Dark Memories Submerged by I. T. Lucas
Cassandra
The conversation during lunch was stilted, with Martha and Geraldine the only ones chatting away as if nothing was amiss. Geraldine didn’t know that anything was, but Martha did, and Cassandra wondered whether she just didn’t care or was doing a great job of acting.
Roni kept sneaking covert glances at his grandmother, but other than that, he and the other three immortals had barely said a word. Instead, they were concentrating on consuming large amounts of Connor’s superb chicken and side of pasta as if it was their last meal.
They were probably afraid of blurting something out before it was time.
Cassandra was still racking her brain, trying to come up with the best way to steer the conversation smoothly and gently onto the subject of her mother’s immortality.
Martha folded her napkin over her plate, signaling that she was done. “Speaking of art, Onegus tells me that you are a gifted quilt maker.”
“Thank you.” Geraldine smiled at Onegus before turning back to Martha. “I don’t know if I’m gifted, but I was good enough to support Cassy and myself by selling them.”
That was fake modesty. Her mother was a gifted artist, and she knew that.
Martha pursed her lips. “I don’t know much about quilts, but they look very time-consuming. How many did you finish in a month?”
“I usually made them pretty large, a six-foot square was typical, and with how intricate the patterns were, they took many hours to make. Most months, I managed only two, and when there was a large expense coming up, I stayed up late and squeezed in one more.”
“How much did you sell them for?” Roni asked.
“When I first started, I didn’t know how much to ask for them and offered them for a few hundred dollars. When they were snatched up, I raised the prices a bit, but I was afraid to ask too much and kept the price tags under a thousand dollars. Then I went to a quilting competition and saw how much other quilters were charging and hiked up my prices. Toward the end of my quilting career, I was pricing them at as much as seven thousand, and people still bought them. I was fortunate.”
“Did you make a name for yourself as a quilter?” Martha asked.
Geraldine smiled sheepishly. “Not at all. I sold them under several assumed names.”
Martha arched a brow. “Why?”
Damn, the woman was a good actress. Despite knowing the answer to that, her questions seemed genuinely curious.
Looking uncomfortable, Geraldine shrugged. “I preferred to stay anonymous. Frankly, I was trying to avoid paying taxes. I just couldn’t afford it. As far as Uncle Sam is concerned, I don’t exist.”
Cassandra stifled a groan. What if all the suspicious stuff her mother had been doing didn’t have anything to do with her immortality but with avoiding paying taxes?
Onegus put his fork down. “At first, you were making so little that you probably didn’t owe any income tax.”
Geraldine’s eyes widened. “Really? I didn’t know that. Not that it would have mattered. I figured out pretty quickly that I could charge more.”
Martha’s forehead was wrinkled as if she was struggling to solve a complicated puzzle. “I still can’t believe that someone paid seven thousand dollars for a quilt made by an unknown artist, no matter how beautiful it was.”
Cassandra chuckled. “Maybe my mother had a rich secret admirer.”
“Not likely.” Geraldine reached for her glass of wine. “Almost none of the people who bought my quilts knew who I was or even saw my face. The admiration was for my creations, not for me.”
Martha leaned closer to Geraldine. “You said almost none of them, which implies that some of the clients knew you.”
“I participated in one competition in person.”
“So, how did you sell the quilts before the internet became a thing?” Roni asked.
“Catalogs.” Geraldine smiled at him. “They existed long before the internet, and people ordered things from them, including quilts.”
Onegus pushed to his feet and started to collect their plates. “Who wants coffee, and who wants tea?”
Cassandra followed him up. “I’ll help you clear the table.”
“Tea for me,” Martha said.
“I’ll have tea as well.” Geraldine rose to her feet. “Can someone point me in the direction of the restroom?”
“I’ll show you where it is,” Sylvia offered.
Roni pushed to his feet. “I’ll make the coffee.”
Cassandra waited until the door closed behind her mother to ask Martha, “Why are you so interested in the quilting business?”
“I have a hunch.” Martha got up and helped carry the remainder of the dishes to the kitchen. “Perhaps I’m wrong, but I really don’t think anyone would pay such an amount for a quilt. It reminded me of a novel I read. A guy who was in love with a painter bought everything she put up for sale to support her and help her career. What if Geraldine had someone like that?” She looked at Cassandra. “Does your mother keep accounting records of any kind? Since she sold her quilts through catalogs and later online, she had to mail them. Perhaps she kept the names and addresses of her clients.”
“I sincerely doubt that. Even if my mother kept them initially, she probably discarded them when we moved to the house we are living in now.”
“That was a long shot anyway,” Roni said. “How are we going to break it to her that she’s my grandmother? Should I just pull out the photocopies I made of her old driver’s licenses?”
“Not yet,” Onegus said. “I suggest that we start with questions about her good health, her strength, and her enhanced senses. Hopefully, that will ease her into the subject.”