Does Sylvia Know?

“Does Sylvia know?”

“I’m not sure.”

“No. Seriously. Does she know?” asked Gwen’s grandmother, leaning forward from her rocker and putting her face closer to Gwen’s mom Kathy.

“Mother, it’s so hard to tell.”

“I worry so much about all this. It’s terrible!” sighed Grandma Mary tugging on the bottom button of the beige cardigan she always wore.

“I know.”

“I thought about Rose and Harold last night, and poor little Sylvia, and I couldn’t go to sleep until well past midnight.”

Gwen and I were finishing lunch at a little table in the kitchen at Grandma Mary’s small house. We could easily hear her mother and grandmother speaking in the living room.

“I heard your grandmother ask your mom the same thing when we visited at Christmas. I think your grandma was even using the same words. What are they talking about? Who knows what?”

“My Great Aunt Rose. Grandma Mary’s sister.”

“Isn’t she dead?”

“Yeah. That’s what they’re talking about.”

“Who is Sylvia?”

“She’s Rose’s daughter.”

We grew quiet again to eavesdrop better on the conversation coming from the living room.

“So, you think Sylvia knows?”

“Mother, I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“You don’t need to get angry about it.”

“Well, we’ve gone through all the possibilities, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have. It’s all disgusting. Terrible.”

Grandma Rose and Gwen’s mom stopped talking, and I could see from my chair that they both sort of stared off into space. I was still confused. This was at least the second time I had heard virtually the same conversation between them.

“What are they trying to figure out that Sylvia knows?”

“Aunt Rose died while Sylvia was away at a boarding school.”

“A boarding school?”

“Momma says that Aunt Rose and Uncle Harold were very rich.”

“How?”

“Uncle Harold was the president of TWA for all of Asia back when they were a big airline.”

“That’s kinda cool. Is Uncle Harold still alive?”

“He lived another 10 years or so after Rose.”

“Oh.”

“He remarried a Filipino woman named Aurelia.”

“But what is it that Sylvia doesn’t know?”

“Grandmother doesn't know if Sylvia knows that her father was loaded.”

“Didn’t she get any of the inheritance?”

“That’s what grandmother doesn’t know.”

“Huh?”

“Grandmother is worried that Aurelia took all the money and didn’t tell Sylvia anything about it.”

“Huh? But does she have any reason to think that happened?”

“She doesn’t really know what happened.”

“But, Gwen, wouldn’t she – Sylvia – have known that her father was rich?”

“Yeah. She did go to a fancy boarding school. But maybe she thought that she was on a scholarship or something.”

“Was she a little kid?”

“No. She was in high school.”

“Wait. Didn’t TWA go out of business years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Was this Uncle Harold working for them then?”

“No. He had retired before then. They lived someplace like Hong Kong. I’ve seen pictures of their house. It was quite a palace up in some hills. They had a great view of the ocean and monkeys in their backyard.”

“I just looked up TWA on my phone. They went out of business in 2001.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s about right.”

“So, if he was already retired, and he had remarried … well, when did this Aunt Rose die?”

“She died in 1991, I think. I was a little kid.”

“That’s nearly 30 years ago.”

“I know.”

“If Sylvia was in high school when her mom died, where was she when her dad died?

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about all of this.”

“And if Sylvia didn’t get her inheritance 20 years ago, how is she supposed to get it now?

“I don’t know. You’re the lawyer.”

“Family law isn’t my area, but I don’t see how you could fix something like this so long afterwards. I can ask Rajiv at work; that’s his specialty; he’s very good at it.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Wait. Your aunt died like 30 years ago, and your uncle died 20 years ago … and in all this time, your grandmother has never phoned her niece Sylvia? Or written to her?”

“I guess.”

“That’s crazy. She could have made one phone call and found out. 20 years and no call? Did your Grandma even call Sylvia when her mom died?”

“I guess. I don’t know. I was just a kid.”

“Doesn’t this seem kind of weird?”

“Mom and Grandma have talked about this every time we visited since I was a little kid.”

“For 20 years?”

“Yeah.”

“This is just too weird. Do you know Sylvia’s phone number?

