Irene’s Last Willful Testament

“Here you go, ma’am,” the officer said while handing Irene a ticket. “Try to slow down.” He smiled. “Have a nice day.”

“Blow me,” Irene replied.

The officer had been walking away, but upon hearing Irene’s indecent instruction, he turned around and framed himself in the window again.

“What?” he said, bewildered.

“You heard me,” Irene replied.

The officer turned red, but he didn’t say anything for several seconds.

“You kiss your grandchildren with that mouth?” he finally asked.

“I kiss my great-grandchildren with this mouth,” Irene said. “You can use your mouth to kiss my ass.”

“Now look here,” the officer began. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I am eighty-one years old,” Irene said. “I’ll talk however I want.”

“I could run you in,” the officer said.

“No, you can’t,” Irene rejoined. “What do you think is going to happen when you drag an eighty-one-year-old woman into the station house in handcuffs? You think you’ll be some kind of hero? I bet you’ll take so much shit you’ll have to quit your job and become a mall cop or whatever it is you people do when you’re unemployed.”

The officer opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again. He turned on his boot heel and went back toward his car. Irene looked over her shoulder, pulled her car into the lane, and floored it until the cop receded into the distance. When he disappeared from her rear-view mirror, she took her foot off the accelerator and let the car slow down to the speed limit.

There was no sense in getting another ticket. She was lucky she could even drive at all. And it was all downhill from here when it came to driving.

Except it wasn’t downhill, not yet, anyway. Irene had stopped aging. Ashkenazic Jews did that sometimes. She’d won the genetic lottery. Walter hadn’t.

Irene concentrated on remembering how to get where she was going.

Despite looking a sexy seventy, her tailbone hurt because her ass had gotten so bony. Her shoulder hurt whenever she turned the wheel. She had so many little aches and pains that they all blended together like the kale smoothies the kids were drinking nowadays. Yuck.

After ten minutes more of driving, she pulled up to a house in a not-so-wonderful neighborhood. Anyone could see the highway between the houses from the front yard, if you could call it that. Loud trucks went by at all hours of the day and night. She didn’t know how anyone could sleep through it.

Irene grabbed her purse and hoisted herself out of the car.

“Bubbe!” two small children, eight and six, shouted from the side of the house. It was all weeds and dirt, and some of that dirt had rubbed off on the kids. They ran up and hugged her, shmutzing her dress and nearly knocking her down. She leaned as far as she could and hugged Noah and Delilah back, brushing soil off their tuchuses. Then she gave each one a kiss on the cheek.

“Who’s got something for my bubelahs?” Irene asked.

The kids stepped back and looked at her excitedly. Irene opened her purse and drew out two twenty-dollar bills. She handed one to the girl and one to the boy.

“These are for you,” Irene said. “Not your father. Understand?”

They nodded.

“What do you say?” came a voice from the porch.

“Thank you!” the kids said in chorus.

“Now go and put them in those piggy banks I got you,” Irene said. The children ran into the house.

“You don’t have to do that, Grandma,” the young woman said.

“Yes, I do, Ashley,” Irene said, walking around to the back of the car. She pressed the button on her thingy, and the trunk popped open, revealing the load of groceries inside.

“Grandma!” Ashley said in a chastising voice.

Irene didn’t say anything. Taking the lightest bag, the one with the bread in it, she marched up the walk, up the steps, and into the house. She let go of the screen door once she was inside, thinking it would close itself gently. It slammed shut instead. One more thing that wasn’t working around here.

“Fetch, girl,” Irene commanded through the door’s torn screen. She watched until Ashley moved toward the car.

Irene looked into the living room on the way to the kitchen. Sure enough, that lazy schmuck Tyler was asleep on the couch. The slamming door hadn’t disturbed him. Even with her old nose, she could smell the toxic scent of alcohol from where she stood. It was eleven in the morning, early even for Andy Capp. She harrumphed and stomped into the kitchen.

Dumping the bag on the kitchen table, Irene sat heavily onto a chair, fanning herself with her hand. It was hot as hell. The air conditioner in the window must have been on the fritz again. She’d have to do something about that.

Irene watched Ashley come in behind her. Her granddaughter shoved some dirty dishes aside and put the bags on the table. Irene’s eyes followed Ashley as she made two more trips.

“Did you close the trunk?” Irene asked as Ashley set the last bag down.

“Yeah, Grandma,” Ashley said.

“I don’t want my spare tire to go missing,” Irene said.

“No one’s going to take your spare tire,” Ashley said.

“They’ll take it and sell it for drugs,” Irene replied. “Roll it right into a crack house.”

“There aren’t any crack houses here,” Ashley said. “Just opium dens.”

“Look who’s being so smart?” Irene said.

“Sorry, Grandma,” Ashley apologized without much sincerity. She began putting the groceries away. After emptying one of the bags, she held up a fat beef roast. It was kosher, too.

“It’s too expensive,” Ashley said.

“You can freeze what you don’t eat,” Irene instructed. “That way, you can have it again. It’s not too much if you stretch it out for three meals.”

“Well, thank you,” Ashley said. She finished putting the groceries away. “Coffee?”

“If you can find a clean cup,” Irene replied.

“It’s not that bad,” Ashley said defensively.

“Huh.”

“It’s just hard keeping up with everything,” Ashley said, going to the sink and filling the coffee pot. “The kids. My job. I’m so tired, Grandma.”

“The schlemiel doesn’t help,” Irene said. “Get rid of the bum. Or come and live with me. I can take care of the kids when you go to work. You won’t have to worry about that drunk of a husband sending them out to play in traffic or drowning them in the bathtub.”

“He’s trying. He loves us.”

“He should go to Betty Ford,” Irene said. “I said I would pay for it, and I will.”

“He’s just not ready,” Ashley sighed.

