We All Killed Grandma Read Free Page B

here.”
    “Everything went through all right? The divorce is final and all that?”
    “Yes. Ten o’clock Tuesday morning.”
    I thought, ten o’clock Tuesday morning. I’d been sleeping then; I hadn’t got to sleep for over an hour after Dr. Eggleston had dropped me off at my room a little after four and I’d slept till noon. I’d been divorced while I was asleep, and hadn’t known it was happening. From what little I’d learned about myself the night before, after midnight, I’d thought I was already divorced. And I hadn’t been. They tell you you
had
a wife named Robin and not that, technically, you still have one.
    But what’s a few hours difference? Anyway, I hadn’t sat around worrying or regretting while the divorce was being handed down. That’s one way of handling a divorce: sleeping through it.
    Robin was saying, “I guess you know the—But you wouldn’t, unless someone has told you what the terms were. No alimony, of course; I didn’t ask for any. On the property settlement, you wanted me to take everything—not that there’s a lot of it—but I wouldn’t agree to that. I’m taking the furniture, except your books, of course; they’re already packed and in storage, with the two bookcases.On the bank account, we split even—five hundred and thirty-six dollars and some cents apiece.”
    I said, “I found a bank book in my room, an account in my name at the Second National, balance a little over two hundred. As I understand it, I’ve been working regularly. Do you have any idea what I might have shot three hundred bucks for since we split the bank account?”
    “Oh, that was the car. I forgot to mention it. You bought out my half for three hundred and fifty.”
    “Car?” I said stupidly. “You mean I’ve got a car?”
    “Yes. Do you mean—?”
    “I mean,” I said. “Nobody mentioned it to me. What kind is it?”
    “A forty-one Lincoln coupe. We bought it a year ago for five hundred; you said it was better than post-war cars and didn’t even have much mileage on it for a ten-year-old car. Then you spent some more money putting it in even better shape and when we were settling up you said it was worth at least seven hundred and offered me three-fifty for my share.”
    “What did I do with it? Haven’t I still got it?”
    “As far as I know. You’d better ask Arch.”
    That I would do, definitely.
    But for the moment I shoved the mystery of the car I did and didn’t have aside.
    I said, “Robin, this isn’t my business, exactly, but I suppose that before I had some idea what your plans were. What are they? Are you going to keep on living here? And are you going back to work—and, if so, at the Carver Agency?”
    The Carver Agency was still just a name to me; I hadn’t been there since what had happened, although a man who said his name was Gary Cabot Carver had called me on the phone and had told me to take my time about coming back to work, to take as much time as I wanted to rest up and orientate myself. But if I wasn’t coming back, because of the inheritance or for any other reason, he’d like to know it. I explained to him that the inheritance wasn’t anything to retire on and that I was glad to know I still had a job if I wanted it and that I’d be glad to come backin a week or so to see if I could still write advertising copy—and would understand his firing me if I couldn’t.
    Robin was saying, “No, I’m not going to live here indefinitely. Just till our lease is up in another month and a half, and then I’ll find a smaller place. And yes, I’m going back to work; I have to eat. But not with Carver, Rod; that would be embarrassing for both of us.”
    It wouldn’t have been embarrassing for me, but I could see how she would feel that way about it.
    I looked at the glass in my hand; it was still half full. I asked, “Did I drink much, Robin?”
    “No, not an awful lot. Frequently, but not too much at any one time. I’ve seen you a little fuzzy around the