“No. I don’t even know where she lives.”

“If you can find her number, I’ll call her, and she’s not even a member of my family.”

“I think grandmother knows what happened, one way or another. She had an odd relationship with her sister.”

“Did they have a big fight about something?”

“Not really. At least not from what I’ve heard. Grandmother was her parents’ favorite child, but Rose was the one who married the rich guy and had a life. I think it did something to grandmother.”

“Give me Sylvia’s number. I’ll call her. I can just imagine how this will go. ‘Hi, is this Sylvia? Hi, Sylvia. My name is Bob. I’m married to your aunt’s granddaughter. Your Aunt Mary. Yes, her granddaughter Gwen. Right. Ok. So, here’s why I’m calling. It seems that since your dad died 20 years ago, well, your aunt has been meaning to call you to see if you knew that your father was loaded. You know, rich. No. I don’t know why she never called you. Yes, I’m serious. No, I don’t know why she never called you herself. She talks about your situation, however, with Gwen’s mom Kathy whenever they meet. No, I don’t know why your cousin Kathy never called you either. Please don’t hang up. Well, there’s no need to use language like that. So, um, did you know you dad was loaded?’ <Click> I’m sure the conversation would go something like that.”

“That’s mean. Grandma’s an old lady.”

“She was 20 years younger when Sylvia’s dad died.”

“Well.”

“Well, what? Imagine how you’d feel if you knew that your aunt’s grandchild’s husband knew a secret about you that no one in the family had the courage to tell you for 20 years. Seriously. Think about that.”

“You don’t understand.”

“What could I not possibly understand. It’s kind of cruel, isn’t it?”

“Grandma was the child her parents favored. By far. She was embarrassed by it. I don’t think she liked it as a kid, and when she grew up, I think she felt really guilty.”

“So?”

“Look what happened to her. She ended up here. She’s kinda poor. She spent her whole life in this dumpy town while her sister roamed the world in luxury.”

“This house isn’t that bad. Your Grandpa Ralph seemed like a nice guy the one time I met him before his stroke. Am I right? I thought they had a good life together.”

“That’s not it.”

“Ok. Then I don’t get it.”

“The child my grandparents doted on didn’t end up wealthy like the sister they apparently never liked much at all. Mom still talks about the house that Aunt Rose had in Connecticut. They spent Christmas there once when she was a kid. Mom thought it was like a palace. They moved to Hong Kong a couple of years later.”

“And?”

“Look, grandma must feel really guilty about how everything in her life turned out.”

“Guilt?”

“Yeah. Like she disappointed her parents or something.”

“Isn’t it more like some kind of jealous revenge on her sister?”

“That’s cruel. How could that be?”

“She was jealous or maybe angry about how life turned out for her sister, so she’s taking it out on the sister’s kid who did nothing to her.”

“Don’t you think Sylvia really knows that her dad was loaded? After all, she went to a fancy private school. Wish I had gone to a school like that.”

“So, you’re jealous of her, too.”

“No!”

“Ok. I’d guess that Sylvia probably knows that her dad was loaded. But that’s not the point.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. The point is why has her loving Aunt Mary has been so cowardly or evil or something really weird for the past 20 years such that she couldn’t call her niece and ask how things turned out.”

“I think it’s complicated.”

“Complicated? I talk to my aunts at least once every six months. Over 20 years, that would have been at least 40 conversations. Wait. Why didn’t Grandma Mary mention this to Sylvia at the funeral?”

“I’m not sure grandma went to the funeral.”

“She didn’t go to her only sister’s funeral? Was it in Hong Kong?”

“No. It was here. But I think the whole thing is complicated.”

“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t seem complicated to me. If this is some odd guilt thing, doesn’t this say a lot about what your grandma thought of your grandfather and herself, too?”

“Yeah. I guess. Every time mom gets with grandma, grandma will eventually ask her if Sylvia knows. It’s like she feels really guilty or something. ”

“And she always starts out with: ‘Does Sylvia know?’ Those exact words in that order?”

“Yeah, pretty much. She was always my favorite grandma, but yes she has some issues.”

“Gee, I guess. I would really love to know if Sylvia knows. Wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose.”