Irene wanted to respond to that, but she didn’t.

“Do you have a marker?” Irene asked.

“What?”

“A marker. Do you have one?”

Ashley flipped through a few drawers before drawing out a Sharpie. She handed it to her grandmother.

“What do you need it for?” Ashley asked.

Irene stood up.

“I’m going to write ‘douche canoe’ on Tyler’s forehead,” Irene announced. “Maybe it will keep him out of the bars.” She began walking to the living room. Ashley stood in front of her and held her hand out. Irene sighed and handed the marker back. She sat down again.

“Where did you learn ‘douche canoe?’” Ashley asked.

“Tik Tok,” Irene informed her.

“Really?”

Irene took her cell phone out of her bag. She held it up.

“You’re too old for Tik Tok,” Ashley said.

Irene shot her the finger.

“Grandma. I’m shocked,” Ashley deadpanned. She poured the water into the coffeemaker and added the grounds. She flipped the switch, and the switch glowed a sickly, flickering red. They waited in silence while it brewed. When there was enough, Ashley pulled the pot out and poured two cups. She brought them to the table and sat.

“Finally,” Ashley said. “I can rest. Thank God they have a play date tomorrow. At least I get to sit while they do their thing.”

“What time is the playdate?” Irene asked.

“Three to six. Why?”

Irene heard the galloping sound of the kids stampeding down the stairs.

“We’re hungry!” Delilah exclaimed as they stormed the kitchen.

“See what I mean?” Ashley said to her grandmother.

“I know, dear,” Irene said. “You feed them once, and then they want to do it over and over again. Your mother was the same way, and she was an only child.”

When Irene pulled up to the house, the workmen’s truck was still halfway on the lawn. She wasn’t so happy. She had to pull in around the vehicle and park crookedly. Letting herself into the house, she heard the muffled sound of some shop tool being used in the basement. Good. Those men spent entirely too much time looking at the construction. They took breaks to stare at it like they were painting a masterpiece when they should have been working instead.

Dropping her purse on the foyer table, Irene went through the living room to the master bedroom. Thank heaven it wasn’t upstairs. She hadn’t been up there for a long time. She could only imagine the dust that had accumulated.

In her bedroom, she shucked her shoes and put on her fuzzy pink slippers. That was better. Exiting the bedroom, she went back through the living room, past the dining room, and into the kitchen. There was a lot of racket coming from the basement through the open door. She closed it. It didn’t help much.

Moving in the kitchen was awkward with all the boxes and cases of water stacked next to the sink. Irene opened the freezer to find something, and then she remembered she couldn’t get to the microwave. She maneuvered through the boxes to the one cupboard she could reach. The only edible thing there was a can of tuna. Tuna again. When she was shopping for Ashley, she should have picked up a sandwich for herself. She had figured she’d have lunch with her granddaughter, but the slothful itinerant had woken up, and she wasn’t going to subject herself to his presence while he was awake if she didn’t have to.

As she ate, she listened to Terry Gross interview a man talking about the pet iguana trade. It wasn’t that interesting. Well, every Fresh Air couldn’t be a winner, she supposed. After she ate, she sat and listened to the show until she started nodding off. She then transported herself into the living room and laid down on the couch. She was tired more than usual. As nice as a little nap was, she’d still rather sleep at night and be awake by day like she used to when she was younger.

She woke to the creaking of her basement stairs. Sitting up too quickly, she tried to orient herself before she had to talk to the contractor. A few seconds later, the man poked his head into the living room. He was covered in dust.

“All done,” he announced.

The stars were aligning.

“It’s about time,” Irene complained anyway. The world stopped spinning.

“We did our best,” the man said in self-defense.

“I want to see it,” Irene said. She rose from the couch and made for the basement door off the kitchen. She took the steps slowly, maintaining a death grip on the banister with her left hand. She could feel the man’s exasperation as he slowly climbed down behind her. Tough shit. She didn’t need a broken hip. Not now.

“One tornado shelter, built to order,” the man said, pointing to a new wall in the corner of the basement under the kitchen. It would have made more sense to put it at the bottom of the steps, but that’s where the cellar door to the outside was. “We put in the deadbolt you asked for. The keys are in the lock.”

“The family credenza will be safe,” Irene said. “No one will be able to steal it. Do you know that credenza has been in my family since George Washington was president? It’s worth a fortune.”

“I don’t understand why you wanted us to hang the door so high,” the man said. “The wind could get in.”

“A credenza has to breathe. It’ll get musty if it can’t breathe.”

“I didn’t know that,” the man said.

“Well, that’s a fact.”

“And the peephole?”

“The firemen have to be able to see me to rescue me,” Irene said. “A window won’t do. Glass breaks.”

“Uh-huh. Do you want some help carrying it down?” the contractor asked.

“Carrying what down?” Irene asked.

“The credenza?”

“That’s quite all right,” Irene said. “My sons are coming over to do it. They’ll be careful, and it’ll give me a chance to see them. I hardly see them anymore. Do you see your mother?”

“She lives in Florida.”

“Do you visit?”

“Sure.”

Irene eyed the rest of the work critically. “You could have done a better job cleaning up.”

“I’ll get the guys back in here to go over it again,” the man said, without much enthusiasm.

“No, thank you,” Irene said, noting the time on her watch. “My boys will do it.”

They were silent for a moment. The man looked at her, his face expressionless.

“I suppose you want to be paid now,” Irene said.

They climbed back up the stairs. Irene went to the kitchen, reached around the boxes and the stack of water bottles, and opened the drawer. She removed an envelope containing a thin stack of hundred-dollar bills.

“Cash?” the man said.

“It’s all there,” Irene said, ignoring him. “Count it if you like.”

The man counted. He put the money back in the envelope, satisfied.

