“Praise Jesus,” he said. “Can you untie me?”
“I’ll try. Who are you?”
“I’m Patrick. Erin and Jeremy’s brother.”
“What’s going on?”
“Isn’t it obvious? My brother and sister tied me up and left me in the cellar so I wouldn’t interfere with their plans. We have to hurry or they’ll have everything sold right out from under me.”
“From under you? I thought all of this stuff belonged to your grandfather.”
“We don’t have a grandfather.”
“Everything upstairs — it all belongs to you?”
“That’s what I’m saying. You’re really going to have to work to loosen the rope around my wrists. It’s pretty tight.”
“Why are they doing this?”
“Why do you think?”
“Because they want to sell all your stuff and run away with the profit?”
“Now that would be interesting — a good storyline for one of Roy’s Western adventures. No, it’s not nearly as thrilling as that. They’re doing this for ‘my own good.’ Because they think I’ve turned loony after all these years of collecting Roy Rogers memorabilia and living alone and really not getting out very much except to go to my night job at the electrical power plant. This is an intervention. Problem is, they’re liquidating my huge investment here, and they aren’t even going about it the right way. You don’t sell a quality collection like this in a garage sale. You go to dealers who specialize in Royandalabilia. Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m the woman they hired to sell said quality collection.”
“Oh. Well, what do you know about Roy Rogers?”
“I know that there are some serious collectors out there. I was hoping we’d end the day with a nice chunk of change.”
The rope was off Patrick’s wrists now. He rubbed them where they were reddened and chafed. “I can’t believe that it actually came to this. That’s okay. I can do the ankles myself.”
“Should I call the police?”
“Yes. And tell them to bring a couple of straitjackets. Talk about loony: my brother and sister should have been put into a padded cell a long time ago. Jeremy tried to burn down the Corn Palace a few years ago. Granted, he was high on patio sealant at the time, but that’s no excuse.”
“What do I do about the other girl who’s been helping them?”
“What other girl?”
“I think her name is Betsy.”
“Betsy’s here?” Suddenly Patrick’s expression changed. It softened.
Natalia nodded. “Do you know her?”
“Yeah. Kind of. Isn’t that a pip? Betsy’s here.”
Natalia started up the stairs. “I’ll call the police. They can sort everything out when they get here.”
“No! Wait!” Patrick grabbed Natalia’s leg. It startled her and she almost screamed.
“I don’t want Betsy arrested.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m madly in love with her, that’s why. I always thought she considered me a hopeless freak. But now you say she’s here. Now you say that she’s upstairs helping Erin and Jeremy rid me of this, this, this sickness—”
“Patrick. I’m very perplexed.”
“Our parents died when we were young — Erin and Jeremy and me. That’s not to say we probably wouldn’t have been messed up anyway. It’s in the genes. Anyway, Erin and Jeremy—they decided to engage the world. On their terms, obviously, but I have to hand it to them — at times they appear almost normal.”
“I thought they were normal.”
“Whereas I disengaged. I retreated into my—”
“Royandalabilia?”
“That’s right. I took the happy trail. You know the song that Dale wrote — their theme song—‘Happy Trails’? I’ve spent my life looking for good role models, you know, being an orphan and all. But you know who it is I need more than anyone else right now?”
“Betsy?”
Patrick nodded. “See? This means she loves me. This means she has hopes that I can turn my life around, begin to get out in the world. If I were to have her thrown in jail, I’m not sure she’d ever forgive me. No, don’t call the police, okay?”
“Should I at least stop the sale?”
Patrick didn’t reply. He stared off into the middle distance. “In their own way, I do think they mean well.”
“Mean well? How long have you been tied up in this basement?”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. I don’t know what to do!” Patrick began to claw at his thick mop of hair with restless fingers. “Yes, I do. You better leave me down here. Pretend like you and me — like we never ever saw each other. First bring me a Pop Tart or something. I’m really hungry.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“No. Not really. But until I get some telepathic advice from the King of the Cowboys, I should probably just stay put. He’s all the way down in Southern California, you know, so there’s bound to be a delay in the transmission.”
“Okay.”
“You know I’m kidding, right?”
“I’m not so sure about anything right now.” Natalia shook her head slowly in deep befuddlement, then climbed the stairs, opened the door, and went out into the kitchen. There was a woman standing at the table holding a couple of record albums. Natalia quickly shut the door behind her.
“There you are!” the woman chirped. “I found two that I didn’t have already: ‘My Chickashay Gal’ and ‘I’m Gonna Gallop Gallop to Gallup, New Mexico.’”
“I’m very happy for you,” Natalia said.
“I love Roy Rogers. I named my boy Roy and my girl Dale. We have a coon hound named Ghost, just like Roy’s champion coon hound.”
“Five dollars for each record. That’ll be ten all together.”
The woman paid and walked out of the kitchen singing “Happy Trails.”
A moment later Betsy entered with money from a quick sale she’d made in the den. Natalia couldn’t help herself. “Everything’s going to be all right,” she confided with a comforting smile.
Betsy gave Natalia a quizzical look. “You know, don’t you?”
Natalia nodded.
“It’s probably one of the oddest estate sales you’ve ever run, right?”
“A little twisted, you know, but I’m trying to adjust to it.”
“Twisted? How is that?”
“Well, I mean the fact that Patrick’s—”
“Not here? But don’t you think it’s better this way? And besides, Erin says he’s always wanted to go to Mount Rushmore. Last she heard, he was having a wonderful time.”
“Oh dear.”
“Are you all right, Ms. Richman? You don’t look too well.”
“I think I’ll have a Pop Tart. Let’s all have a Pop Tart. Things are about to get very interesting.”
Scratch, scratch, thump, thump.
“And please, call me Natalia.”
1995 VARIOUSLY BEREFT IN MINNESOTA, CALIFORNIA, OKLAHOMA, AND MONTANA
Melanie Minero lives in Minnesota. She hasn’t always lived in Minnesota. The earliest years of her life were spent in the company of four older siblings in Lincoln, Nebraska. Like her three brothers and one sister, Mellie left her hometown as a young adult, and after the death of her remaining parent — her mother — never had much reason to go back.
This story isn’t about Lincoln, Nebraska.
It isn’t about any one particular place, really. It’s about two sisters and two brothers who live in four different states, and about a third brother who’s just died in a different state.
A couple of days ago.
May 16.
These five siblings have never been all that close, although they have made a few begrudging attempts to keep themselves loosely inserted into each other’s lives. In terms of their feelings for one another, the five Ramseys (including the two female nee Ramseys) aren’t really all that different from any of the other millions of dissimilar brothers and sisters who make up the majority of modern extended American families: brothers and sisters who share a few of the same genes and a handful of mutual memories of a connected past — brothers and sisters who by convenience of circumstance grew up together in the same house and now live in other houses in other places.