14_The Summons by John Grisham

Author:John Grisham
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-09-27T23:00:00+00:00

The house was an old Victorian in midtown Memphis, a hand-me-down from Ellie's father, who'd once been prosperous. Not much else was inherited. Forrest had been attracted to the notion of trust funds and real family money, but after fifteen years he'd given up hope. In the early days of the arrangement he had lived in the main bedroom. Now his quarters were in the basement. Others lived in the house too, all rumored to be struggling artists in need of refuge.

Ray parked by the curb in the street. The shrubs needed trimming and the roof was old, but the house was aging nicely. Forrest painted it every October, always in a dazzling color scheme he and Ellie would argue over for a year. Now it was a pale blue trimmed with reds and oranges. Forrest said he'd painted it teal one year.

A young woman with snow-white skin and black hair greeted him at the door with a rude, "Yes?"

Ray was looking at her through a screen. Behind her the house was dark and eerie, same as last time. "Is Ellie in?" Ray asked, as rudely as possible.

"She's busy. Who's calling?"

"I'm Ray Atlee, Forrest's brother."

"Who?"

"Forrest, he lives in the basement."

"Oh, that Forrest." She disappeared and Ray heard voices somewhere in the back of the house.

Ellie was wearing a bedsheet, white with streaks and spots of clay and water and slits for her head and arms. She was drying her hands on a dirty dish towel and looked frustrated that her work had been interrupted. "Hello, Ray," she said like an old friend and opened the door.

"Hello, Ellie." He followed her through the foyer and into the living room.

"Trudy, bring us some tea, will you?" she called out. Wherever Trudy was, she didn't answer. The walls of the room were covered with a collection of the wackiest pots and vases Ray had ever seen. Forrest said she sculpted ten hours a day and couldn't give the stuff away. "I'm sorry about your father," she said. They sat across a small glass table from each other. The table was unevenly mounted on three phallic cylinders, each a different shade of blue. Ray was afraid to touch it.

"Thank you," he said stiffly. No calls, no cards, no letters, no flowers, not one word of sympathy uttered until now, in this happenstance meeting. An opera could barely be heard in the background.

"I guess you're looking for Forrest," she said.

"Yes."

"I haven't seen him lately. He lives in the basement, you know, comes and goes like an old tomcat. I sent a girl down this morning to have a look - she said she thinks he's been gone for a week or so. The bed hasn't been made in five years."

"That's more than I wanted to know."

"And he hasn't called."

Trudy arrived with the tea tray, another of Ellie's hideous creations. And the cups were mismatched little pots with large handles. "Cream and sugar?" she asked, pouring and stirring.

'Just sugar."

She handed him his brew and he took it with both hands.

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