“Thank you, ma’am,” the man said.

“Thank you,” Irene said perfunctorily.

“I’ll write you a receipt.”

“Never mind that,” Irene said.

In a few moments, they were gone. Irene watched them drive away. Then she went out to the driveway and moved her car so it was squarely on the cement the way it should be.

Back in the basement, Irene walked seven large empty paint buckets into the tornado shelter. By the light of the shelter’s bare bulb, she filled each halfway with Pine-Sol. She remembered buying the bottles and having one of the clerks bring them out to her car in a loaded shopping cart.

“What do you need all these for?” the boy had asked.

“It’s a sex thing,” Irene had told him. No more questions. The boy had finished loading them in silence. She’d laughed all the way home.

Irene put the lids on the buckets and removed the empty bottles from the shelter. She dumped them into a corner and spread a tarp over them. There wouldn’t be enough room in the recycling bin for all of them, but it wasn’t her problem.

She took a stack of neatly folded blankets and placed them in the corner of the shelter. She took a look around. Was there anything she was forgetting? It looked like all the necessities of life were covered.

After all that exercise, Irene was very sore. She tried to ignore it, but she didn’t sleep very well that night. She woke up early.

Irene had a lot of time to kill. She ate. She watched TV. She ate. She listened to the radio. She ate. Food was her consolation when she was nervous. Finally, it was time for Ashley to take the children on their play date.

Irene found her cell phone in her purse and scrolled through her contacts until she got to Ashley’s number. She pressed the green thing to dial the call. Making telephone calls had changed.

“Grandma?” Ashley answered. “Is something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine, dear. Is that putz you married there? And is he relatively sober?” Irene asked.

“He is,” Ashley said. “Both. Why do you want to know?”

“I need some things carried to the basement,” Irene said. “He needs to come over and do it.”

“Can’t he do it another time? I’d bring him, but I have to get the kids to their playdate,” Ashley said. “I told you about it yesterday.”

“I want it done now. If you can’t bring him, I will come and get him,” Irene said.

“You two in a car together? Is that a good idea?”

“It will be fine.”

“Hold on.”

Irene could hear Ashley talking but couldn’t make out what she was saying. Didn’t matter. She listened to the sound of Tyler replying. He didn’t sound happy. Ashley said something else, and this time it wasn’t a question. Tyler replied again, sounding begrudging.

“He’ll do it,” Ashley said.

“Good,” Irene said. “I’ll be right over.”

Irene made the drive. When she got there, Ashley’s car was gone. Pulling up in front of the house, she honked the horn. She waited. She honked it again. Finally, Tyler appeared. He shuffled over to Irene’s car. She unlocked the door, and he got in. As soon as Tyler shut the door, Irene locked it again.

“Hi, Mrs. Moscowitz,” Tyler said reluctantly.

“Put your seat belt on,” Irene said in lieu of greeting.

Tyler moved to do it. Irene pulled out, swung the car around, and headed for the freeway.

Silence.

“I know you don’t like me…” Tyler began when they were about halfway to Irene’s house.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Irene said.

“Is one of the reasons because I’m not Jewish?” Tyler asked, finishing his thought.

“You’re asking that now?”

“I just thought of it.”

“Of the many reasons I don’t like you, Tyler, that’s not one of them.”

“Look, Mrs. Moscowitz,” Tyler said. “I’m going to get sober. I’m going to get a job.”

“You’re going to do at least one of those things,” Irene murmured.

“Huh?”

“Someday,” Irene said quickly.

“Really. I’m going to do better,” Tyler said, almost pleading.

Irene scoffed.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Once they arrived in Irene’s driveway, she led Tyler up the walk. He followed at a respectful distance. She let herself into her house, letting the screen door partially close in Tyler’s face because he hadn’t opened it for her. She led him to the kitchen.

“What’s in the boxes?” Tyler asked.

“Army food.”

“MREs?”

“I guess that’s what they’re called,” Irene said. “You need to schlepp all that to the tornado shelter in the basement,” Irene said.

“When did you get a tornado shelter?” Tyler asked.

“A little while ago.”

“How did you get all this in here?” Tyler asked.

“The delivery man was very nice,” Irene told him. Twenty-dollar bills can do that.

“Why didn’t you have him put the stuff downstairs?”

“He wasn’t that nice,” Irene said.

“Why do you need all this?” Tyler asked, clearly daunted by the amount of stuff he was going to have to carry.

“If the house falls down, I could be trapped for days,” Irene informed him. “I don’t want to starve to death.”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Tyler said.

“Says you.”

“Where’s the tornado shelter?”

“It’s the wall with the door in it,” Irene explained patiently. “You’re a smart boy. You’ll figure it out.”

Tyler grabbed the first case of water and headed to the basement. She watched him go up and down, up and down. He reminded her of a worker ant. Ants worked, at least. Eventually, Tyler returned from his last trip.

“Is that it?” Tyler asked.

“There’s one more thing,” Irene said. She headed for the stairs. When she realized that Tyler wasn’t following her, she crooked her finger at him. Once downstairs, Irene pulled a tarp off of a mattress. A new set of sheets still in their packaging was on top.

“Put that in,” Irene ordered. “And be careful.”

Tyler picked up an end of the mattress and grunted. He dragged it into the tornado shelter.

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

“Against the wall,” Irene said. “Over there.”

Once Tyler was out of the doorway, Irene pushed the door shut. It was heavier than she thought it would be. She should have practiced. Even so, she managed to get it closed. She turned the key, took it out of the lock, and put it on Walter’s workbench.

Irene smiled.

“Hey! The door’s stuck!” Tyler shouted through the door.

“Oh, no!” Irene replied in a tone that mocked panic. “Whatever should I do?”

The door jiggled in its frame. Irene watched this go on for several seconds.

