of schedule, he left Dr. Liebhaber’s house with his luggage. He found a motel and rented a room for one week. He selected a bank and opened an account with the cashier’s check.

After five years of hermitry, he found the world to be much bigger than he remembered, with unlimited possibilities. Of the numberless things he could have done, he chose first to return to Briarbush Academy.

URNFIELD UNCHAINED

When Llewellyn Urnfield finished most of the steak tartare with all of the chopped onions and capers, she saved a portion of the meat for the whippet, whose name turned out to be Virginia Woolf. Benny thought Sylvia Plath would have been just as literary a name and less precious, but because it wasn’t his whippet, he kept his opinion to himself. Virginia Woolf finessed the meat from Urnfield’s fingers with admirable delicacy. The dog accepted the second morsel, licked her lips discreetly, put her head down on her paws, and went to sleep again.

After patting her mouth with a napkin and taking another sip of red wine, Urnfield surveyed her three visitors, where they stood on the far side of the kitchen island. Her disdain was of such pungency that Benny’s nostrils twitched.

“Mr. Catspaw,” she said, “you have no idea how much I detest you and your kind.”

Benny said, “I have a pretty good idea.”

“You donothave an idea. You only think you have an idea. You’re incapable of conceiving of the weight and complexity of my contempt for you. Do you know what the difference is between you and me, Mr. Catspaw?”

“I’ll probably be wrong about that, too, but I’ll give it a try. People keep telling me I’m nice.”

“That’s better, but it does not define the fullness of our difference. And what has being nice ever gotten you?”

“I don’t know. Not much, I guess.”

“Then why do you continue on that unfortunate path?”

Benny shrugged. “I can’t seem to help it.”

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