Grandma's Chair

I stare at Grandma’s chair, memorizing the shades of maroon and gold that work into a dark green, all swirling and turning into a paisley-like pattern. The floorboard beneath the chair has worn down from the chair’s feet scraping as my grandma would move it an inch or so at a time as she sat and stood.

              My parents bought her the chair when she lived with them, before she moved to Ohio to take care of her disabled sister. None of us wanted her to go. That was 8 years ago. My grandma moved, bought the house of her dreams, and took care of her sister when none of her other siblings would. Her sister passed away last year.

              I decide to take a piece for myself and stood up to cross the room. I was supposed to be sorting books to donate and keep, but the chair called  out to me. That’s what my grandma called it when something was just unable to stay off your mind, or like you couldn’t help but do something, “it was calling me,” she would say. I sit on the back side of the chair and pull out the pocketknife I’d received as a Dirty Santa gift last December and cut the back of the chair in one long-way cut.  We plan to  chunk the chair into the giant dumpster we’d rented anyway, so I don’t feel badly about ruining it for my keepsake.

              “Ang?” My mom calls. I stand up.

“Yeah?” I say back and start walking toward the kitchen where my mom is sorting through papers that my grandma kept, looking for anything important enough to keep.

              “Do you know anything about this?” She hands me a paper that had been folded to fit into an envelope. It is addressed with my grandma’s name, and in the corner a stamp from HARTFORD & ASSOCIATES notates the sender. It confirmed the deposit for an account number.

              “No,” I said, “but I can call them if you want me to.” I look at my mom, who looks like she’s aged 10 years since we arrived yesterday.

              “Yes, would you?” I knew this would be her answer when I asked. She doesn’t like to talk to strangers about important things anymore. The last time she tried to call the airline customer service to reset her account password after too many wrong attempts, she broke down in tears when the computer picked up to direct her call.

              I take the paper back to the living room and sit back down with the books, reading the letter and wondering what kind of deposit my grandma would’ve had coming. The letter was dated for 4 months ago, and my grandma was not a wealthy woman. No one in our family was…or is really even still, so there would be no inheritance or regular payment going to her for someone else passing or another stream of income.

              I sigh and hope she hadn’t been scammed by someone claiming she was a grand prize winner and sneakily taking all her money. I googled the name, and the search pulled a law firm located in Wichita, where she used to work before she moved in with my parents. She was forced to retire after an injury she received from working after telling them she couldn’t do that specific task and needed to move on to a different one. She sued them and somehow, they’d weaseled their way out of having to go to court. My grandma seemed like she was cornered to drop the charges, and always said she felt like there was more she could’ve done to fight back, but that she didn’t have the energy to start the fight all over again.

              I press the call button and wait.

              “Hartford and Associates, this is Jenn.” A polite but twangy voice says on the other end.

              “Hello, Jenn. I am calling on behalf of my grandmother. I found a letter addressed from your firm, but neither myself or my mother knows what this is regarding. She unfortunately passed away last week and we’re cleaning out her home.” I explain the situation in hopes I’m not having to repeat this to more people.

              “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.” She says, empathetically. “Can you give me her name?”

              I proceed to give her the information. She can’t confirm all the details, but she does confirm that a letter from them with that information is legitimate, and they would’ve sent it if someone received a payment from a lawsuit.

              I hang up and lay my head on the back of the couch, closing my eyes and imagining my grandma receiving a letter saying she received a deposit and what she possibly could’ve done to receive that money, and what she did with it.

              “What did they say?” My mom says, coming into the room.

              Without opening my eyes I say, “They couldn’t say much since she may have been a client. The letter is legitimate is all she said. Maybe I should go to her bank or something.”

              “Well, whatever you think is best. I’m not sure if whatever money she has in the bank will come to us or not. I’m sure eventually it will.”

              I look at the chair again and say, “I wish she’d give us some answers and make this all easier.” I hoist myself off the couch and go to the backside of the chair, pulling out my knife again. I make a large square, as large as I can without damaging the chair itself. I feel Mom watching me and I say softly, “Maybe we should take it to the thrift store, not just toss it.”

              “After you’ve cut it all up? Who would want it then?” she said, almost in disbelief that I was saying that as I was cutting it.

              “Someone who’s willing to reupholster it for their mother to have a comfy chair to sit in.” I say, with a smile as I looked up at her.

              The piece of fabric falls with the last cut to the corner, and I almost fall backwards as I see what is inside the chair.

              “I guess she didn’t’ keep the money in the bank,” I said, looking at Mom, this time with me the one in disbelief.

              “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.” She says, almost like she can’t breath.

              In the chair, evidently stashed in by pulling the footrest out and sliding in a small plate underneath, sat what we counted as $48,000. We found another $2,000 in her wallet, and another $13,090 under the mattress in her room over the course of two days of cleaning up her house.

Later, my mother and I confirmed, as my grandmother’s beneficiaries, that two coworkers had come forward and sued the factory my grandmother worked nearly 15 years ago, and so they settled to the two people who had sued. They’d reopened my grandmother’s case just in time to add her to be apart of it to concur the lawsuits of the two other employees filing. They settled at just under $75,000, and evidently, My grandmother took $65,000 of that out in cash. The other $10,000 she had used to pay off her car.