MORNING and a blue sky welcomed another day. John had gone to his office and the kids had all left for school when Lora looked up from her writing and noticed the red Oldsmobile slowly snaking its way across the stony path cutting through their lawn and up to their front door. Of course, she knew who was visiting, but she’d never expected his visit to come so soon after the last one, which was a year ago, when they were about moving.
Mr. Crool’s car stopped before the house and he grunted and heaved as he pulled his hefty figure out of the driver’s seat, quickly resuming his whistling when his bulk was almost out.
Initially, Lora could not make out the song the fat man was singing, but then she realized it was that same irritating one from that same irritating time many years ago.
“Good morning, Mrs. Quentin,” the man announced, trudging up to where she stood with all his might. “I love the house! Nice patio over there,” he pointed out.
But Lora only nodded, arms akimbo, and waited for him to come up. The birds were chirping and she thought they were better whistlers than Mr. Crool.
“Mornin’, Ma’am,” he puffed as he stopped in front of her and balanced his weight on his two legs. He was drunk as usual.
“Morning, Mr. Crool,” Lora said unfeelingly, smiling and inspecting his wardrobe at the same time. She need not have bothered. He was as shabbily dressed as ever. “What brings you here this bright summer morning?” she demanded as gaily as she could.
“Nothing serious, Lora,” her visitor happily replied, grinning. “Just checking up on the little brat,” he added jokingly, reaching for his left coat pocket. “I guess no problems?”
“Good! Now if you would just sign here, I’ll be on my way,” Mr. Crool said, whistling some more as he brought out a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “It’s official,” he sang to himself, “Matthew has a new home, Matthew has a new home.”
Mrs. Quentin felt embarrassed by this, but could only shrug it off as she signed for herself and John. The orphanage had been of immense help, but she kept wondering why they always sent Mr. Crool when they needed her to sign some more papers. “When next are you coming?” she finally asked him, handing him back his pen and official document.
“When he turns eighteen,” the fat man whispered, and laughed out loud. “That will be my last visit, Mrs. Quentin, and I’m looking forward to it.” Then he drew nearer and spoke in a very low tone. “I—I hope you’ve never told him anything, have you? These brats get confused when they realize they’re bastards and cannot find their real mothers. We’ve got loads and loads of such cases back at the office. I simply hope for your sake that you can keep him in the dark forever. Brainwash him if you must. By the way, I love the inn in this town.”
Lora wondered whether Mr. Crool was allowed to say such things outside the four walls of his office. He must know she could call the police.
“The birds are chirping,” her visitor suddenly remarked, wide-eyed.