Chapter 31

ENTER MARJORIE

Laurence and I are telling the truth.

Mrs. Morris’s totally confused, utterly unreliable, super-flake twenty-something-or-other daughter, Marjorie, has been staying in the house with me ever since the funeral.

I think she was living with a few of her fellow flakes in California before this, but I’m not sure. Probably because she isn’t too sure.

“I’m the adult here,” Marjorie tells Mr. Goldborough in her awkward, quavering voice. He doesn’t laugh, and neither do I, even though that’s one of the craziest things I have ever heard—and I’ve spent time in a nuthouse.

No, instead Mr. Goldborough just nods and asks a few more questions, checks out Marjorie’s ID, scribbles all the answers in his little notebook, and says he’ll get back to her with a follow-up. In this one case, I’m actually kind of relieved the social service system is so sloppy and short on resources. To tell the truth, I think Mr. Goldborough is pretty relieved, too, that Marjorie showed up. I guess it isn’t easy to find a placement for a sixteen-year-old with a (brief) history of mental problems.

“Do you plan to live here for the foreseeable future?” Mr. Goldborough asks.

“Oh, I can’t see into the future,” Marjorie tells him.

“Well, is it your plan to stay here?” he prompts.

“I try never to make plans,” Marjorie replies. “Because they always change, don’t they?”

Mr. Goldborough’s pen hovers above the paper. “Well—will you be here awhile?”

“Absolutely.” Marjorie checks her watch, as if a “while” might mean five minutes.

But Mr. Goldborough has heard the answer he needed and is already filling out paperwork. “Wonderful, wonderful. I’m glad this is going to work out,” he says.

Hmm. I’m not sure it’ll work out, but guess we’ll see. Marjorie and I are in this together… for now. Talk about the confused leading the more confused.