“Is this door locked?” Tyler asked.

“What do you think?” Irene asked acerbically.

“Let me out,” Tyler said.

“I don’t think so.”

“C’mon! Let me out!”

“No.”

“Let me out now!” he ordered angrily. He banged on the door. “Open the door, or I call the police.”

“You should be so lucky,” Irene said. She knew there was no service in that part of the basement. It was the first thing she’d checked.

Tyler was quiet. Irene peered through the peephole. She saw Tyler holding his phone up to the ceiling. After a minute or two, he gave up.

“Just open the door, and we’ll forget this happened,” Tyler said reasonably. “I won’t tell anybody. I won’t even tell Ashley.”

Irene thought about it. Was this really what she wanted to do?

“Open the door, you old bitch!”

It was definitely what she wanted to do.

Rather than listen to Tyler yell and kvetch, she went upstairs, warmed up supper, ate, watched TV, and then went to bed. For once, she slept soundly, like she had just accomplished something great.

Ashley called early in the morning.

“Grandma?” Ashley asked.

“Who else would it be?” Irene shot back.

“Do you know where Tyler is?”

“He’s not at home?”

“No. And he’s not answering his phone,” Ashley said. There was worry in her voice. “It goes straight to voicemail.”

“Maybe the battery ran out,” Irene suggested. She hoped Ashley would accept that as the reason.

“Maybe,” Ashley said. “When you dropped him off, did he say where he was going?”

“He did not share his evening plans with me,” Irene said.

“Where is he?” Ashley asked the universe via Irene.

“Probably on a bender,” Irene replied.

“He didn’t have that much money,” Ashley informed her grandmother. “He’s usually home by now.”

“He could have met some chippie and run off with her,” Irene suggested. “Wouldn’t that be grand?”

“Grandma…” Ashley said in a warning voice. Irene realized she had probably pushed it as far as it would go.

“It could be that he’s just out and about,” Irene told her granddaughter. “He’ll come home eventually.”

“But he’s usually home by now,” Ashley said.

“It will be fine,” Irene said, knowing it was for the best. Ashley would see that in the end.

After breakfast, she descended into her dungeon with pills and a small plate in her hand. Klonopin. She had had to tell the doctor for months that she was having anxiety to accumulate them. Well, maybe she was anxious, but Tyler needed the pills.

“How are you feeling?” Irene shouted at the door.

“Like shit,” Tyler said. “I can’t sleep. I’m sick. I hurt. I have to go to the bathroom.”

“You have to make?” Irene asked. “Use a bucket.”

“Yeah, I figured that out. There’s no toilet paper.”

That was what she’d forgotten.

Irene had bought herself another trip up the stairs. She fetched a pack and brought it down. They didn’t quite fit under the door, so she unrolled one and stuffed the end in the space. Tyler pulled the toilet paper inside. Once Irene was sure he had enough, she went upstairs again. Listening to Tyler make wasn’t something she wanted to do. It was worth the trip.

An hour later, Irene returned to the basement.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“No,” Tyler replied.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Irene said. She opened the pill bottle and put four tablets on the plate. The website she’d researched on hadn’t said how many at a time, so she’d guessed it was four. Seemed reasonable. She shoved the plate under the door.

“How about a beer?” Tyler asked, a hint of pleading in his voice.

“Take the pills,” Irene said. “They’ll help.”

“How do I know it isn’t poison?” Tyler asked, skeptical.

“If I were going to kill you, I wouldn’t have wasted the toilet paper.”

“What are they?”

“They’ll help,” Irene said. “Just take them already.”

The plate moved.

“Good boy,” Irene said.

That afternoon, Irene descended into the dungeon again. The stairs were beginning to take their toll. She was sore. She should have installed one of those lift chairs. Oh, well. Too late now.

Facing the ersatz tornado shelter, she could see movement in shadows from under the door, back and forth, back and forth. She looked through the peephole. Tyler stopped pacing to throw up into one of the buckets. She waited until he was done.

“How are you doing in there?” Irene said.

“You’ve got to let me out of here,” Tyler replied. “It hurts. I can’t stop throwing up. I need a drink.”

“Well, you’re not getting a drink. And you’re not getting out of here until you don’t need a drink. It takes seven days. I Googled it.”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Tyler said. “I called the cops. I called Ashley. They’re on their way. They’re going to take me home. Me and the cat.”

“What cat?” Irene asked.

“You know, the cat,” Tyler said.

What was it with a cat, Irene wondered. The boy must have been seeing things. She’d read this might happen.

“There’s no cat, and no one is on their way. Ashley thinks you’re out gallivanting around,” Irene said. “Why would she think anything else?”

“Just one drink, just one,” Tyler pleaded. “And milk for the cat.”

“No.”

“I’ll die,” Tyler said, desperation in his voice. “So will the cat.”

“Don’t you dare die,” Irene said. “I would have to chop you into little pieces to get you up the stairs.”

“This is a terrible clinic,” Tyler said. “Why did you send me to such a terrible clinic?”

“This isn’t a clinic,” Irene replied. “You wouldn’t go to the clinic. We asked you, remember?”

“I’ll go this time,” Tyler pleaded. “I swear. Just give me a beer. One beer. Then I’ll go. I’ll die in here.” He paused to retch. “Ashley’s on her way. I know she is. She’s going to check me out of here. Me and the cat.”

“This isn’t a clinic.”

“You can’t do this to me,” Tyler said. “Think of the cat.”

“This is how we dried out in my day, and it worked just fine,” Irene said.

But it hadn’t worked all of the time. The truth was that he could die, and Irene knew it. No great loss, maybe, but she had to think of the children. They loved their father for some unfathomable reason. Well, she’d call an ambulance if it came to that. She was going to jail either way, but she didn’t want to go to jail as a murderer. She didn’t hate Tyler that much. And Ashley would be verklempt.

