Everything Leads to You

Frank takes off his glasses. He rubs his eyes.

“I don’t like to think about this sort of thing,” he says. “When I was a young man I fancied myself a philosopher. I enjoyed thinking about the tragedies of life. I thought all the feeling out of everything. But not anymore.”

“I’m so sorry, Frank,” I say. “We didn’t mean to upset you. We should have called before we came. I just got the idea about using your house for the movie and—”

“It’s all right,” he says. “So I’m upset. So what? It’s your life.” He glances at Ava and nods. “If you have a right to anything in this life, it’s to know your own history.”

He takes a bite of the cookie. Takes his time chewing and swallowing. We sit in silence and wait.

“So this is what happened,” he says. “When Caroline first moved in she would tease me about the state of the garden. Pitiful, she told me. You think you can do better? I asked her, and, well, she showed me. In a matter of weeks she cleaned it up, got it blooming. We would have long talks sometimes when we were out there working. She was a dreamer. Always imagining an extravagant future. A penthouse overlooking the ocean. That’s what she wanted someday. But for the time being, we had an arrangement about the flowers. She was to keep them pruned and watered, and we would help her out with the rent. She did it for a little while. But then she took a turn. It was clear just to look at her. Soon the garden was overgrown and the flowers were starting to wither. We hadn’t seen Caroline around for a couple of days. I started getting upset. Edie wanted me to take the responsibility away from her, but I knew she couldn’t afford the full rent, especially with the baby. With you, I mean.

“I had been calling her, you see? Calling and calling and she wouldn’t answer. But I knew she was around. Her car was in the lot and at night she’d have parties. Some of the neighbors would complain and once in a while Edie would go up there but I never wanted to get into it. You see, I really liked her. I thought she was the sweetest girl. She only showed me her sweet side. Maybe that’s why I looked the other way when she was a few days late on the rent and when she didn’t do the gardening she was supposed to. I was getting to the point where I was going to have to give into my wife, you see, and raise Caroline’s rent.

“I called that morning but, no surprise, there was no answer. And then later on, in the early afternoon, we heard sirens. They aren’t too unusual for this area, but they got louder and louder and then stopped right outside, and I went out there and asked the paramedics what was going on. Told them we owned the building. They said they got a call about someone in apartment F and I said, ‘I’ll get the key.’ I ran up after them—I wasn’t such an old man then, you know—and I opened the door and they let me follow them in. The baby was crying. You were crying. I could tell something was very wrong. And then there she was, your mother, Caroline, and there was no mistaking that she was dead already.”

We’re quiet for a minute. Ava looks pale. I want to reach out and hold her hand but something keeps me from it.

“Did you find out who made the call?” Charlotte asks.

“No,” Frank says. “We never did. But it was made from the apartment.”

“So someone was in there, alive, when Caroline had already died?” Charlotte asks.

“That was my understanding.”

“Maybe it was Tracey,” Charlotte says.

“Or Lenny,” I say.

“Lenny? The name doesn’t sound familiar.” Frank shakes his head. “It could have been anyone, though. I wasn’t acquainted with her friends. Actually, there’s one thing I could check.”

He leans forward. Charlotte walks to his chair and offers him her arm.

“Thank you,” he says, and she helps him stand.

“We have these files over here. All of our old tenants. Everyone has to provide the name of a person to contact in case of emergency. We’ve never been good about clearing it out.”

He opens the drawer of a black metal cabinet and in spite of myself I make a mental note that we’ll have to take it out of the room when we shoot. It’s a cool piece, but too office-like and altogether the wrong color.

“Here we go,” he says, and we all lean forward to hear him. This could lead us to Lenny, whoever he is, or it could lead us to someone else entirely, someone who knew them all and could answer all our questions.

He adjusts his glasses. He squints.

“Tracey Wilder,” he says. “Should I write down her phone number and address?”

We all sigh.

“That’s okay,” Ava says. “I already know her.”

Frank shuffles back to his chair. This time it’s me who helps him sit down.

“I could get used to this kind of treatment,” he says to us with a wink.

“Anytime,” I say. “But we should go, let you watch your game.”

“Don’t you want to wait for Edie? You can ask her about your movie.”