“So, Mom went up to the man. ‘Can I help you?’ And he says, ‘I can’t believe it, we used to have this exact model growing up. Do you happen–’”
“Jeez louise, everybody has a Victrola?”
This made Sewanee laugh. “I guess so. Anyway, he asks if she has any records–”
“She doesn’t have records? I have records. Somewhere.”
“No, she–she had records. She opened up the cabinet and pulled out a whole bunch of old 78s. He flipped through them and then stopped and said, ‘May I?’ Mom nodded and he started cranking the old Victrola, wound it up good, and put a record on the turntable. Ella Fitzgerald started singing.”
“Oh, Ella Fitzgerald! Which song?”
“‘I’ll Chase the Blues Away.’”
“Golly!” Blah started singing it. Her voice had thinned to a crackle, but she could still trill. “‘I’ll chase the blues away . . .’”
“That’s the one. And he asked Mom to dance. Right there in the driveway. She was in sweatpants and a bleach-stained T-shirt and before she knew it, she was crying and they stopped dancing and he just held her. When the song stopped playing, they pulled apart, and he said, ‘I’m Stu,’ and she said, ‘I’m Marilyn.’ And they’ve been together ever since.”
“Still in Seattle?”
It was Portland. Her mom was from Portland, but to be fair, BlahBlah could never remember that; she’d always thought it was Seattle. “No. Stu’d recently retired from Nike. He’d never been married, never had kids, and had gotten high up in the company. High up enough to buy an apartment on one of those cruise ships that have condos on them?”
“Cruise ships have condos?”
“These do. And you can get on and off whenever you want as it travels all around the world. They’ve been on board for about a year.”
“How perfect! Can I get one?”
“Well, they’re expensive.”
“Oh, I’m sure they cost a pretty penny, but so what? It’s like a fairy tale,” Blah murmured. “And Mar deserves it.” The way she said this made Sewanee believe that, for the moment, Blah remembered everything about her ex-daughter-in-law.
“She does. Yes, she does.”
“And how’s your other grandmother doing, with her daughter all over the world?”
“She . . . died, Blah.”
Blah’s face went slack. “Well! She should have said something!” Sewanee chuckled. What else could she do? “How’s your mom handling it?”
She didn’t know what to say. She just didn’t. She wasn’t going to retell the story. “She’s doing fine.”
There was a knock on the door and BlahBlah called out, in a bad Walter Matthau impression, “Ennnterrr!”
The door opened and Amanda poked her smiling head in. Sewanee had texted her at lunch, letting her know she was in the building. “You! Ever since you had me watch The Sunshine Boys! You get me every time. Am I crashing the party?”
Blah launched into the story about how Neil Simon once came on to her, which she did any time she quoted from The Sunshine Boys or Barefoot in the Park or The Odd Couple. She stood up. “Want a Mallomar?”
Amanda made a show of putting her hand over her stomach. “Ah, thanks, I just ate. May I steal your lovely granddaughter for a minute?”
Sewanee stood. “I actually have to get going anyway.”
“Are you recording something?” BlahBlah asked, eyes lighting up.
“I am! A mystery.” Sewanee waggled her eyebrows.
Blah looked disappointed. “You should record more love stories. We need more love in this world. Fewer criminals and evil and murder.”
Sewanee went to her grandmother and hugged her. “When you’re right, you’re right.” She pulled back and looked at her. “Friday happy hour?”
“It’s a date, Doll.”
Sewanee kissed her on the cheek and joined Amanda. Blah called after her, in a stage whisper, “Get a look at Mitzi on your way out! Talk about a murder!”
AMANDA TOURED HER through memory care and Sewanee had to admit she was impressed. It was nice. It was clean. It was quiet and comfortable and bright. But a ball of something unpleasant churned in her stomach the moment she’d crossed the threshold and she couldn’t tell if it was worry or sadness or even a premonition. Of having to see less and less of her grandmother, no matter how much more she visited.