She had seven days until she set Tyler free, and the police took her away – that is, if he didn’t just kill her outright. Well, six days, now. And that was that. The very best she could hope for is that she would die in prison quickly. The worst outcome would be that she wouldn’t die in prison. Ashley probably wouldn’t be coming to visit, and she certainly wouldn’t be bringing the great-grandbabies even if she did. Irene was quite certain that her stuck-up brat of a daughter wouldn’t be coming to visit either. A mother in jail. The horror!

In a way, it was her daughter’s fault that all this had to happen in the first place. Maybe if Ashley’s mother had been a little more like a mother and a little less of a garden club president, Ashley wouldn’t have gotten herself knocked up in high school and ruined her life with the inebriated quarterback currently detoxifying in her basement.

Ashley and her children were all Irene had, and she was going to lose them because of this bum. There would be no one to bury her. No one was going to say kaddish over her grave.

“Did you eat?” Irene asked.

“No,” Tyler angrily replied. “I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat,” Irene said.

“I tried. This Army stuff is disgusting,” Tyler complained. “Even the cat won’t touch it.”

“What? You want catering?” Irene asked.

“This clinic sucks.”

“You eat, and later I’ll bring you some Entenmanns,” Irene promised.

Irene’s phone rang again. Of course, it was Ashley. She thought about not answering, but she knew that she had to. She knew Ashley would be distraught, and she had to be there for her, even if her grandmother was the cause of her suffering. She told herself it was still for the best and answered the phone.

“He’s still not home,” Ashley said with an unsteady voice. “Something’s happened to him. I just know it.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Irene said, trying her best to be reassuring. “He’s probably sleeping off a major bender in one of his drinking buddies’ houses.”

“I’m going to call the police,” Ashley said.

Irene’s heart skipped a beat.

“Are you certain that’s a good idea?” Irene asked quickly.

“What else can I do?” Ashley asked.

“Just wait,” Irene said. “It will be fine. He’ll come home.”

“I don’t know,” Ashley said.

“It will be fine,” Irene said.

“Do you think so?”

“It will be fine,” Irene repeated. “I have to go before my biscuits burn.”

“You made biscuits?”

“I thought I’d try something new. Goodbye. Call me when he comes home,” Irene said.

She hung up before Ashley could say anything else.

Irene didn’t know how long she could keep Ashley from calling the police. Probably not long. The longer she could, the better. If they figured it out before Tyler was done, it would all be for bupkis.

Irene went to check on Tyler early the next morning and bring him more pills. And some Entenmanns. He didn’t respond when she called his name. Instead, he was shouting out random words. She looked through the peephole. He was on the mattress, tossing and turning.

Irene felt a twinge of sympathy. Sympathy and a little guilt. She hadn’t thought she would, but she did. It didn’t matter. He had to dry out. He had to get a job. Ashley was near the end of her rope. She loved him. Irene didn’t understand why, but Ashley did, and that was that. Ashley couldn’t fix him, though. Irene could. It was her duty to her granddaughter.

It wasn’t long after she had checked on Tyler that the doorbell rang. Who could it possibly be? Probably a salesman or someone who wanted her to join a cult. She decided she would ignore it. It wasn’t long before it rang again. And again. And again. When Irene had had enough, she went to the front door and opened it angrily, ready to give whoever it was a piece of her mind.

Ashley and her kids were standing on the porch. Ashley was crying. The kids looked miserable. Irene felt a pang of guilt that almost knocked her over.

“He’s still not home,” Ashley said. “I’m going to look for him. I need you to watch the kids.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Irene said. “I’m tired. I’ve felt better.”

“Please, Grandma,” Ashley said, pleading.

Irene knew there was no way she could persuade Ashley to go home and take the kids with her. She didn’t know if they’d be able to hear their father shouting misagosh in the basement. She’d just have to chance it. There was nothing to be done about it.

Irene opened the door wide.

“Come inside,” she said to the kids.

“Thank you,” Ashley said. To the kids, she said, “You be good and do what Bubbe tells you, okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” Delilah said. The kids shuffled inside.

“Don’t go into the ghetto,” Irene cautioned Ashley.

“I’ll be okay,” Ashley replied. She hurried to her car. Irene shut the door and turned to her great-grandchildren.

“How about some TV?” Irene said.

“I’m hungry,” Noah said. “We didn’t have breakfast.”

“Well, you go watch TV, and I’ll make you something nice,” Irene said.

In the living room, they ate a breakfast Irene had scrounged up. The eggs were past their date, but they weren’t bad. The bread wasn’t moldy. Eating in the living room in Irene’s house had never happened before. She had nice furniture, and she wanted to keep it that way, but that was where the TV was. Right now, her furniture didn’t matter. The living room wasn’t near the basement door, and the TV was nice and noisy.

After breakfast, she automatically told the children to put their dishes in the sink. When they came back, they had quizzical looks on their faces.

Oops.

“Is someone in the basement?” Noah asked.

“Why would there be someone in the basement?” Irene responded.

“I hear something,” Noah said.

“I hear someone too,” Delilah said.

“Maybe I left the radio on,” Irene said after a pause.

“I’ll turn it off for you, Bubbe,” Noah said.

“No,” Irene said quickly. “I don’t want you on those stairs. They’re dangerous.”

“Don’t you go down those stairs?” Noah asked.

“That’s different,” Irene said.

“But you’re old,” Delilah interjected.

Fakakta tornado shelter.

“I’m old, but I’m careful,” Irene said. “Who wants to play a game?”

Irene had some board games she kept around for when the kids were over, and they played Chutes and Ladders and Operation on the coffee table. They’d just finished the board games, and Irene was going to introduce them to gin rummy when Delilah asked the question that Irene was hoping they wouldn’t.

