SEPTEMBER 8, 2023 – One morning a couple of months later, Cliff called to inform me that UB was back in the hospital, this time as a consequence of UB’s diabetes in combination with heart issues. “Nothing too serious,” said Cliff, “but according to his doctor enough to keep him under observation for a couple of days.”
It was sufficient Cliff argued, to keep UB at bay so I could fly out and have free access to UB’s “paperwork.”
“And then there’s the question of how much money he’s been sending to Alex and how we stop it,” said Cliff.
“Do you have a handle on what’s happening on that front?”
“Funny you should ask. Yesterday after getting Uncle Bruce to the hospital, I took a quick look at things inside the house. Upstairs I found a suitcase on the bed. Inside was British travel literature and a copy of Gaga’s will. Looks like he was planning a trip. But what the hell was he doing with Gaga’s will? And there was one more thing—a tape.
“On my way home I put the tape in the player but it just rolled—nothing was on it, apparently. I even turned the volume all the way up just to make sure I wasn’t missing something. I forgot about the tape until this morning and as I’m driving to Rutherford, out of nowhere I hear an ear-splitting, ‘George. I need 20,000 pounds.’ It scared the shit out of me. It was louder than the Garden after a Rangers’ goal in overtime. And Eric, in case you didn’t hear me, I heard Alex ask for twen-ty thou-sand pounds. After I turned the volume down to a normal level, I heard Uncle Bruce say he’d get it to him within an hour.
“This is absolute bullshit. You’ve got to get out here to Ground Zero and do what you can to stop this.”
“Yeah I know,” I said, “but what can we do to stop it?”
“I dunno, but we’ve got to think of something, like maybe going to London ourselves and scaring the living crap out of that Serbian fucker and putting an end to his so far never-ending theft.
“Which reminds me, Eric, what are you doing about your Mother’s share of everything? I mean, as I see it, half of everything Uncle Bruce is sending to London belongs to your Mother, and that just isn’t right. And what about your grandparents’ money? Shouldn’t half of everything there be going to your Mother? Has she received one dime of it? And what about 42 Lincoln—which he’s totally wrecked, by the way—doesn’t half of that house belong to your Mother? And what about the insurance proceeds? How much were they, and being the cheapskate he is, how much of the insurance did Uncle Bruce actually put back into the house—and how much did he send to Alex? And if it was uninsured as you said it was, why shouldn’t your mother be compensated for half of the uninsured value that went up in flames and down in water damage the night of the fire?”
“You’re right, Cliff.” I said, feeling derelict. “Not to mention interest.”
“I told him a while ago,” said Cliff, “that he had to come clean with everything and treat your mom right. I bugged him every couple of days about it, and he just kept blowing it off.”
“He did send her a check a couple of weeks ago,” I said.
“He did? For how much?”
“$50,000.”
“$50,000? That’s all? Any explanation to go with it?”
“Absolutely none. Just the check.”
“Eric, maybe it’s none of my business. I mean she’s your mom, he’s your uncle, its your family but damnit, it just isn’t right what he’s doing on the one side—sending gobs of dough to some fucking drug addict overseas—and what he’s not doing on the other side—settling up with his sister, his one and only sister and sibling.”
I felt a wave of shame. Cliff was absolutely correct. I knew what he was thinking: I was too Minnesota Nice. I’d been too soft on this insane, selfish, screwed-up uncle of mine, and in the process, I’d failed to advocate for Mother and by extension, the rest of our family; Mother, who was never one to stand up to Uncle Bruce, never one to stand up for herself, and because of that, Uncle Bruce had taken full advantage of her.
“You’re right, Cliff. I’ll look into flights and get out there as soon as possible and grab the damn bull by the horns. But to do that, I’ve got to find the bull and the horns. I mean, I’m gonna have to search his paper chaos just to figure out the status quo; what he’s filed, what he’s done to date, what’s there. I have no idea what it is we’re working with.”
“I know you’re up to figuring it out, Eric, but you’ve got to be on the ground here, got to be at Ground Zero, at 42 Baghdad Street. Wait a sec . . . a call’s comin’ in I gotta take. Let me know when your plane arrives.”
“Will do.”
* * *
I closed the door to my office and walked to the windows. Ringing in my ears was Cliff’s expression of injustice over UB’s treatment of Mother. I thought about the $50,000 check UB had apparently been shamed into sending to Mother, and how I’d lacked the heart or the courage or both to tell Cliff what Mother’s reaction had been: She’d mentioned the check a day or two after receiving it. When I asked what it was for, she had no clue. “He just sent it.”
“Was there a letter explaining it?”
“No.”
“Did you call him about it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to bother him.”
“Huh?” Mother was never one reticent about “bothering” anyone with a phone call. “Maybe he feels guilty that he hasn’t given you any kind of accounting of Gaga and Grandpa’s assets,” I said.
“But he’s had so much else to worry about,” she said.
“Like what?” I wanted to add, “collecting gay porn?” and “sending boatloads of money to his Serbian gold-bricking boyfriend in London?” but refrained from disrupting the Saturday afternoon visit in my parents’ living room.
“He’s had to deal with his heart issues, and all that property. He just can’t find adequate help to manage it all.”
“Uh huh, but I think that’s a pretty lame excuse for his dereliction. He’s squandering the property, not managing it.” That was as far as I could go. “So, might I ask, what are you going to do with the $50,000?”
“I thought I’d give it to the church.”
I nearly blew a gasket. I knew at the time that Cliff had to be behind UB’s sending the check. No other explanation was possible. And now she was going to give it to the church? Before leaving Anoka, I cornered Dad and told him he had to prevent that from happening. He was already ahead of me. “Don’t worry,” he said with a steady voice. “I’ve already put the money in a safe place.”
* *. *
As I watched the traffic and people below going one way and another. I wondered what crazy burdens they carried. Just then the phone rang. Time to get back to my day job.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
