Page 33 of We Were Liars

I GO TO lunch at New Clairmont an hour later. I know Mummy will not tolerate my absence after I missed supper last night. Granddad gives me a tour of the house while the cook sets out food and the aunts corral the littles.

It’s a sharp place. Shining wood floors, huge windows, everything low to the ground.

The halls of Clairmont used to be decorated floor to ceiling with black-and-white family photographs, paintings of dogs, bookshelves, and Granddad’s collection of New Yorker cartoons.

New Clairmont’s halls are glass on one side and blank on the other.

Granddad opens the doors to the four guest bedrooms upstairs. All are furnished only with beds and low, wide dressers. The windows have white shades that let some light shine in. There are no patterns on the bedspreads; they are simple, tasteful shades of blue or brown.

Granddad’s bedroom is larger than the others and has the best view. He takes me in and shows me the bathroom, which has handles in the shower. Old-person handles, so he won’t fall down.

“Where are your New Yorker cartoons?” I ask.

“The decorator made decisions.”

“What about the pillows?”

“The what?”

“You had all those pillows. With embroidered dogs.”

He shakes his head. “Did you keep the fish?”

“What, the swordfish and all that?” We walk down the staircase to the ground floor. Granddad moves slowly and I am behind him. “I started over with this house,” he says simply. “That old life is gone.”

He opens the door to his study. It’s as severe as the rest of the house. A laptop sits in the center of a large desk. A large window looks out over the Japanese garden. A chair. A wall of shelves, completely empty.

It feels clean and open, but it isn’t spartan, because everything is opulent.

Granddad is more like Mummy than like me. He’s erased his old life by spending money on a replacement one.

“Where’s the young man?” asks Granddad suddenly. His face takes on a vacant look.

“Johnny?”

He shakes his head. “No, no.”

“Gat?”

“Yes, the young man.” He clutches the desk for a moment, as if feeling faint.

“Granddad, are you okay?”

“Oh, fine.”

“Gat is at Cuddledown with Mirren and Johnny,” I tell him.

“There was a book I promised him.”

“Most of your books aren’t here.”

“Stop telling me what’s not here!” Granddad yells, suddenly forceful.

“You okay?” It is Aunt Carrie, standing in the door of the study.

“I’m all right,” he says.

Carrie gives me a look and takes Granddad’s arm. “Come on. Lunch is ready.”

“Did you get back to sleep?” I ask my aunt as we head toward the kitchen. “Last night, was Johnny up?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.