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Franck’s mind raced through visions of a train on his tail, horses and tunnels, pictures in a stairwell, a tunnel of pain, a graveyard, a paper thrust in front of him to sign, a threatening phone call, a date with a busty waitress reliving TV shows, his roommate’s calm face staring at him in disbelief, Dawn laughing, Dawn excited about Funk, Dawn excited about Franck, Dawn playing violin, Dawn hearing he’d found his man, Dawn proud of him for facing the music.
“Mr. McIver, I came here to see you.”
“Is that right,” said Robert, leaning back and crossing his legs under his bathrobe.
“Yes, sir. I did. You can tell me about the Underground Railway.”
“Oh, come on, son. You’re no graduate student. What is it you want from me?”
“I want to know about Moses McIver.”
Robert’s jaw dropped open. He was speechless. “What did you say?”
“I want you to tell me about Moses.”
“He was my great-grandfather. How did you know?”
“Did he go through the Underground Railway?”
“His mother did. She was a slave. His picture was taken when he was 79, a year before he died. I have it hanging—“
“On the wall in the stairwell. First photo.”
Robert’s mouth fell open again. He stared at the young man. “Who let you in?”
“I paid a visit to Nancy Caswell.”
“Nancy.”
“Yes. She’s a very sprightly old woman.”
“She let you in?”
“She showed me the Underground Railway tunnel.”
“In the basement?”
Rosa sat near Robert and watched the conversation volley from one man to the other, younger to older and back again. Her face grew increasingly intense with concentration.
“This young man, Robert,” she said, “is roommates with Bob McIver in Port Haven.”
Robert looked at her, troubled. He said to her quietly, “And does that have anything to do with me?”
“I believe he’s of the other McIver family, the distant cousins, the ones that will have nothing to do with us. The rich ones, they say.”
“I always wondered about those stories. I don’t really buy them. People will believe in anything that someone they trust believes in, and they’ll feel stronger about it, the longer they’ve believed. Or the longer their people have believed in it. But I don’t know. Do you know about your roommate, Franck? Does he think he’s connected to me?”
Franck felt bewildered. “Mr McIver, I’m sorry about your wife.”
Robert and Rosa looked at each other. Again Robert was speechless.
“Robert is recovering from that, honey,” said Rosa. “You seem to know a lot about us. Why don’t you level with us. What do you know, and if you’re not here to write a paper for school, what is it that you want?”
Once more, Franck saw Dawn looking at him with bright, expectant eyes. He shrank from her look, wanted to text her, text Bob, wake up from this dream in a warm bed, wish Bob’s mother had not arranged this crazy visit, wish he just had not signed that stupid paper, that he hadn’t been so desperate to get away from Zeke and the house.
“Okay, look. I was totally stupid. I was temporarily insane. I signed a paper. I toured your house, I met the banker there, I apologized to Nancy, I took something, and dreamed of Lutetia.”
Now both jaws dropped opposite him. Robert began to flush with anger. “You broke into my house, searched it, invaded my privacy, and now you are disturbing my rest here with Rosa. You better tell us what brings you here, boy, or I’m tossing you out the door onto the street and you can walk to Port Haven for all I care.” He stood up and thundered, “Now, for the last time, what’s going on here?!”
Franck had been feeling nervous, agitated, clever, sneaky, but now he was just scared. “When I get home, I’m going to jail. The banker has me nailed. I signed your name on a paper without even looking at the first page. I just wanted to get out of there. It turns out,” Franck said, turning away toward the window, “hah! Well, I signed away your house! It belongs to someone else! That’s it. Except it’s not your signature, it’s mine. So probably you keep your house, I go to jail, you can’t pay anyway and you lose the house anyway to the bank and the developer gets it anyway and the guy said you just as well should sign it yourself and get paid back for it all, I don’t know, I don’t get it, I just have to go back and face the music. I was stupid, really stupid. I’m sorry, Mr McIver. I’m sorry, Rosa.” He covered his face in his hands and waited for whatever was to happen to him.
Robert growled and turned away from the table. “This absolutely stinks of Nick Fondler.” He sat down heavily in a different chair.
“Who is that, Robert?” said Rosa.
“Did you get this story from Nick?” barked Robert at Franck.
“I, I don’t know who you’re talking about. I talked to Zeke. He was the one at the house. He was the one said at first about foreclosure and then talked about the papers, about a deed. And he has me lined up for jail, or worse, unless you sign yourself.”