“Bubbe, what’s going on?”

“Well…” Irene began. What could she say? I have your father locked in the basement?

“Yeah, and where’s Daddy?” Noah asked, sounding confused. “Is he okay? Mommy just says not to worry about anything.”

“Well,” Irene began again, “it’s complicated.”

“Tell us,” Noah said. “We can get it.”

Irene thought about what she’d say if their father really had gone missing.

“Mommy doesn’t know where Daddy is right now,” Irene finally said.

“Is he lost?” Delilah asked.

“You could say he’s lost,” Irene said.

“We got lost in the store once,” Noah said. “Mommy found us. She got mad at us.”

“Well, that’s what Mommy is doing right now,” Irene said. “She’s looking for him.”

“Is she going to get mad at Daddy too?” Noah asked.

“I don’t think so,” Irene said, trying to reassure him.

“Is she going to find him?” Delilah asked.

“She is,” Irene said. “It’s just going to take some time.”

“He’s going to come home?” Noah asked.

“I’m sure he’s going to come home,” Irene said. “In fact, I know he’s going to come. It’s just going to take a little time.”

“How do you know?” Delilah asked.

“Bubbe knows these things,” Irene said.

Ashley was still gone. Fortunately, there was Cartoon Network and the Pixar movies she had on hand to keep the kids distracted. For lunch, Irene ordered a pizza. The kids didn’t get pizza delivered very much, and they were excited. Even though the juice had been okay, the milk had gone sour. When she offered them coffee, they laughed. She encouraged them to eat as much as they wanted, and, sure enough, they got sleepy after they ate. She directed them to her bed. When they fell asleep, she closed the door. She wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on the kids, but there was no sense in risking them hearing something through an open door.

Ashley came back about half an hour after the kids had fallen asleep. The look on her face was a combination of distress and sadness and fear. Irene’s heart broke to look at her. She reminded herself once again that it was for the greater good.

“No one knows where he is,” Ashley told her grandmother, on the edge of tears. “I checked the bars; I went to his friends’ places. I called the hospitals. No one has seen him since you dropped him off. I don’t know what to do.” She started crying.

“He’s going to turn up,” Irene said. “It may take a little time, but he’ll turn up.”

“You can’t know that,” Ashley said.

“It’s going to be alright,” Irene said. “I promise.”

“Can you come over and watch the kids when I go to work tomorrow?” Ashley asked meekly.

“I’m feeling kind of tired,” Irene said. “Get a sitter. I’ll pay for it.”

Despite Ashley’s objections, she left with five hundred in cash. At least Irene knew the drunk wouldn’t blow it on booze, and it was the least she could do.

What Irene had told Ashley was true. She was kind of tired. Unfortunately, she had to go up and down those damn stairs again to check on Tyler. She continued to do it every couple of hours or so. She was getting breathy. Too much exercise.

It was late in the evening on her umpteenth trip when Tyler seemed to be doing better. Through the peephole, she could see that he was sitting up on his mattress wrapped in a blanket munching some kind of thing wrapped in plastic. He was eating. Good.

She went to the workbench where she’d left the pills and the plate and poured out four more. She slid them under the door.

“How are you feeling?” Irene called out.

“Terrible,” Tyler replied. “Are you here to let me out?”

“No such luck,” Irene said. “Take your pills. They’ll make you feel better.” Irene had no idea if that was the case or not. They were supposed to help, but that informative website hadn’t said how.

A few moments later, the plate slid away. After another moment she heard it crash to the floor.

“Let me out, or I’ll cut myself!” Tyler shouted.

She looked through the peephole. Tyler was holding a shard of plate to his neck. Irene’s heart began to race. She hadn’t seen this coming.

“I’ll do it!” Tyler screamed. “I swear I will! Let me out now!”

For the first time in a long time, Irene didn’t know what to do. Everything so far had seemed so obvious. All she had to do was lock him up and wait. Hold Ashley’s hand until the big reveal. Go to jail and hope Tyler didn’t go back to the bottle again.

She had done this. She’d loused everything up. She should have worked harder to get Ashley to persuade him to go to the Betty Ford. She should have worked harder to get Ashley not to marry him in the first place. She should have worked harder to get her daughter to be a better mother. It was all her fault.

But what was done was done. In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided.

“Go ahead,” Irene said, trying to keep her voice from wavering. “Kill Ashley. Kill your children. That’s what you’ll be doing. All because you can’t have a drink. A goddamn drink. Be a mensch, for chrissake.”

She put her eye to the peephole again. Tyler brought his hand down. She saw Tyler fling the broken piece of plate away from himself.

“Is that it?” Irene asked, her voice chastising. “Are we done with that?”

“I guess so,” Tyler said reluctantly.

Irene went to the shelf to the side of Walter’s workbench and retrieved a brush and dustpan. She pushed them under the door.

“Clean up your mess,” she told him. “I’ll get you more pills.” After that, she went back upstairs, satisfied that he was over the worst of it.

The next morning, Irene was still in her housecoat when she heard the bell ringing and someone simultaneously banging on her door. She looked out the window. There was a police car in front of her house. Ashley must have called them. She hadn’t told Irene. She would have had time to get ready if Ashley had told her. She wasn’t even dressed. She felt vulnerable.

Even worse, she heard Tyler calling out for help at the top of his lungs, much louder than yesterday. He must have heard the bell this time.

Irene rushed into the living room and turned the TV on. She selected a channel at random. She turned up the volume. When the TV was blaring, she went to the foyer and opened the door.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Irene Moscowitz?” the officer asked.

“I am Mrs. Moscowitz,” Irene answered.

“I’m Officer Dale,” the policeman said. “I’d like to talk to you about Tyler Edwards. May I come in?”

