her up to the chin, and Nancy was asleep on the other length. Sal was there too, asleep nearby but still in his chair—snoring, his head back to expose the jut of his Adam’s apple. An annoying tinny beat issued forth from his Walkman earphones. She didn’t see Addison or the girl.
She walked across to Sal and stood there looming over him for a second, deliberating. After a moment she reached for the dull silver cassette player lying on his lap. She lifted it delicately, turned it sideways to study the row of buttons, and gently pushed the one marked STOP.
Sal’s head jerked up. He blinked at her blearily.
“Sorry,” she said. “I thought you were . . .”
“I gotta have the music,” he said.
“When you’re—?”
“To sleep, man.”
“Oh?”
“Can’t sleep without music,” and he took the Walkman back and placed it on his thigh again.
“I apologize, then,” she said.
He grunted, pressed PLAY and crossed his arms, leaning back.
Down on the couch, Casey moved her head restlessly.
“Good night,” whispered Susan in Sal’s direction. She was turning to leave when she saw the two from the garden approaching—the girl ahead, Addison stumbling behind.
“He needs to crash,” whispered the girl, and then: “I would—go home, but all of them . . .”
“You came together,” whispered Susan.
The girl nodded. “In a van.”
“It’s always hardest for the sober ones,” said Susan, as though she knew.
Behind the girl—possibly headed for the corner recliner—Addison tripped abruptly and fell sideways onto the platform that held the rearing lion. He turned and grabbed at it as he fell and the hind paws came up off the platform, ripping off their bolts, so that he and the lion fell together, in a clinch.
“Oh my God,” said the girl.
“Oh no,” said Susan.
Sal’s head jerked up again.
“What the fuck,” he said.
Addison lay on the shag rug loosely holding the beast, whose front paws stretched above his head.
“Passed out,” said the girl, after a second.
“I think you’re right,” said Susan.
“No shit,” said Sal, and shook his head.
“I’m sorry about the lion,” said the girl.
“Me too,” said Susan, and gazed down at the lion’s ripped feet. She bent to look closer: the four gray pads of the toes, a yellow-white fur around them, another soft pad further back. It was torn open now with a bolt sticking out to reveal part of the white-plastic mold inside. Their pose, she thought, was like two animals on a shield or flag in one of the old man’s heraldry books. Some flags pictured lions and unicorns facing each other, standing on their hind legs, or griffins and dragons. Two animals poised to pummel each other. Lying inert, Addison pummeled a lion.
“Why don’t you come with me,” she said to the girl. Sal was already nodding off. “There’s another room on this floor you can sleep in. More comfortable than here.”
They left Addison where he had fallen, tangled with the great cat, a high-pitched beat leaking out of Sal’s headphones.
“They’re going to claim he had delusions,” said Casey in the morning.
She was in the bathroom with Susan, who stood up from the sink, her face dripping, and reached for the hand towel, her eyes squeezed shut.
“What?”
“Yeah. They’ve got a lawyer. They’re going to say the will isn’t valid.”
“You’re kidding.”
“But Jim says that they’re full of it.”
“Jim knows?”
“Yeah, he was standing there when they told me.”
Susan dried her face and walked out, looking for him. He was in bed still. She pulled the curtains open and flooded them both with whiteness, bleaching the flamingo.
“You didn’t think I’d want to know?”
He groaned and rolled onto his back, feet splayed under the sheet, arms wide.
“Listen. I don’t think you really need to worry.”
“Don’t need to worry? They’re trying to take this all away from me!”
“The standard for legal capacity is low,” he said, and raised himself onto his elbows, rubbing his eyes wearily.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, Jim. What are you telling me?”
“They’d have to prove that he was delusional under 6100, and there’s no evidence of that. Or under Section 811, they’d have to have evidence he couldn’t reason logically. Or recognize familiar objects or people. Or have any memory. They’re not objecting to the trust. The trust is irrelevant to them. And that’s a benefit to you, because with trusts the legal capacity standard is higher. There’s no presumption of undue influence here, either. So chances are slim they’ll prevail.”
“Slim?”
“Very slim, Susan.”
She was silent for a second, biding her time. Then she realized the legalese was oddly erotic. His competence.