“Sign what?” Robert snarled.
Franck looked helplessly at McIver.
“Well? What papers are you talking about?”
“I…have them in my bag. Papers for you. I’ll get them.” Franck swiftly got up and headed into the guest room where he was to sleep that night. He snapped his cellphone out of its holder and tapped the texting button. "Help” he texted, and selected two recipients, Dawn and Bob. He slid the papers out of his bag and walked woodenly back into the kitchen.
“Here they are. Zeke said it would end up helping you. Said his boss would take the house, fix it up, pay everything for you, sell it, even pay you back for the trouble. It’s like cutting to the chase because people going into foreclosure can’t afford to pull out of it anyway and this way you come out ahead.”
Robert grabbed the papers. “Fondler. His prints are all over this. Yeah, here’s his company, VestProp, Inc. Right there.” He read through the papers, his brow furrowed, his hand rubbing his forehead.
Rosa got up. “What we all need just now is some hot tea and a taste of my mother’s famous round cake.” She put the kettle on and reached for a covered cake plate.
A buzz tickled Franck’s thigh. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket. A text from Dawn read: “Whats up” and he texted: “Found him”. She wrote back “OMG” and he responded “OMG is right. I’m jail bird.” Another buzz came in but he had to put the phone away as Rosa laid a plate of cake in front of him.
Rosa sat with him while Robert stood and paced the kitchen, holding the papers, reading and rereading them carefully.
“He’s had a rough road, Franck,” she said. “His wife died a few months ago after a long illness. Nearly broke him too. His spirit and his money too. He had no way to pay those bills come piling into him. Health insurance, medical bills that the insurance wouldn’t cover or that it might pay him back for later but that he had to fight for, mortgage bills, equipment bills – he had to rent equipment to keep his wife at home instead of going bankrupt keeping her in the hospital – oh my Lord I can’t think how it was for him. They came down to get away and have some peace. She died in peace. There are folks here who helped her feel better with pain drugs but she had Robert there, and me. She hasn’t been well for so long. They’ve come here before to visit. It took such a toll on Robert, oh Lord how it drained him. He is so much better now. I fed him, kept him away from worries, he’s sturdier now, not so haggard. He has worried about his house more and more lately, now that he’s feeling better. I’ve heard only little bits and pieces about the house, but not about that Fondler fellow.”
“He’s a snake,” said Robert. “He is a smooth talking snake. He even took me out to dinner a few times, nice as can be. All the con men are nice as can be. Almost had me convinced I could get out from under everything. Just let him do a few studies on my place. Find the highest and best use, and in no time, he'll sell the place for ten times what it was worth to me now. He even managed to make me feel -– and I bought this argument for a while – that if I didn’t take him up on his offer, I’d be killing my wife. After the storm damage and the estimates and the insurance premiums I stopped paying and the bills that added up to more than I was worth, and him smooth talking me, it was a blessed relief to be with Rosa. Catherine would have felt happy here, well I think she did, but she was so out of it for so long…” Robert crumpled back into a chair and the papers slipped and fluttered to the floor.
“Robert, have some tea, have some of my cake, honey,” Rosa cooed, stroking his back. “Or go back to bed, sweet. All this can wait. It’s waited this long.”
Robert sat up straight again, tears in his eyes. He looked at Franck sternly. “Son, did you say they threatened you?”
“Yes, sir. I screwed up big time. It was my only hope to at least see if I could find you and maybe you’d sign, maybe Zeke was right and it would be for your own good if you don’t have any money. Sounds like his boss – is that this Fondler guy, then? – sounds like he’ll take your troubles off your hands.”
“Take my troubles… Hah! You don’t know this guy.” Robert took a sip of hot tea. He stood up, tentatively. Rosa stood up to help him but he brushed her away.
“Rosa, dear. It’s time to go home. Time to take care of a few things.” He headed toward his room, but then turned. “And Rosa, you owe me a visit. You come with me.”
“Well, Robert. I, well, I’ve always meant to go. But what about Lucy? She needs me too.”
“Lucy’s a big girl, Rosa. She’s over the divorce. She’ll want you to come with me.”
“Okay, you get some rest, honey, I’ll stay up late and talk to Lucy. Maybe I’ll just take you up on it, Robert. Maybe I’ll go with you, honey.”