Hell, no, Irene thought. But it would be suspicious not to let him in.

“Of course you may,” Irene said.

Irene stepped back. The officer stepped inside.

“Are you right with the Lord?” the TV screamed. Oh God. She’d turned it to the evangelical channel. “If you’re not right with God, you need to get on your knees and pray right now!”

“You know he’s missing?” Officer Dale asked, his voice elevated.

“So I heard,” Irene said, almost shouting.

“You were the last one to see him,” the policeman said.

“I was?”

“Can you turn that down?” Officer Dale asked.

“Absolutely not,” Irene said. “Jesus wouldn’t like that. Do you believe our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ died for your sins?”

“Your name is Moscowitz, right?” the officer asked.

“Is that a problem?” Irene responded crossly.

“Maybe we should step back outside,” Dale suggested.

Irene smiled. “Of course, we can.”

Once outside, the officer continued the inquisition.

“Let’s see,” he said. “You brought him over to put some things in the basement, and then you took him home.”

“I’m sure my granddaughter already told you that.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Dale asked.

“Why would he tell me?”

“And you’re sure you brought him home?”

“Why would I bring him anywhere else?”

“How old are you?” the officer asked, head cocked to the side.

“Eighty-one.”

“Hmm.”

Officer Dale looked like he was thinking. Irene didn’t want him to think.

“Have you found Him?” Irene asked.

“Tyler?” Dale asked, confused. “He’s missing, remember?”

“Not him,” Irene said. “Him.”

“Uh…”

“Are you saved?” Irene asked again. “Have you found salvation in our Lord Jesus Christ?”

“Uh… I don’t…”

Officer Dale looked at Irene and shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” the officer finally said. He gave Irene a card. “Call us if you see him again.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Irene said.

With that, the officer finally left. Irene went back inside and breathed heavily in relief. Then she turned the television off.

Even though the officer had gone, she took the time to change into some proper clothes as Tyler continued to shout for help. Even if Tyler couldn’t see her, it was still important to dress every day, whether she was going out or not. It was easy to let herself go because she lived alone, and she refused to succumb to it.

After she was clothed, she went to the basement to shut the boy up.

“Help!” Tyler called out when Irene switched on the light. His voice sounded hopeful. “I’m in here!” Part of his arm and his hand were waving from under the door.

“It’s just me,” Irene said. “You can stop now.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tyler cursed.

Irene looked through the peephole. He had sat on the mattress. He was covered with a blanket, and he was shivering. He looked pathetic.

Even though it was early, Irene was already tired. Rather than go up the stairs just then, she pulled out an old lawn chair and unfolded it. She put it by the door and sat. She’d rest a bit before going back up.

“You know it’s for the best,” Irene said. “One day, you’ll thank me.”

“Bullshit,” Tyler said. “This is torture. You’re torturing me.”

“It’s for your own good,” Irene said.

“Who the hell are you to say what’s good for me?” Tyler asked, his voice dripping with anger.

“You said you wanted to stop,” Irene replied. “You told me in the car on the way over.”

“Not like this,” Tyler pleaded.

“You think it would be easier someplace else?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Tyler said haltingly. “I need a drink. It hurts so much. I’m so sick. I feel like I’m going to die. Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m not doing it to you,” Irene said. “I’m doing it for my mishpocha.”

“Your what?”

“My family. Ashley and the kids.”

“Sure, you care about them, but you don’t give a shit about me,” Tyler said.

Irene thought about Tyler’s words. He was right. She hadn’t cared. She’d never liked him, right from the first moment she had learned of his existence. Tyler was an obstacle, a thing that stood between Ashley and what was best for her. Now, though…

“You tried to talk Ashley out of getting married,” Tyler accused. “I know you did. But you were wrong. We were happy.”

“Maybe you were happy,” Irene rejoined. “But you were in high school. What’s happy? Does happy get you an education? Does happy get you a good job? Happy, not happy, she was too young. She wanted to be an architect. Now, what is she? An assistant manager at Cosco. Big deal.”

“I gave up my football career!” Tyler said with invective. “I could have gotten a scholarship! I could have made it to the NFL!”

Irene thought he probably wasn’t as great as he thought he was, but she supposed it could be true.

“So neither of you got what you want,” Irene said. “Misery loves company.”

“Hey,” Tyler said defensively. “I love Ashley. We would have gotten married anyway.”

“And that makes everything okay?” Irene asked.

Tyler didn’t answer.

“So why with the drinking?” Irene asked. She was actually curious.

“Like you care?” Tyler said dismissively.

“Fine,” Irene said. “Don’t tell me.”

“I started drinking sophomore year,” Tyler said after a ruminative pause.

“Why would you do something like that?” Irene asked.

“Everybody else did,” Tyler explained simply.

“So what?” Irene said. “You can’t think for yourself?”

“I can think for myself,” Tyler said. “I just liked drinking. I liked it a lot. I did it a lot.”

“How could you drink and be such an athlete?”

“I wasn’t drinking when I played,” Tyler answered.

“What did Ashley think about this?”

“She knew I drank, but she didn’t know how much,” Tyler said. “She drank too, you know.”

“But not like you,” Irene said, brushing that fact aside.

“I had it under control when Delilah was born,” Tyler said. “I was working construction. I was making good money.”

“What happened?” Irene asked.

“I don’t know,” Tyler said. “Things changed. Ashley changed. Noah came along.”

“Don’t you blame this on my granddaughter,” Irene said sternly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tyler said. “It just wasn’t the same.”

“People change,” Irene told him. “Most people grow up.”

“I’m grown up,” Tyler claimed. “I just had to get out of there. I started going out more and more.”

“You lost your job.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Tyler said. “I showed up drunk at work. They fired me. Word got around. I couldn’t get another job. Everything was messed up.”

