By mid-March Uncle Lester's health had taken another turn, whether for the better or worse depends on your point of view. Sophie Castaneda had installed some kind of New Age nurse in my uncle's household. This nurse, Teodora, put him on a vegetarian diet and had him doing yoga and meditation.
"She's just prolonging his suffering," my mother said, and maybe she really believed that.
Mrs. Mahoney didn't like the new nurse either, and complained to my mother that Teodora paraded around the house half naked.
"Which half?" I asked.
My mother ignored my question. "When Mrs. Mahoney suggested to her that she might want to dress more appropriately, do you know what Teodora said? ‘What does it matter? He can't see me.' "
"What does it matter?" asked Leslie.
"It's disgusting, that's what" was our mother's reply.
I mentioned earlier that my mother didn't trust Mrs. Mahoney, but you wouldn't know that from listening to her end of one of their daily telephone conversations. She'd chat and laugh and say things like "Isn't that just like a man?"
Mrs. Mahoney was her only source of information. It wasn't until after my mother hung up that the smile would leave her face. Then she'd wonder out loud if Mrs. Mahoney told Uncle Lester how many times she had called, or if Mrs. Mahoney had relayed even one of her dinner invitations.
My father was wrong when he said that Uncle Lester would never play cards again.
"He's been playing cards four days a week with Toni Castaneda," my mother informed us one evening, her voice stewed in bitterness.
I didn't see how that was possible.
"What can they play?" Leslie asked me later in my room. "Go Fish? 'Do you have any sevens?' Then what? Toni looks at his cards to see if he has any sevens. She could cheat like so easily!"
"Why would she cheat an old blind man who's about to die?" I asked. "It's probably just the opposite. He asks her if she has any sevens, and she says, ‘Darn it, you got me again,' and hands him a six and a king."
"And then he changes his will and leaves her all his money," said Leslie.
Leslie had come into my room for the computer, but I was still using it. I had priority, not just because I was older and the computer was in my room, but because I usually waited until the last minute to do my homework, and so I had a greater urgency. Leslie did her homework the day it was assigned, and therefore could wait.
I know it's not fair. I'd get rewarded for my laziness, and she'd get punished for her diligence, but that's how it was.
"Well, I guess we'll soon be able to afford a second computer," I said.
"I guess so," Leslie agreed.
Neither of us wanted to sound overly excited about the prospect.
"And we'll probably be able to download all the music or movies we want," Leslie added.
"Probably," I agreed.
"How much money do you think Uncle Lester has?" she asked me.
"I have no idea."
"More than a million?"
"Definitely."
"More than fifty million?"
I shrugged. "It's not like we need a lot," I said. "Still, it would be good to get the pool finished."
Leslie agreed with that.
We currently had a big hole in our backyard, with some warning barriers around it. Our parents were involved in some kind of lawsuit with the pool company, although it had never been quite clear to me who was suing whom.
"And I can get my own phone," said Leslie, "with unlimited text messaging!"
"And I can get my car fixed," I said. "Or maybe even a new car."
"Or a new house that already has a swimming pool," said Leslie.
"And a hot tub," I said.
"And a game room, and a pool table," said Leslie.
"And a giant TV with surround sound, and every kind of video game."
And, and, and … That's the trouble with money.