“Ashley had to go to work,” Irene said. “What a good example for your children. No decent job. Drunk all the time.”

“I never drink in front of them,” Tyler said firmly.

“You want a medal or a chest to pin it on?” Irene quipped.

Tyler started crying in great heaving sobs. Was what Irene had said that bad?

“I didn’t want it to be this way,” Tyler said, his voice hitching.

Irene believed him.

“Let me out,” Tyler pleaded. “Let me out, and things will be different. I swear.”

The boy was suffering badly. She knew it was going to be hard on Tyler, but she didn’t realize it would be this awful. Maybe she shouldn’t have done what she did. He wasn’t a bad drunk, as drunks go. It was true that he’d never drank in front of his kids. Ashley had told her that too. He’d never hit her or the great-grandbabies. He did his odd jobs when he was relatively sober. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. It could be worse. Maybe she should let Tyler go.

He’d told her, though, that he wanted to quit drinking, that he wanted to get a real job. Irene had thought he was bullshitting her, but what if he wasn’t, deep down? Ashley was beside herself, thinking he was dead in the gutter somewhere, but in three days it would be over. Just three days.

“I can’t do that, Tyler,” Irene said decisively. “And you know it.”

She got up from the lawn chair, setting off her usual aches and pains. She hobbled up the stairs to the kitchen.

Two very long days of hauling herself down and up the stairs to check on Tyler passed. Sometimes he was lucid and sometimes he wasn’t. When he was, he begged Irene to let him out every time she talked to him. It was breaking her heart. She held firm, though.

On the morning of day six, when she went to look through the peephole, she was greeted with an unmistakable odor. When she looked through the peephole, she saw Tyler lying on his side in a green pool of vomit.

That was it. She couldn’t do it anymore. She found a bucket and an old towel. She filled the bucket with water from the basement sink, set it by the door, retrieved the key, and opened the cell. Tyler didn’t move. His breath was ragged. She went to the mattress and painfully knelt. She cleaned up the vomit as best she could and then wiped Tyler’s face off. As she finished, he opened his eyes. He looked at her. The way he looked at her wasn’t good.

This was it. But she wasn’t ready. She was afraid, and she hadn’t finished what she had started. It had all been for nothing.

Tyler grabbed her wrist tightly. It hurt. He pulled her to him. She closed her eyes.

“Shut…the…door,” he said. He let her go.

“What?”

Tyler repeated himself.

Irene was amazed, but she didn’t need to hear it a third time. She slowly pushed herself upright and made for the door. She expected that Tyler would jump on her and kill her anyway, but she made it to the threshold, pushed the door shut, latched it, and turned the lock.

He had meant it after all. She was proud of him.

Last day.

She hadn’t been to visit him since the episode. She wanted to, but she just couldn’t bring herself to take those stairs. She only had to do it one more time anyway, and that was to let him out. It was almost over. Only a few hours to go. She’d locked him up at five a week ago, and five o’clock was when she’d set him free. She wasn’t taking any risks. She felt there was a good chance he wouldn’t go back to the bottle again now that his heart was in it, but she had to make sure.

At four o’clock, she collapsed in the foyer while going to check the mail. Her chest was tight. She knew what that meant. She couldn’t get up. She knew what that meant, too. She’d given Tyler enough food and water for seven days, and he was probably almost out. He could die in there. Everything was suddenly coming apart.

Irene couldn’t stand, so she wiggled herself over to the table where she kept her purse. The strap was hanging down, but she couldn’t reach it. She pulled on a table leg, and her purse toppled down. She was lucky. Her purse had fallen to where she could get to it.

Using one hand, she dug around in it until she found her mobile. She started calling 911. There was a chance they’d get her in time. She could live.

She stopped. She couldn’t call 911.

Irene opened her contacts and found Ashley. She dialed. It was going to be okay.

“Hello?” Ashely answered.

Irene tried to reply, but she had lost the power of speech.

“Grandma?”

Irene tried to make a noise, any noise, but nothing would come out.

“Grandma!” Ashley shouted. “You butt-dialed me!” She yelled a few more times, and then Irene heard the bleep that meant the call had ended. Ashley had hung up.

Irene thought furiously, and then she saw the little blue bubble under Ashley’s picture on the phone. She pressed it. Messages came up. Black started encroaching from the periphery of her vision. There wasn’t much time.

She typed “tylr bas” and pressed the send button. Then the black constricted around her eyes, and she fell unconscious.

When Irene awoke, it was to a ceiling painted an ugly shade of blue. She knew where she was. She couldn’t believe it, but she knew where she was. Whatever had woken her up, she wouldn’t be awake long. She could feel it.

Irene turned her head. Ashley was curled up in a chair with one of those thin hospital blankets falling off of her. She looked around. Her daughter wasn’t there. Big surprise.

Irene coughed, half because she had to and half to get Ashley’s attention. Her granddaughter’s eyes snapped open.

“Tyler…” Irene whispered.

“He’s alive, no thanks to you,” Ashley said. She straightened up in her chair. “I ought to smother you with a pillow. How could you? How could you kidnap my husband? How could you lock my children’s father in your basement?”

“Had to,” Irene croaked. “For you. For the babies.”

“Big favor,” Ashley said bitterly. Angry tears started streaming down her cheeks. She wiped them away violently. “You belong in jail.”

Irene nodded. “Is he dry?” she asked.

Ashley stared at her grandmother coldly.

“He is,” Ashley finally answered, her voice soft. “He’s home with the kids.”

“All I wanted.”

Irene said no more. She raised her hand an inch and Ashley took it. Peace. An alarm blared. Ashley began to sob. This was really it.

Irene wasn’t exactly thrilled about dying, but what kind of shemiel would be?